• Bodhisattvacharyavatara
    • Introduction
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    • Chapter 2
    • Chapter 3
    • Chapter 4
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    • Chapter 6
    • Chapter 7
    • Chapter 8
    • Chapter 9
    • Chapter 10
  • collected works
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    • askance From Hell
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    • David Bowie Movements in Suite Major
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    • in and out / the Avebury stones / can’t seem to get / a signal …
    • Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters]
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mlewisredford

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

mlewisredford

Tag Archives: dandelions

Sheffield Park Gardens

16 Friday Feb 2018

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

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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

 

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Totnes

29 Friday May 2015

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

2015, arrival, being, career, communication, dandelions, dog, drawing, feet, identity, lifetimes, living, looking, meaning, muse, others, passing, pattern, pink, pointlessness, portrait, ripple, river, society, sound, talking, teaching, tide, Totnes, travelling, value-bled education, value-led education, values, work

 

 

 

                                                              Totnes

                                talk
the 250 miles long about the work and the communication done –
                done – thud! – with balls on the table –
                                and working with value
                                              and never the twain shall meet
                                                              with all the crack of void amid

                                hah!
                I tried to navigate between value-bled and value-led teaching
and can only work part time now –
                                splintered work from life

                                but
                you have to stick to the A roads
                                whether they are by-passed or not
                                              and eventually you have
                                                              to arrive
                and watch the dandelion stems by the river
                                is it out or coming in …?

                                I think
                                I learnt
to let lives be and not disturb the ripples
                                but all along
                I didn’t realise the ripples have no pattern –
dogs on the quay wag one end pant the other
                look up river look down
                                then sit
                                panting

                                I thought
                to read the ripples, tell their hidden story
                                for all the world to see
                                              (for all the world to flow)
                but I didn’t realise all the while the ripples have no pattern
like the heh-heh-hrr-hr conversations
                                from the spreading terrace of the
                                              Steam Packet Inn

                                              ~O~~~

                                now
                there’s a dude with tattoos, vest (and
                                is that a joint?) finished work, she takes a call nahh!
                                              lays down
                and the most beautiful pink
                                soles ‘n’ toes
                                suns rise
                behind topless dandelions
                                              (in the next life
                                               she will sit up and sketch intricately
                                               to the right and just below centre of the next page
                                               of her notebook)

 

(short break from work over a bank holiday, to Totnes in Devon with Carol to see Elizabeth – the medicine of travel)

 

 

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

being & feet & travelling wormhole: [start where you are III] – delve
career & talking wormhole: Trinity Arts
dog wormhole: 1959 –– MANHATTAN –– 2012
identity & looking & others wormhole: lifetime
living wormhole: (another / gulp of air)
meaning wormhole: addicted / compulsive / identity
muse wormhole: ambling around / the garden centre
passing wormhole: prologue-ing
ponk wormhole: hot summer / morning
pointlessness wormhole: mass
river wormhole: the 20th century
society wormhole: up here
sound wormhole: 1963
teaching wormhole: gazing at the night / as my eyes passed the jagged hole / my head disappeared
value-led education wormhole: poessay IX – … just saying, is all II
values wormhole: breathe it all / in
work wormhole: To my Mum

 

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… 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

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Uncanny Tops

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