• 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: dedication

travel // when I die

02 Saturday Nov 2019

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

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Tags

2019, 7*, accountability, afterlife, afternoon, architecture, bardo, being, black, brick, brown, buildings, capitalism, century, clouds, crane, data, death, decades, dedication, depth, doing, echo, fields, floating, green, ground, Have, height, horizontal, identity, industry, interdependent origination, iteration, length, lintel, London, magenta, mind, notice, orange, passing, perspective, pillars, presence, purple, rain, rainbow, red, reference, ripple, rooftops, russian vine, samsara, sandstone, sapphire, self-cherishing, self-grasping, silence, sill, sky, sound, speech, Thames, thought, tide, time, train, travelling, trees, Uckfield-London line, utility, walls, white, world, writing

                                                                                travel

                                                                                noticing
                                                                at all is a product of
                                                                shifted perspective
                                                                related to behold;

                                                                when I’ve nothing to write
                                                                I’ve lost any perspective,
                                                                cornered by both these walls
                                                                I’ve walked along

                when I die
                this mind will no longer whorl about this pinchèd self
                in a world of diminished return and profusion of iteration

                                                                cranes atop
                                                                pulling them further up and up
                                                                from the ground on which they
                                                                balance on receding point;

                                                                communities of them
                                                                each taller than the last and the next
                                                                all along the wharfs
                                                                of endless account

                it will be expansive
                high and up in industrial and sandstone sky
                it will fathom all the deep of brown kelp in shifting purple

                                                                kilometres long
                                                                courses of brick
                                                                grimed black and utility-studded
                                                                updown onoff foothold and wire

                                                                ripple along nicely
                                                                across right-angled centuries
                                                                and occasional shot bolts
                                                                of deepest russian vine

                with no sound
                save diminishing echoes of a pleading late self
                having nothing left to refer to and nothing left to here, and

                                                                believe it or not
                                                                a rainbow exponential
                                                                to the white arch of Wembley
                                                                we’ll chase for miles

                                                                orange shimmering to
                                                                magenta through staccato tides
                                                                out and over flat roofs
                                                                on and into the fields

                all data wiped –
                suds off my hands from my shoulders –
                and did I back enough up for some grander vector to reach?

                                                                where trees grow from ground
                                                                shaping over decades
                                                                green-flamed cupolas
                                                                clamped to the sky

                                                                and from perspective passing
                                                                of open field
                                                                turn – creak –
                                                                the whole world

                I may well
                have built pillars of cleverness and thought:
                plinthed, fluted, capitaled and giddyingly architraved …

                                                                and there
                                                                Lancashire red brick
                                                                with high and whitey
                                                                sills stale and lintel

                                                                before washed-out
                                                                sapphire-afternoon of steely sky
                                                                and horizontal fingers of
                                                                scud-rain

                … but they’d just
                floated there upright in space ‘neither use nor ornament’
                straining on the string in my baby-fat hands, I’ve

                                never really
                                made stuff happen
                                and didn’t have to try

                                more than let more and more
                                of stuff happening anyway
                                happen through me

 

train trip; East Sussex to London to Lancaster to Ulverston, Cumbria; where we lived for three years and started a family; stay at Swarthmore Hall; visited Conishead Priory where we lived for 18 months after marriage and graduation; notes and observations on the journey, sense of bridging 32 years of lifetime(s); notes > (maybe) two poems, but two which could nevertheless not be separate, although distinct, like train tracks; three years retired, still processing if I achieved anything in this capitalist and samsaric world …; London centuries old, still processing …; architecture as the stage-scenary of endeavour; the ‘here’ in the 9th stanza is definitely (sic); this is, positive

 

 

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

afternoon & sky wormhole: The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J. Redford – Sky
architecture & thought wormhole: “And anger it is that lays in ruins / every kind of mental goodness.”
being wormhole: 11/1 by William Carlos Williams
black & sky wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – valley
brown & green & walls wormhole: The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J. Redford – The Valley
buildings & crane & rain & red & speech wormhole: riders of the night
capitalism wormhole: `whappn’d!
clouds wormhole: at Kreukenhof
death & identity wormhole: psssssh
doing wormhole: writening
echo & mind & passing & sound & time wormhole: – creak —
Have wormhole: on facing the Have
London wormhole: The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J. Redford – An Old Piano
orange wormhole: ‘don’t look at it …’
purple wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – I took my camera into the fields
rooftops wormhole: Great Bridge, Rouen, 1896
samsara & trees wormhole: breakfast
silence wormhole: window
Thames wormhole: London, 1809
train & travelling wormhole: beneath
Uckfield-London line wormhole: early // Minoan & Mycenaean Exhibitions in the British Museum – diptych
white wormhole: 10/22 by William Carlos Williams
world wormhole: none and all
writing wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – sooner; / and later

 

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Open – All – Ours

04 Saturday Feb 2017

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

2017, 8*, Bodhisattvacharyavatara, brown, buildings, clouds, dedication, echo, generation, identity, land, lifetimes, living, Mahayana, Open All Hours, pocket, punya, rain, Shantideva, sky, smile, stone, tectonic plates, true nature, work

                Open – All – Ours

                out across the vast land
                of all of my many lives

                what started as a stave-
                shack has long-since

                become a stone colossus
                wider than the sky in which

                my own clouds rain,
                with openings measureless

                to man and tectonic plates
                stacked up and arching

                in inconceivable echo;
                that’s where we all work,

                life after life, all by my-selves
                meticulously stocking up

                even anything so small,
                taking whole lifetimes

                sometimes to place a
                single smile in its right

                and proper place because
                you never know when it

                might come in handy;
                well, it’s a living; do you

                like my trusty brown
                overcoat – nice, deep

                pockets – comes with
                the job, been in my

                family now for so many
                generations now … once

                I catch up with myself

 

constructed out of Bodhicharyavatara, chapter three, verse ten, by Shantideva

 

 

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

brown wormhole: monument to vainglory
buildings wormhole: time
clouds wormhole: industrial estate
echo & sky wormhole: so pleased to see you again
identity & lifetimes wormhole: ‘never look up’?
living wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – agricultural show
rain wormhole: ah … // oh … // meanwhile … // … // tha ya ta …
smile wormhole: to allow / passage
stone wormhole: transmuted
work wormhole: neither nude nor / descending a staircase

 

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prayer to my self

04 Tuesday Aug 2015

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

2010, adjustment, anger, breath, care, career, dedication, discovery, dream, injustice, legacy, letting go, life, light, listening, moon, others, prayer, reputation, self, space, talking to myself, tragedy, vindication, work

 

 

 

                                prayer to my self

                                I had my stab at life – obdurate and rarefied –
                                I glimpsed the moon and captured its light
                                but nobody wanted it

                                let the tragedy go, let the injustice go
                                let the anger and indignation go
                                they are not the self

                                let the devastating ripostes before whole crowds go
                                let the overlooking and insignificance go
                                they are not the self

                                let the secret work and its Discovery – the Legacy – go
                                let the live-on-with-open-wounds-and-dejection go
                                let the career and the reputation go
                                they are all not the self

                                let there be the space from where all of this came
                                to let go and adjust, let there be the breath for new dreams
                                and the listening to declare, the pause for resolution
                                and the care to let go

 

 

 

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

breath wormhole: the Conqueror
career wormhole: the stance of Buscema // qualitatively
dedication wormhole: dedication
dream wormhole: dream 260713
letting go wormhole: lo
life wormhole: the endless acts of life
light wormhole: of a sudden // all the time
listening & talking to myself wormhole: the / very gradual art of sitting
moon wormhole: up here
others wormhole: good looking
space wormhole: fall
vindication wormhole: multifarious: the Dark Knight Returns (1986)
work wormhole: I do

 

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dedication

07 Tuesday Jul 2015

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

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Tags

2013, being, dedication, justice, letting go, openness, others, release, thinking, true nature

 

 

 

                                   dedication

                                   may I not try to teach
                                   and certainly not preach
                                   the most subtle trick of

                                   release from all thought
                                   that reaches for justice
                                   wherever you may be

                                   but rather let true nature
                                   be the open hand that
                                   holds what just is

 

 

 

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

being wormhole: corner of Plum Lane / Eglinton Hill and / Shrewsbury Lane
dedication wormhole: tag cloud poem V – draft-ness
justice wormhole: the pocket
letting go wormhole: travelling
openness wormhole: “King …”
others wormhole: my life / of others
thinking wormhole: for goodness’ sake

 

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tag cloud poem V – draft-ness

22 Tuesday Apr 2014

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

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Tags

1960s, 1970s, 2*, 2014, abandonment, America, being, Dad, dancing, Daredevil, dark, daughter, dawn, death, dedication, defeat, democracy, depression, desert, dialectic, discipline, disempowerment, distraction, divorce, dog, doing, doors, doubt, dream, dress, drips, dust, dwelling, identity, individualism, love, politics, poverty, tag cloud poem, wind, world

 

 

 

                                                                                                                Dad dancing daredevil
                                                                                                dark daughter dawn
                                                                                                                           DC death dedication

 

                                                                                 defeat democracy depression
                                                                                 desert dialectic discipline
                           disempowerment distraction divorce

 

dog doing        doors
                                                                              doubt dream dress
                                                                                              drips dust dwelling

 

 

 

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

abandonment & Dad wormhole: the sounds the difficulty and the long long strands of liquorice
being & identity & wind wormhole: the en-gentled / end of a wan / writing retreat
dancing wormhole: Do Nothing Usually / Take Everything Regularly / Consider It All Clearly / And Step Aside It Waltzingly
Daredvil wormhole: Daredevil: Born Again (1987)
daughter wormhole: t w e n t y f i r s t c e n t u r y l i f e
dawn wormhole: the library, / you know …
dedication wormhole: let
depression wormhole: really
disempowerment wormhole: I don’t think I could do it anymore
distraction wormhole: may the supreme and precious jewel bodhichitta … // … take birth where it has not yet done so … // … where it has taken birth may it not decrease … // … but may it increase infinitely
divorce wormhole: what to do
dog wormhole: … still waving!
doing wormhole: ‘til death do us part
doors wormhole: multifarious: the Dark Knight Returns (1986)
doubt wormhole: transition
dream wormhole: the edges of my reach
love & politics wormhole: just saying, is all – III
tag cloud poem wormhole: tag cloud poem IV – C
world wormhole: my life is not your market

 

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let

24 Wednesday Jul 2013

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

2011, 6*, being, dedication, doing, giving, letting go, smile

 

 

 

                                                              let

                                let the things happen
                                that I do by themselves

                                let me discover
                                the things that I do while they happen

                                let the use
                                of what I do be done by others

                                let the value
                                of what I do smile                quietly

 

 

 

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

being wormhole: here
dedication wormhole: brilliance
doing & letting go wormhole: stop
giving wormhole: for the good of all
smile wormhole: weddin’

 

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brilliance

17 Friday May 2013

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

2011, 4*, dedication, doing, giving, offer, recognition

 

 

 

                                          if I could offer
                                          brilliance

                                          without the weight
                                          of recognition

                                          what a bright
                                          light gift

                                          that would be
                                          to the world

 

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–
dedication & giving wormhole: dedication / prayer
doing wormhole: the / pyrrhic / play
recognition wormhole: preee- / senting // en- / senting

 

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dedication / prayer

26 Friday Apr 2013

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

2012, 7*, being, dedication, doing, giving, identity

 

 

 

                                                   dedication
                                                   prayer

                                   not in ambition
                                   not in despair

                                   but in the open
                                   centre of the

                                   universe ever
                                   revolving going

                                   nowhere which
                                   is both wholly truly

                                   and nothing to do with
                                   me

 

 

 

————w(O)rmholes________________________________|—–
being wormhole: the sea plant
dedication wormhole: vision-seeing-being
doing wormhole: thy will be done
giving wormhole: guru
identity wormhole: but there …

 

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vision-seeing-being

24 Friday Feb 2012

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

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Tags

2010, 4*, being, biography, dedication, growth, letting go, life, talking to myself, teaching, writing

 

 

 

                                     vision-seeing-being

rather than be the respected novelist or even short-story Writer
                                     I should write my poems and pieces
                                     as they come

rather than be a Pied Piper in teaching
                                     I should sit down and nudge and wink
                                     as a mentor

rather than be the Acclaimed Inspirator who steers the Great Ship
                                     like a biography
                                     I should be the anonymous infiltrator
                                     as I sit

there is a great relief in letting go of what I ought to be
                                     and great childhood dealing with
                                     what is left

 

 

 

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

being wormhole: distraction
dedication & life & talking to myself & teaching & writing wormhole: Dedication
letting go wormhole: 50 years old

 

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Dedication

24 Friday Feb 2012

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

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Tags

2008, 4*, death, dedication, growth, life, rain, talking to myself, teaching, windows, writing

 

 

 

       Dedication

   If I were to die now –
   someone else could collate my various writings into a whole
   I would have seen these rain drops cascade occasionally down the
       window
   I would have driven enough miles to take my kids to work
   I would have taught enough lessons to have touched someone softly
   I would have made LOVE to C enough to find her again
   I would have played with my children enough to give them space
   I would have folded clothes enough to reach the Old Man of
       Coniston
   I would have cooked enough meals to feed a small town
   I would have created enough powerpoints to see a point
   I would have washed enough dishes to eat safely
   I would have played enough games to smile
   I would have listened to enough children to breathe
   I would have read enough comics to wonder
   I would have written enough poems to notice
   I would have washed enough clothes to walk
   I would have seen enough films to pause
   I would have recycled enough to live a day
   I would have welled tears enough to love
   I would have exercised enough to hug
   I would have listened enough to talk
   I would have rubbed the back enough to sleep
   I would have flavoured enough to move a town
   I would have read enough to sympathise
   I would have cleaned enough to see
   I would have driven enough to rest
   I would have smiled enough to understand
   I would have written enough to create
   I would have walked enough to breathe
   I would have exercised enough to pull a lever
   I would have done enough to have a family
   I would have recited enough to cry
   I would have read enough to have possibilities
   I would have meditated enough to start
   I would have drank enough to open…

   but, oh, I’m still alive, I’m still alive

 

 

 

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

death wormhole: ‘I stepped on a twig …’
life & writing wormhole: fantasia
rain wormhole: text
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 …
talking to myself wormhole: shifting
windows wormhole: curtains open / in the evening

 

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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

recent leaks …

  • “…and may the great elements…”
  • paisley // implicitly
  • this pocketed being
  • the inevitable tock // when we close our eyes
  • time
  • the simple prayer // the tattered poem // the bitter lament
  • taking birth
  • mirror
  • long / road
  • ‘in my car I pass…’

Uncanny Tops

  • me
  • Moebius strip
  • YOUNG WOMAN AT A WINDOW by William Carlos Williams
  • 'in my car I pass...'
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  • like butterflies on / buddleia
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  • 'hello old friend ...'
  • under the blue and blue sky

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'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

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