Tags
1930s, 2020, 6*, blue, city, dome, horizon, identity, interdependet origination, London, lost, Ludgate Circus, morning, passing, pavement, seeing, sky, space, St. Paul's, stopped, sun, thought, time, traffic, work
I stopped short
caught on the kerb-
side, traffic past,
crawling from the morning
sun; there was space
before me here, but a
city all about as far
as I could see uphill until
the consoling dome
of St. Paul’s, deep behind any
horizon, confirmed,
yes, yes, it has come to this
that you are found
dressed dark and sober for work
and lost
under the blue and blue sky
who is it, who is it: that noticed or wrote or snapped or talked or stopped or dressed or read …?
————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–
blue & horizon wormhole: meanwhile
city wormhole: The Atlantic City Convention: 1. THE WAITRESS by William Carlos Williams
identity & time wormhole: sweet chestnut
London & sky wormhole: ‘she shook the sweets …’
morning wormhole: riders of the night
passing wormhole: YOUNG WOMAN AT A WINDOW by William Carlos Williams
seeing wormhole: ‘not sure …’
space wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – I took my camera into the fields
sun wormhole: silence
thought wormhole: poessay XI – piquant love
work wormhole: slight sneer
mlewisredford 
Deep spatial and spiritual awareness and awakeness to this poem. A sense of being lost and found, in your sober work clothes is what I most love.
The dome under the blue sky is what did me in. I can see it.
Thanks.
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thank you, Holly; others’ reading brings subtle colouring to an otherwise black and white picture
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And I strain to remember a time when I was dressed dark and sober and lost under the blue and blue sky. I prefer being lost under a blue and blue sky while walking the dog in the park. A feeling less of despair and more of inspiration, thankfully.
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Well, you and blue too.
The color of movement.
I came to understand something recently. It’s about blue, or movement. I figure you would get it since you can translate spirit.
It’s that direction does not matter. There’s no god or bad way. Movement it’s matters. In ant direction.
Matters as in creates meaning. Feeds the soul. Expands awareness and being. It’s like 42 lol.
Your work Lewis, fills me like travel food. A rich peanut chocolate bar. Yum
It ruins my dinner if I am not hiking the trail all day
I guess that makes it sorta a movable fest
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Reminds me of what Gurjieff said – that the meaning of life is to transform energy, and the main way of transforming energy (and there are all sorts of energy) is through movement (and there are all sorts of movement too)
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Great poem! Got to you through Bob of naive haircuts. Loved the comment you wrote comparing his poetry to jazz music so came to check out some of your writing. Glad to have done so!
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