• Bodhisattvacharyavatara
    • Introduction
    • Chapter 1
    • Chapter 2
    • Chapter 3
    • Chapter 4
    • Chapter 5
    • Chapter 6
    • Chapter 7
    • Chapter 8
    • Chapter 9
    • Chapter 10
  • collected works
    • 25th August 1981 – count Up
    • askance From Hell
    • Batman
    • The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J. Redford
    • Bob 1995-2012
    • Edward Hopper: Poems at an Exhibition
    • David Bowie Movements in Suite Major
    • Eglinton Hill
    • FLOORBOARDS
    • Granada
    • in and out / the Avebury stones / can’t seem to get / a signal …
    • Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters]
    • Miller’s Batman
    • mum
    • nan
    • Portsmouth – Southsea
    • Spring Warwick breezes / over Bacharach fieldwork and boroughs with / the occasional shift and chirp of David / in the pastel-long morning of the sixties
    • through the crash
  • index
    • #A-E see!
    • F–K, wha’ th’
    • L-P 33 1/3 rpm
    • Q-T pie
    • U-Z together forever
  • me
  • others
    • William Carlos Williams
  • poemics
  • poeviews
  • teaching matters
  • wormholes

mlewisredford

~ may the Supreme and Precious Jewel Bodhichitta take birth where it has not yet done so …

mlewisredford

Tag Archives: creation

here today and …

05 Sunday Jan 2020

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

'scape, 2019, 7*, being, Blake, breeze, clouds, creation, field, hedge, stillness, Totnes, tractors, trees, valley

                and are those clouds
                bent double in-Newton musculature

                poised in-dreadful calliper
                wide across the vale; no,

                no: the tractor makes field up
                in-possible way, and the breeze

                in-forms the trees constant
                even when still; and lo

                there is in-fill between hedge
                and row, here today and …

 

“…till we have built …”

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

being & valley wormhole: ‘not sure …’
breeze & clouds wormhole: ‘from the cathedral window two stories / high …’
field wormhole: 10/22 by William Carlos Williams
hedge wormhole: The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J. Redford – The Valley
stillness wormhole: eyes like petals
trees wormhole: looking hard enough

 

Rate this:

coterminalism – there is nothing happens by itself, / 070118

11 Tuesday Sep 2018

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

2018, 7*, being, blackberry, blue, Bodhisattvacharyavatara, bougainvillea, bread, breakfast, clouds, cooking, creation, hills, holiday, jam, Lanzarote, life, lunch, olive, rain, roundabout, sand, sky, study, table, valley, vegetables, villas, walking, wind

                coterminalism – there is nothing happens by itself,
                070118

                when blackberry jam is on the bread for breakfast
                there will be bougainvillea on the roundabout by lunch

                when the walk uphill is steep enough and windy
                the rainfall advances, but stays in the valley

                so that when walking through villas between showers
                there are always sand-blue clouds under deepening olive sky

                when you cook or prepare the vegetables right
                the paella is right the oval dish long

                when creation and study and life happen around the same table, there is                      
                being

 

Bodhisattvacharyavatara VI, 31 – everything is governed by other factors and nothing governs itself; anything which seems to stand out from this as independent is illusory [and usually desparate in some sort of way]

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

being & sky wormhole: THURSDAY by William Carlos Williams
blue & life & walking wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – both fawn and grey
clouds & holiday wormhole: we held cold hands
hills wormhole: that
olive wormhole: mauve
rain & valley wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – reaping
study wormhole: glancing up from the text / searching for ground …
table wormhole: I don’t need to go out / onto the balcony to see behind me / to know what’s going on
wind wormhole: JANUARY by William Carlos Williams

 

Rate this:

all // are // none

28 Thursday Jun 2018

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

2017, 8*, arrival, being, billow, Buddhas, creation, desert, doing, end, everything, gargantuan, journey, light, love, mountains, night, quote, reaching, samsara, start, suffering, true nature, tuning, waft, waiting, waves

                                all

                that Enlightened beings do
                is be, but without
                flinch, reach or

                conjuration; a wave-
                length with neither
                start nor end which

                tunes the few to their
                own true nature
                with neither start

                nor end, the basis
                both from and to
                which they might

                both journey and
                arrive; external light
                that caps the peaks

                of mountainous
                night lost in waft
                and billow;

                                are

                they on the edge of
                everything gargantuan
                and frightening in all

                their detailed beneficence,
                are they everything that
                gives me the nod and

                wink waiting for me
                to get it, are they in
                amongst us suffering

                the arrows that we
                sling all about in outrageous
                discontent, are they

                la porte etroite or the
                desert of love, are they
                always there for us,

                are they never there;
                they are none of these,
                they are all of these

                that we make them
                to be – light neither
                emanating nor pervading

 

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

being wormhole: all the low clouds keeping pace / through the train window, / always arriving, whether fast or / slow, but never actually moving
doing wormhole: I
light wormhole: so / do I keep on writing now I’ve retired, or … / Rumplestiltskin
love wormhole: ‘oh my girls and muse …’
night wormhole: transferring
samsara wormhole: inner / hegemony
waiting wormhole: Bexhill 140215
waves wormhole: and ‘naerrgh’ a mention of a seagull’s call

 

Rate this:

Sheffield Park Gardens

16 Friday Feb 2018

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

2016, 9*, air, black, blue, bluebells, branches, Buddha, Carol, children, contemplation, copper beech, creation, daffodil, dandelions, discovery, duck, eyebrow, face, family, fields, flag, future, garden, gem, girls, glance, green, hair, Have, humanity, India, kalpa, lake, land, life, limbs, living, mauve, May, name, passing, petals, plants, pollen, primrose, promise, rhododendron, seeing, serendipity, settlement, shade, Sheffield Park Gardens, sitting, society, stone-chat, talking to myself, transluscency, tribe, voices, walking, water, yellow

                Sheffield Park Gardens

                we walked
                upright
                across wide fields

                in scattered groups,
                family and tribe,
                private longing

                under shaded
                brim for a land
                of silk and money

                8th May 2016, with

                only childrens’ voices
                we walked into
                the garden

                dispersing to
                our hides to make our own
                discoveries

                by happenstance
                and peripheral glance
                held cold and fresh

                before name:
                that stone-chat
                that makes the

                copper beech
                transluscent;
                the cool stretch of branch

                yet to bud
                before the haze
                of dusty pollen;

                what to make
                of the solitary dandelion –
                butter yellow life –

                amid
                fain clusters of primrose; and
                there in the shade,

                mauve-bells and
                daffodil stalks make in-
                visible a steely blue;

                bluebells
                like raised eyebrows, relaxèd
                to see a future;

adult voices pass, now, talking ways of life; young girls practise handstands and routines in the fields;                

                let’s sit by the lake awhile:
                where a duck’s
                head

                sits
                just out the shade of exotic plants
                (let’s say, from India)

                the water lapping
                anywhere (let’s say, oh,
                 two thousand

                 five hundred
                 years ago), tucked
                immaculate

                black
                letting nothing out
                but the feint

                of blue
                or green that will form a gem
                in kalpas

                of contemplation;
                across the water a willow rests
                like a flag

                (girl’s hair
                 recovers from each upswing from each
                 hand-stand);

                turning home
                Carol stooped
                to smell the rhododendron flower

                “oh, …”

                pushed her face
                into the petals with lust
                was it

                because I’d
                said the branches
                were an orgy of slippy limbs

                or was it just me
                making things up
                as we walked along?

 

I know, I know, it’s mid February, and the poem was written and set in a May; it’s not seasonally right, but this was the next in line to be printed: them’s the chops …

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

air wormhole: Batgirl –
black & blue & Carol & passing wormhole: travelling // arrival
branches & voices wormhole: Plumstead – Woolwich – Plumstead 220211
Buddha wormhole: om muni muni maha muniye soha
family wormhole: out
garden wormhole: slightly / uphill
green wormhole: The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J Redford – Working
hair wormhole: two profiles
Have wormhole: Coleton Fishacre
life wormhole: sweet chestnut
living wormhole: ‘still …’
mauve wormhole: snapshots about Totnes
seeing wormhole: glide
sitting wormhole: amid
society wormhole: green and / luminant / to behold
talking to myself wormhole: ‘God, who am I …?’
walking wormhole: loss
water wormhole: without any buffet at all
yellow wormhole: greedy

 

Rate this:

seen but not heard

27 Monday Mar 2017

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

2013, 3*, career, children, creation, identity, managerialism, sidelined, teaching, thought

                                seen but not heard

                I expected to participate and share
                in the discussion and very endeavour
                to which I had offered my thought and creation

                not side-lined off somewhere
                out of the way of the grown-ups
                and told I was valued only if I whinged enough

 

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

career & identity & managerialism wormhole: retirement
thought wormhole: comfy

 

Rate this:

cut while you’re ahead/cut while you’re a thread – poewieview #35

13 Tuesday Sep 2016

Posted by m lewis redford in poems, poeviews

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

1971, 2016, 6*, becoming, being, Bowie, creation, death, dress, found, hidden, history, identity, life, possibility, quotidian, searching, society, story, thread, time, voices, wardrobe, words, writing

            cut while you’re ahead/cut while you’re a thread

            in all ongoing history, queasy quotidian iteration,
            of all the plaited threads, this particular will always

            splay without of the weave; strangely aligned with
            aquiline possibility ‘leave them alone and they’ll

            come home’ transgressive tales behind them,
            all dressed-up in words with open collars throaty

            upon a time improbable, hidden in plane site,
            hiding in plain sight but easiest found in wardrobes

 

outertextual in The Bewlay Brothers from 1971; there are more from here, but not now …

Read the collected movements in David Bowie: Movements in Suite Major

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

being & identity wormhole: [once a] dilemminal [always a dilemminal]
Bowie & death wormhole: through the pane – poewieview #34
history & voices wormhole: and smile / like a bud
life & society wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – … as the new town marches in
searching wormhole: chartless …
time wormhole: The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J Redford – A Sign of the Times
words wormhole: poessay III: jijimuge
writing wormhole: AT-tennnnnnnn – waitfrit waitfrit – SHUN!

 

Rate this:

Elektra

15 Friday Jul 2016

Posted by m lewis redford in poems, poeviews

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

1986, 2015, architecture, being, Bill Sienkiewicz, blue, breeze, creation, Elektra, fall, father, Frank Miller, green, grey, grin, growth, guru, identity, infrastructure, inheritance, institution, life, mother, shame, skin, slate, smile, sound, thought, woman, world

                                                                                    Elektra

                                spidery fronds shidder in the
                                green breeze; the father is shot

                                impotent on his own boat the
                                mother is shot to birth; this is

                                important; looking strangely
                                like my creator I inherit the

                                shame of the father’s life, I
                                inherit the life of my mother;

                                responsible to neither, formed
                                by both; I have inherited

                                nothing, grown to reconcile
                                in a hundred different ways

                we

                                are institutionalised to the
                                very skin of our being by

                                the grin of care that keeps
                                us innocent and pure; that

                                paternal smile that gives no
                                light or warmth, rictus-like

                                everywhere in the infrastructure
                                and architecture (you took care

                                out from me, poppa,
                                and I never really spoke again)

                                stuck in the slate-grey
                                world of green and sickly

                                blue; I learn that I need to grow
                                and I find someone who

                                beats the father and the
                                mother from me with a stick –

                                it hurts, but it finally breaks me
                                when I learn to just
                                                         fall
                                                         by
                                                         my
                                                         self
                                                         with
                                                         no
                                                         safe
                                                         ty, no
                                                         iden
                                                         tity

 

from the 1st issue of Elektra: Assassin, 1986, by Frank Miller & Bill Sienkiewicz

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

architecture wormhole: inbreath
being wormhole: substance
blue & grey wormhole: El Palacio, 1946
breeze & green & mother & sound & thought wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] by Mark L. Redford – moment
father wormhole: 1968
identity wormhole: ashramas
life wormhole: the figure “46” / in frosted glass
smile wormhole: between thoughts
woman wormhole: Hotel Room, 1931
world wormhole: the / bright yellow / world

 

Rate this:

dry rot

10 Tuesday May 2016

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

2012, anger, breakdown, broken, care, career, creation, culture, decision, disregard, giving, growth, illness, management, managerialism, resentment, speech, survival, teaching, thought, work

 

 

 

                                dry rot

                                still

                resentment sets in
                                I go to work anyway
                but the resentment is always there
                                I create resources I mark books
                                I teach lessons
                but the resentment is always there
                                I do my fucking duty
                                I do an extra parent’s evening
                but the resentment is always there
                                some manager asks how I am
                                I tell them I survive
                                              (but I don’t tell them
                                               I don’t thrive –
                                               `not quick enough)
                but the resentment is always there

                I offered my thought
                               my creation
                               my care
                because I nurtured growth
                              I cultured way
                              I wanted to give

                                AND YOU PAUSED
                IN YOUR BUSY-NESS AND PRESSURE
                JUST LONG ENOUGH TO GET ON
                                WITH YOUR BUSINESS AND PRESSURE TO COMPENSATE THE OH, SO, ANXIETY OF
                                MAKING THOSE TOUGH DECISIONS FOR THE SAKE OF PROGRESS (PROFIT?)
                                TO OVERLOOK

                                what I continue to think
                                what is still on the table
                                              unopened
                                but which has lost the will
                                              to project anymore

                                              you

                                              make

                                              me

                                              sick

                you made me sick
                                you created a sick teacher
                even while I attend each day
                                for the sake of absence management
                even while I create and mark
                                for the sake of growth
                even while I sit through a meeting
                                which dribbles on about ‘good to outstanding’ until it is running down your neck
                still the resentment is always there
                                sticky invisible and malignant

 

I know: we’ve heard it all before; just indulge this little toddler for a little while longer, will you; it has only slightly altered since I wrote it a good four years ago, like being in a boat on the sea, buffeted and brûlée’d, looking for where the sky becomes screen and the prow rips through it (c’mon, film buffs, what am I talking about?)

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

breakdown & management wormhole: Dear Sir/Madam,
career wormhole: need
giving wormhole: tong len / the inauguration of another – timely – butter fly effect / taking and giving
managerialism wormhole: what I am about to say is true / what I just said was a lie
speech wormhole: fine
teaching wormhole: aghh – we’ve been infected / it’s spreading through the system / we’re losing our files … / it’s taken out the processor … / I, I can’t open with this program anymore … / it’s scanning me – / I’ve got to buy a Virus Protection Program / from it …
thought wormhole: the both passive and transitive / non-presumptive pre-conceptualist attenuation of being
work wormhole: work

 

Rate this:

the practice

17 Tuesday Nov 2015

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

2013, being, creation, defining, discernment, emergence, emptiness, environment, gaze, groundlessness, identity, practice, simplicity, sitting, space, watching, wonder

 

 

 

                                              the practice

                                to emerging
                ever more openingly and simply
                                and only

                                into the very
                environment that in-fines the very sitting
                                and the very

                                being that I
                define as me both sitting and being but
                                really gazing

                                straight at
                and into the very space that allows those
                                definitions

                                to discern
                themselves in the first place at all and just
                                watch the

                                endless
                creations that compulsively wonder away and around
                                oblivious

                                from the emp-
                tiness searching both for land and identity
                                unnecessarily

 

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–

being wormhole: zazen
emergence & sitting wormhole: sooner or later
emptiness wormhole: enough
groundlessness wormhole: addicted / compulsive / identity
identity wormhole: I survived
practice wormhole: offer the victory and accept the defeat
space wormhole: prayer to my self

 

Rate this:

… Mark; remember …

"... the impulse to keep to yourself what you have learned is not only shameful; it is destructive. Anything you do not give freely and abundantly becomes lost to you. You open your safe to find ashes." ~ Annie Dillard

pages coagulating like yogurt

  • Bodhisattvacharyavatara
    • Chapter 1
    • Chapter 10
    • Chapter 2
    • Chapter 3
    • Chapter 4
    • Chapter 5
    • Chapter 6
    • Chapter 7
    • Chapter 8
    • Chapter 9
    • Introduction
  • collected works
    • 25th August 1981 – count Up
    • askance From Hell
    • Batman
    • Bob 1995-2012
    • David Bowie Movements in Suite Major
    • Edward Hopper: Poems at an Exhibition
    • Eglinton Hill
    • FLOORBOARDS
    • Granada
    • in and out / the Avebury stones / can’t seem to get / a signal …
    • Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters]
    • Miller’s Batman
    • mum
    • nan
    • Portsmouth – Southsea
    • Spring Warwick breezes / over Bacharach fieldwork and boroughs with / the occasional shift and chirp of David / in the pastel-long morning of the sixties
    • The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J. Redford
    • through the crash
  • index
    • #A-E see!
    • F–K, wha’ th’
    • L-P 33 1/3 rpm
    • Q-T pie
    • U-Z together forever
  • me
  • others
  • poemics
  • poeviews
  • teaching matters
  • William Carlos Williams
  • wormholes

recent leaks …

  • ‘the practice …’
  • under the blue and blue sky
  • sweet chestnut
  • ‘she shook the sweets …’
  • YOUNG WOMAN AT A WINDOW by William Carlos Williams
  • meanwhile
  • a far grander / Sangha
  • Bodhisattvacharyavatara: Chapter VII, Joyous Effort – verse 8; reflectionary
  • Bodhisattvacharyavatara: Chapter VII, Joyous Effort – verse 7; reflectionary
  • Bodhisattvacharyavatara: Chapter VII, Joyous Effort – verse 6; reflectionary & verses 3-6 embroidery

Uncanny Tops

  • Moebius strip
  • me
  • YOUNG WOMAN AT A WINDOW by William Carlos Williams
  • 'I can write ...'
  • meanwhile
  • like butterflies on / buddleia
  • covert being
  • 'hello old friend ...'
  • start where you are I
  • others

category sky

announcements awards embroidery poems poeviews reflectionary teaching

tag skyline

'scape 2* 3* 4* 5* 6* 7* 8* 20th century 1967 1979 1980 2008 2009 2010 2011 2012 2013 2014 2015 2016 2017 2018 2019 acceptance afternoon air Allen Ginsberg anxiety architecture arm in arm attention awareness Batman beach beauty bedroom being birds birdsong black blue Bodhisattvacharyavatara books Bowie branches breakdown breathing breeze brown Buddha buildings career Carol cars change child childhood children city clouds coffee shop colour combe end comics communication compassion compromise crane creativity curtains dancing dark death distraction divorce doing doors dream Dr Strange earth echo Edward Hopper Eglinton Hill emergence emptiness evening eyes faces family father feet field floorboards garden Genesta Road girl giving glass gold grass green grey growth haiku hair hands Have hedge hill hills history holiday hope horizon house houses identity kitchen leaf leaves lemon letting go life lifetimes light lime listening living London looking lost love management managerialism mauve meaning mind mist moon morning mother mouth movement Mum muse music night notice open openness orange others park passing pavement people performance management pink Plumstead poetry pointlessness politics portrait posture power practice professionalism purple purpose quiet rain reaching reading realisation reality red requires chewing river roads roof rooftops samsara sea searching seeing settling shadow shops silence silhouette silver sitting sky skyline sleep smell smile snow society sound space speech step stone streetlight streets sun sunlight superhero table talking talking to myself teaching teaching craft Thames thinking thought time train travelling trees true nature university voices walking walls water waves white William Carlos Williams wind windows wood Woolwich words work world writing years yellow zazen

Enter your email address to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Join 1,839 other followers

... just browsing

  • 45,884 what th'-s

I wander around after this lot a lot …

m’peeps who notice I exist

these things I liked …

A WordPress.com Website.

Autumn Sky Poetry Daily

a poem each day

Buddhist Quote for the day

Nirvana Is The Highest Bliss - Buddha

Dechen Foundation Books

Print and eBooks for Tibetan Buddhism

Unquiet World

Things from an unquiet mind

Sprach-Musik-Kunst

may the Supreme and Precious Jewel Bodhichitta take birth where it has not yet done so ...

DHARMA

Om Ah Hung

Word Play

Poems by Holly Lofgreen

Buddha Within

The Teachings of Lama Shenpen Hookham

popcultureocd.wordpress.com/

AMPTON

Tintin, essays, and a hearty helping of criticism

Amitabha Path

Inspiration on the Vajrayana Path (if words too small, set browser to magnify to 125%)

blogabydotcom

Snapshots of remarkably unremarkable things and other discoveries.

Cancel

 
Loading Comments...
Comment
    ×
    Privacy & Cookies: This site uses cookies. By continuing to use this website, you agree to their use.
    To find out more, including how to control cookies, see here: Cookie Policy