• 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: reaching

sweet chestnut

29 Tuesday Sep 2020

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

≈ 12 Comments

Tags

2015, 6*, ageing, air, being, buttress, chestnut tree, compromise, earth, generations, grass, growth, identity, leaf, letting go, life, reaching, time, trees, trunk

                     sweet chestnut

                     I have
                     long
                     since
                shifted the earth apart
                imperceptible for grass to grow,
                now, unknowing, so new;

                     I have
                     forgotten
                what it’s like to emerge
                without design, and have
                grown buttresses for so long
                they have twisted to comprise;

                     the trunk
                     of upward
                     direction
                that I reach from
                aimlessly with diminishing wisdom
                to a top leaf shifting

                     this way
                     and that
                     between air

 

{there is some anger and sulk that I do not write anymore: not sure if I couldn’t keep up the hi-octane perception or that ‘I was only seeking attention’ explains it all; I still don’t know, but maybe I don’t need to hold such stoic upper lips about it all, arms crossed, turned away; maybe just a bit of compassion wafting this way and that …}

 

 

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

air wormhole: ‘from the cathedral window two stories / high …’
being wormhole: silence
compromise & letting go wormhole: poessay XI – piquant love
grass wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – sooner; / and later
identity wormhole: a far grander / Sangha
life wormhole: looking hard enough
time wormhole: ‘she shook the sweets …’
trees wormhole: ‘and is there homage …’

 

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breakfast

10 Tuesday Sep 2019

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

2019, 7*, blindness, blogging, branches, breakfast, breathing, canopy, coffee, dark, echo, energy, eyes, flash, gooseberry, ground, growth, jam, leaves, life, light, living, monkey, path, reaching, reading, samsara, seeing, shadow, sound, sunlight, toast, trees, walking, way, wind, woodland

                breakfast

                these shadows on a long walk
                through the woodland with only occasional sun

                all there, underneath the undergrowth
                cannot see the ground, the stems that grow from it

                branches reach, leaves envelope everywhere
                from nowhere; weave

                and grow round and entwine each other;
                if I lift the leaves to see my way forward –

                searching for light, searching for life
                to grow, to continue – and if I break the smaller branches to

                make way
                I will scratch my arms, sap will sting my skin, my

                eyes, I cannot see, I cannot see;
                and I won’t see; some trees

                are quicker and older (than me)
                they hold the path and reach wide,

                and creepers make them fat
                and vines hang like curtains of water;

                the canopy above, maximised
                to greatest energy, sent back down through rough wires;

                only when the wind leans
                or a monkey leaps, is there a flash of light, gone by the

                time I’ve looked back down to the path
                blinded, to see where I am

                there must be so much light somewhere
                out there, if only I weren’t stumbling around and bleeding

                … really; I come downstairs
                and breathe coffee and spiced home – made gooseberry jam on home – made toast                           

                while reading my posts … yes,
                a thousand hacks and sap in the dark

                where I cannot see
                and cannot know where I am

                a thousand ‘choks’ deferred
                the undergrowth too dense to echo

 

Bodhisattvacharyavatara chapter VI, verse 12: How can I attain happiness when the causes for happiness are obtained only through great effort and very rarely, and when the seeds­ of pain and sorrow are so prevalent, relentless and multifarious that they are realised easily and without any effort? And yet it is only from suffering that the thought and longing for escape and liberation from the suffering of conditioned existence will come about … therefore, O my deepest mind, hold yourself strong, patient, steadfast!

 

 

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

branches & breathing wormhole: blue sky high
coffee wormhole: green and / luminant / to behold
echo & path & walking wormhole: the Bodhisattva set out / for the Seat of Awakening
eyes & life wormhole: eyes like petals
leaves & living wormhole: everything is caused by something, which / something is caused by something else, nothing / stands alone where all pass as phantoms
light & trees wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – sooner; / and later
reading wormhole: {reading right to left}
samsara & sound wormhole: at Kreukenhof
seeing wormhole: A Solitude by Denise Levertov
shadow wormhole: alabaster balustrade
wind wormhole: The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J. Redford – The Valley

 

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the reach turned to love

14 Thursday Mar 2019

Posted by m lewis redford in poems, reflectionary

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

2018, 20th century, 7*, breathing, childhood, Dad, doing, growth, identity, letting go, love, question, reaching, role, secret, self-confidence, society, space, speech, superhero, walls, world

                told that he was the man of the house now
                he felt he had to do something; when the

                engine was turned off, and being in the front
                seat, he said “Daddy, can’t you just come back

                home” and didn’t hear that it’s not as simple
                as that because: he’d asked the adult question,

                took responsibility (how it works…); this
                is what Dads should not do, they should

                come back because they are Dads; why
                does this have to happen to us; and ten years

                being a be-cowled and frustrated superhero
                in a world where things just happen secretly,

                he wondered (does it work); there was something
                wrong, there are somethings wrong, in the world,

                and there was definitely something wrong with
                this 20th century, I am not sure there is a Man

                of the House to be – the wall just sticks to my
                foot when I swing to kick, my lungs are already

                full when I breathe           –           and           there
                is                      no                     space; for

                fifty years I have built this world toxic to my
                sense of worth and undermined to my sense

                of identity; there is nothing fruitful with
                discontent in my heart as long as I cannot

                step outside to see that it is not just about me;
                the hurt which reaches for vindication must

                release, the reach turned to love

 

supporating out of Bodhisattvacharyavatara Chapter VI – verse 10 … (when adversity strikes), if anything can be done about it what is the point in getting upset about it; if nothing can be done about it what is the point in getting upset about it.

 

 

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

20th century wormhole: tram
breathing & speech wormhole: prose piece 2 from POEMS 1927 by William Carlos Williams
childhood wormhole: La Route, Effet d’Hiver, 1872
Dad wormhole: to rescue something
doing wormhole: Hastings: neither all or nothing
identity & love & walls wormhole: …zzh-vvttP*–… … …
letting go wormhole: it’s / not what you do or what you say / if it ain’t got that swing
society & world wormhole: faulteous beings
space wormhole: horizon
superhero wormhole: glamour of saṃsāra

 

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Hastings: neither all or nothing

07 Thursday Feb 2019

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

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Tags

2018, 7*, being, birch, blue, buildings, church, doing, flats, furniture, grey, Hastings, height, houses, net curtains, passing, pavement, reaching, reason, roads, sea, silver, sky, steeple, steets, time, Victorian houses, walking, windows, wondering, writing

                                                                Hastings: neither all or nothing

                I walked steep down
                                through Victorian house fronts
                                                down the whole height of the
                                                                church steeple

                and stood at the grey sea
                                wondering if there was good reason
                                                to write of it, after all;
                                                                the houses

                were now flats with nets knotted in the
                                windows and abandoned furniture
                                                on the street, but look,
                                                                that corner building

                built to the shape of bifurcating roads, oh
                                and the silver birch at the edge
                                                of the pavement reaching
                                                                up into the blue

                cleared sky and although I needn’t write it,
                                I do; and the roots of this small
                                                tree have bulged the paviours
                                                                unnoticeably over the years

 

 

 

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

being & doing wormhole: it’s / not what you do or what you say / if it ain’t got that swing
birch wormhole: over-pink cagoule
blue wormhole: {reading right to left}
buildings & silver wormhole: London, 1809
church wormhole: The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J. Redford – Trees
grey & sky wormhole: Impression of Winter: Carriage on a Country Road, 1872
net curtains wormhole: keep the light off
passing wormhole: passing
roads wormhole: SPRING AND ALL XI by William Carlos Williams
sea wormhole: Fishermen at Sea, 1796
streets & writing wormhole: on facing the Have
time wormhole: somehow
Victorian houses wormhole: Victorian pipework
walking wormhole: blister on me thumb
windows wormhole: Dulwich College, London, 1871

 

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pursued

09 Wednesday Jan 2019

Posted by m lewis redford in poems, poeviews

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

1970, 2018, 5*, Batman, branches, cape, doors, fingers, growth, history, holding, land, legacy, opening, purpose, questioning, reaching, responsibility, shadow, society, warp, weft, white, wings

                the clench of cape
                into wing opens heavy doors

                into questioning
                that will be pursued despite

                occasion of legacy
                billowing in after-tow o’er

                hill and vale
                and where leafless branches

                reach, fixed
                in growth, it is fingers will

                pull beyond
                the furl and flack to present

                as white shadow
                in response

 

Detective Comics #403, September 1970, “You Die By Mourning” by Frank Robbins and Bob Brown

 

 

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

Batman wormhole: ‘streetsigns …’
branches & history wormhole: The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J. Redford – Trees
doors wormhole: A Solitude by Denise Levertov
shadow wormhole: on facing the Have
society wormhole: {reading right to left}
white wormhole: SPRING AND ALL XXII by William Carlos Williams

 

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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

 

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sweet chestnut

17 Sunday Dec 2017

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

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Tags

2015, 4*, ageing, aimless, breeze, buttress, chestnut tree, compromise, earth, emergence, grass, growth, leaf, life, reaching, thinking, time, tree, trunk, vertical, wisdom

                      sweet chestnut

                      I have
                      long
                      since
                shifted the earth apart
                imperceptible for grass, now,
                to grow unknowing, so new;

                      I have
                      forgotten
                what it’s like to emerge
                without design, and have
                grown buttresses for so long
                they have twisted to comprise;

                      the trunk
                      of upward
                      direction
                that I reach from aimlessly
                with diminishing wisdom
                to a top leaf shifting between

                      the air

 

 

 

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

breeze wormhole: humm
compromise wormhole: just saying, is all VII: // `spolitical
emergence wormhole: AT-tennnnnnnn – waitfrit waitfrit – SHUN!
life wormhole: and // do your ears burn red?
thinking wormhole: looking back over the tack / and jibe of my life I / notice there is / a fetch // after all … / but certainly not / where I had planned / or where I thought / I’d been
time wormhole: for / the first time

 

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looking back over the tack / and jibe of my life I / notice there is / a fetch // after all … / but certainly not / where I had planned / or where I thought / I’d been

05 Tuesday Dec 2017

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

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2015, 6*, attention, being, doing, eating, exercise, feeling, identity, life, living, need, notice, purpose, reaching, standing, strength, study, thinking

                looking back over the tack
                     and jibe of my life I
                          notice there is
                               a fetch

                I stand too much to attention
                     too alert to notice
                          where I am

                I reach far too far to get
                     that I cannot have
                          what I am

                I eat too much to treat me
                     and deaden
                          what I need

                I exercised too much and
                     stretched the ligaments
                          that contain all my effort

                I exercise too little now to realise
                     the strength I have
                          untapped

                I have studied too much to
                     know what I think
                          or feel

                                    after all …
                                         but certainly not
                                              where I had planned
                                                   or where I thought
                                                        I’d been

 

 

 

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

attention wormhole: looking ahead
being & life wormhole: passing
doing & thinking wormhole: circuitry
identity wormhole: immeasurable love
living wormhole: addictive
study wormhole: reading // unstirred

 

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Infantino                KO

21 Saturday Oct 2017

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

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Tags

2014, 5*, action, cape, comics, communication, distance, drawing, Infantino, movement, posture, reaching, sound

                Infantino                KO

                braced wide-astride
                across the field of act to

                converge all the distances
                of breadth flicked up

                wards through torso
                switched-electric and

                relayed from stanchioned
                fist and elbow drawn

                to lean-reach syncretic
                to circuit to co-ordinate

                symmetric to suggestion
                of cape                SOK!

 

 

 

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

comics wormhole: that comicbookshop … // … in dreams
communication wormhole: circuitry
Infantino wormhole: Infantino / district of Gotham
posture wormhole: Mark & Jon at the coffee shop IV: right angles
sound wormhole: Cocktails in 1951

 

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

16 Tuesday May 2017

Posted by m lewis redford in poems

≈ Leave a comment

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

 

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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
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  • teaching matters
  • William Carlos Williams
  • wormholes

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  • “…and may the great elements…”
  • paisley // implicitly
  • this pocketed being
  • the inevitable tock // when we close our eyes
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  • me
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  • YOUNG WOMAN AT A WINDOW by William Carlos Williams
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category sky

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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

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