taking birth

Tags

2022, 7*, being, birth, Bodhichitta, Bodhisattvacharyavatara, clouds, compassion, identity, ignorance, jewel, knowledge, landscape, lifetimes, light, lightning, lost, mind, mirror, mist, mother sentient beings, opening, perspective, self-cherishing, self-grasping, shadow, Shantideva, sky, sun, young

                taking birth

        there is
        the mind which cracks within the belly
        of darkest clouds

        throws relief to the landscape
        and populace of the
        whole of sky

        if I could but turn
        just 90˚ from my thin and lonely
        trajectory

        and open
        so much more to just this tempered niche
        of knowledge

        that I could both mirror and shadow
        every fluorescence even before and awhile
        it contrasted

        I’d be young
        that I have long lost and mist
        while evolving this sclerotic eye

        and then
        there’d be sun,
        all my endless malapropriations burnished

        and faceted to a tiny étincelant Indra-jewel
        glinting all direction
        within every perspective respective

…responsive over reactive; effulgent over productive;
avenue’d over viewed; abundant over possessed; dispelled over horded;
homeopathic over pathologic; being over mirror; caught over fallen;
the hand that scratches the foot; not-finished-yet over finished…

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

being & identity & mirror wormhole: mirror
clouds wormhole: Journey
compassion wormhole: ‘the practice…’
lifetimes wormhole: in deed
light & shadow wormhole: silence
lightning wormhole: ‘she shook the sweets …’
mind wormhole: travel // when I die
mist wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – sooner; / and later
Shantideva wormhole: where it has taken birth / may it not decrease …
sky & sun wormhole: ‘in my car I pass…’

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under the blue and blue sky

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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

 

Fishermen at Sea, 1796

Tags

1796, 2019, 6*, being, birdcall, chaos, clouds, direction, ears, fishing, groundlessness, horizon, identity, ink, lost, moon, night, sea, seagull, shore, society, thought, violence, water, William Turner

                only distant shores were lighter
                under the slight horizon

                but hung with plans foreboding
                dark within the ears; we

                rise, we fall, and the water
                would be ink of the deepest thought

                but the violence of no repose,
                and our footing will soon be lost

                before we make a catch
                of chaos; galactic fingers part

                from the moon, gulls hurl a-swear
                in three directions, and we are

                in swollen nowhere, depicted
                solely by silvery highlight

 

fetched from the swell of Fishermen at Sea, 1796; (The Cholmeley Sea Piece); William Turner

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

being wormhole: pediment to behold
clouds wormhole: London, 1809
groundlessness wormhole: sun setting over a lake, 1840
horizon wormhole: La Route, Effet d’Hiver, 1872
identity wormhole: on facing the Have
moon wormhole: ‘streetsigns …’
night wormhole: ‘… and yet I think I am so modest: …’
sea wormhole: we held cold hands
seagull wormhole: where did the silence go
society wormhole: pursued
thought wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – pageant of the trees
water wormhole: YOUNG SYCAMORE by William Carlos Williams

 

hold them

Tags

2016, 5*, letting go, looking, lost, love, notice, observation, searching, wonder

                the tiny observations
                the hope for things to find

                are just as quickly lost as noticed

                without the love and
                wonder to hold them

 

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

letting go & looking & love wormhole: with all love released
searching wormhole: next unexpected step

 

with all love released

Tags

2016, 8*, air, anatta, birdcall, blue, breathing, Buddha, change, civilisation, dark, earth, echo, finding, glow, groundlessness, impermanence, inspiration, karma, letting go, looking, lost, love, purple, red, shadow, shelf, time

                I still look for you on the
                shelves and by the way

                head tilted to one side
                feeling in the shadows

                under foliage between
                stems for something lost

                shining darkly red
                pushing up through

                purple earth – fold of
                blue shadow – I knew

                you’d be here somewhere
                without remembering

                where I’d let you go,
                mutated through cycle

                as wax will wane; and
                I know when I find you

                I’ll notice the glow
                where it shouldn’t be

                obvious when discovered –
                I knew it! – but now

                my daylight groping is
                done; I have found no

                ground to stand on
                I must let you go again,

                my friends, and face
                the only task … alone

                I could track back
                through centuries of

                millennia and tectonic
                inch and breathe the

                same air, amid forming
                civilisations, the only

                air replenishable, as
                the man who strolled

                through parklands and
                birdcall, all possible

                echoes collapsed, and
                I could breathe that

                same heir both in and
                out with diminishing

                return dispersing the
                hanging proliferation of

                ténèbres hautes and
                redoubtable as they may

                seem, as known as I
                am not, with all love released

 

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

air & Buddha wormhole: Sheffield Park Gardens
blue & time wormhole: and ‘naerrgh’ a mention of a seagull’s call
breathing & letting go wormhole: travelling // arrival
change wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – reaping
echo wormhole: looking / ridiculous
groundlessness wormhole: 1964
looking wormhole: between
love wormhole: cinnamon / milkshake
purple wormhole: the silent night of the Batman
red wormhole: and // do your ears burn red?
shadow wormhole: low afternoon

 

immeasurable love

Tags

2014, 5*, coffee shop, eyes, hair, Haywards Heath, identity, lost, love, mauve, portrait, table, texting

 

                immeasurable love

                thumbs texting (in her lap under
                the table at a terrace) like
                an old knitting machine,
‘I-am-at-the-coffee-shop?-I-have-too-much-make-up-on-and-my-hair-has-a-mauve-tint-but-is-dreddy-round-the-roots-and-I-don’t-know-where-I-am’
                                                                she sends and looks up
                                                                through make-up eyes
                                                                which say, ‘please come
                                                                and get me’

 

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

coffee shop wormhole: in the Java ‘n’ Jazz
eyes wormhole: is there anything to write?
hair wormhole: place
Haywards Heath wormhole: on
identity & table wormhole: at table 21 in the garden centre thinking to / replicate Hughes’ exercise for Plath about / the Yew Tree
love wormhole: all the sandstone / reflections in the / marble-blue troughs
mauve wormhole: landscape of cloud over London / with differing depths of grey

 

‘God, who am I …?’

Tags

2014, 20th century, 7*, distance, faces, girls, history, horizon, identity, library, lost, madness, motion, Nightmare, presence, progress, reading, sitting, sun, sunlight, Sylvia Plath, talking to myself, TH Huxley, thought

picked over, cajoled, placed this way and that, gazed at the upper corner of the room, and eventually written from entry 33. of The Journals of Sylvia Plath, 1950-1962; Plath wrote this, I merely … Plath wrote this, but the failure is mine, all mine, I tellsya!

                God, who am I?
                I sit in the library tonight
                the lights whirring
                girls everywhere
                reading books
                faces

                And I sit here without identity
                There is history to comprehend
                before I sleep

                Yet back at the house
                there is my room
                full of my presence
                There is my date this weekend:
                believes I am human –
                only indication that I am whole
                not merely a knot
                without identity –

                I’m lost!
                Huxley would have laughed
                What a conditioning this is!
                Hundreds of faces
                beating time along the edge of thought

                a nightmare
                no sun
                only continual motion
                If I rest inward
                I go mad

                There is so much
                in different directions
                pulled thin
                against horizons too distant to reach

                To stop with the German tribes
                and rest awhile: but no!
                On, on, on, through ages of empires
                ceaseless pace
                Will I never rest in sunlight again?

 

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

20th century wormhole: 20th century
faces wormhole: jump start
history wormhole: tragic and archival
horizon wormhole: twilight / and parasols down / within minutes
identity wormhole: between
reading wormhole: reating & wriding
sitting wormhole: all the sandstone / reflections in the / marble-blue troughs
sun & Sylvia Plath wormhole: concordance
talking to myself wormhole: a nice grey woollen picnic blanket
thought wormhole: divergent // direction

 

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

Tags

2013, 5*, anticipation, belonging, books, cleaning, courage, identity, letting go, living, lost, recognition, sitting, space, voices, waiting, world

                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

 

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

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

 

wasted –

Tags

2013, 3*, being, doing, living, lost, sea, waste, waves

                                day spent
                                doing my
                                own thing
                day spent doing things for others, both

                                wasted –
                                I was not
                                there –
                lost in the shallows of the sea along the flat shoreline

 

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

being wormhole: nothing significant
doing wormhole: Salisbury Cathedral // suspended in everything
living wormhole: in the / Citadel / Park / a leaf / new / ly fell
sea wormhole: chartless …
waves wormhole: the bench

 

in the / Citadel / Park / a leaf / new / ly fell

Tags

'scape, 2013, 8*, attention, Belgium, block, breeze, circular poem, clouds, Ghent, leaf, living, looking, lost, notice, park, path, preoccupied, reaching, searching, seeing, settling, shops, sitting, trees, undergrowth, writing

 

 

 

                                              stuck
                         lost and                         for  something
            preoccupied                                  to write
             and shops                                         I am
            past trees                                             usually plagued
             as I drift                                               by clustered
  I am looking at                                 in the belly-heavy
to see everything                                         Citadel
            stopping me                                  rainclouds Park
        my subconscious                         idling                     a leaf
                                            through                                           new
                                                                              ly fell to                         for the
                                                                        the path                                    constant search
                                                                 the breeze                                           reach for the
                                                     worries the top                                                 more to
                                                          of the trees                                                     deal with
                                                          constantly                                                       more to
                                                          but lets the                                                     they have
                                                        undergrowth                                                  it seems
                                                              settle itself                                             when they reach                                
                                                               comfortably                                      it’s only
                                                                         into its seat                         unnoticed
                                                                                                 alert and

 

 

 

^{————w}(O)rmholes_________________________________|—–

attention & looking wormhole: Day Out
breeze & clouds & seeing wormhole: weight
circular poem & sitting wormhole: wakeoutofadream
living wormhole: nothing significant
park & path wormhole: the bench
searching wormhole: that comicbookshop … // … in dreams
settling wormhole: six paramitas
shops wormhole: time travel
trees wormhole: within
writing wormhole: Virginia