I keep / waiting to be discovered and get lost in anticipation


, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

                I wanted to clean out the meditation room
                to help clear my sitting of voices

                I wanted to bring my books into the house
                to integrate myself into living

                the snag was, and always is, to think
                that there is space in the world for my voices to belong

                rather than the courage to let them all go: I keep
                waiting to be discovered and get lost in anticipation





books wormhole: St. Mark’s flies flagpole upwards / with the forelegs hanging down obscene / reaching some height blindly to connect / out from the long-stalk tri-separating up- / to-seeded rounds of pod like acacia what / is it called “‘hogweed’ I-don’t-know- / what-it’s-called-but-goats-love-it-and- / it-makes-them-burp-a-lot”
identity & sitting wormhole: time
letting go & living wormhole: make your rickety / constructs strong with / unbending grids / of attention and wide- / open grates of let
recognition wormhole: slow enough / to have love
space wormhole: so pleased to see you again
voices wormhole: municipal garden
waiting wormhole: St. Edmund’s / Parish Church / Castleton
world wormhole: stone


make your rickety / constructs strong with / unbending grids / of attention and wide- / open grates of let


, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

                I woke saying “sit down
                to a class who had
                been testing me like water

                moving silent against
                my every prescription
                demanded or presumed

                despite all the charm or
                cleverness I might use
                to a morning

                and then an afternoon
                of defeat and defence
                unable to use the skill

                and manoeuvre I have
                taught myself for
                lifetimes now

                all the shift and forming
                around the boundaries
                finding every fissure

                and fault just ahead
                of my every attempt
                to dam it all; what labour

                what want of satisfaction;
                let the water go
                where it will – it will

                all go there anyway – and
                make your rickety
                constructs strong with

                unbending grids
                of attention and wide-
                open grates of let





attention wormhole: divergent // direction
dream wormhole: wakeoutofadream
letting go wormhole: redundant
lifetimes wormhole: Salisbury Cathedral // suspended in everything
living wormhole: free
morning wormhole: windows // and balconies
silence & speech & water wormhole: the quiet whale
teaching wormhole: a nice grey woollen picnic blanket




, , , , , , , , , ,


                     to see now
                     where I came

                     from, where
                     I have arrived

                     at; to see where
                     I will go, at how

                     I am doing
                     what I do; to

                     see what
                     I am thinking

                     and look at
                     how I see

                     what is all
                     about me





doing wormhole: inner / hegemony
identity wormhole: free
seeing wormhole: every step I take
sitting wormhole: divergent // direction
thinking wormhole: redundant
time wormhole: such such potential


over-pink cagoule


, , , , , , , , ,

                out of
the wet over-pink cagoule

                and the birch-patterned coat
                                under the tired face peering

                                back down at every chair leg
                                              with downturned-mouth concentration is there

                                                any poetry to be extracted here
                                                              or am I just looking at the wrong things

                                                                                      at the wrong time?





birch wormhole: Jon
looking wormhole: in the / Citadel / Park / a leaf / new / ly fell
mouth wormhole: to allow / passage
pink wormhole: municipal garden
poetry wormhole: … swap round
writing wormhole: facing the crime section


and I lose sight of her into memory


, , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

                                the girl
                walks ahead down the hill
                each step gaited and strapped
                                left then right
                hazelnut hair lapping and sweeping –
                                she journeys
                far further than each advance against
                                              the air

                                as I pass
                she is talking into a phone
                                and I lose sight of her into memory





air wormhole: the quiet whale
girl wormhole: stone
hair wormhole: garden
muse wormhole: neither nude nor / descending a staircase
passing wormhole: free
talking wormhole: mother and daughter
walking wormhole: every step I take


a nice grey woollen picnic blanket


, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

                                I think I get it:
                a nice grey woollen picnic blanket

                                I found the grey
                when crossing the road for the umpteenth time

                                I felt the wool
                when I finally allowed that cars will keep driving
                along the road, well where else could they

                                I suspect
                that there might be a fascinating check design
                in the warp and the weft but I am too busy
                to explore this now backward and forward across
                                the road

                are some trees and a sunny glen over there
                I can spread the blanket wide and enjoy
                the meal I carry heavy on my back there
                right after I have crossed my hundred thousand children

                by one as they pop up to the side of the road, w-hupp, here’s
                                another one





Ashdown Forest wormhole: memorial
cars wormhole: municipal garden
grey wormhole: every step I take
roads wormhole: 1968
sun & trees wormhole: while
talking to myself wormhole: free
teaching wormhole: ‘let them slide off …’




, , , , , , , , , ,

                let me continue to pursue
                the uneventful but velvet life

                of running my eyes like a hand
                over railings fence-staves and hedges

                as I pass all manner of things
                free of having to build my own life




eyes wormhole: the goldilocks stance
hedge wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – … as the new town marches in
identity wormhole: inner / hegemony
living wormhole: every step I take
passing wormhole: the quiet whale
talking to myself wormhole: too greedy


inner / hegemony


, , , , , , , ,

                it is the spent
                of favour

                that I anchor
                to effort

                subliminally to render line

                all my inner





doing & identity wormhole: being / doing
samsara wormhole: child


being / doing


, , , , , , , , , , , ,

                the point is not in the
                      doing of things
                or in the not-doing of things or
                in doing things differently to my
                      greater good or shame

                it is not in the success or failure of
                      their being done
                or in the recognition or overlook
                      that I have done them

                it is not even in the virtue
                      or ignorance of what I do
                but in the being
                      while they are doing





being & doing wormhole: nothing doing is important / or worthy in itself
identity wormhole: divergent // direction
meaning wormhole: holiday
recognition wormhole: not / the Catcher




, , , , , , , , , , , , ,

                reading about John Lennon
                settling into New York after
                the split with the Beatles while

                the mist is hanging on the trees down the street
                and the sun is trying to burn through on the washing
                I’ve put on the line and drops

                hang regularly and irregularly
                from the telephone wires all
                through the medium of stacking planes





garden wormhole: municipal garden
mist wormhole: such such potential
sound wormhole: divergent // direction
streets wormhole: slow enough / to have love
sun wormhole: windows // and balconies
trees wormhole: where else