without any buffet at all

Tags

2015, 5*, acceptance, being, depression, green, identity, notice, panic, pointlessness, self-compassion, silence, surface, true nature, twilight, water

                                                surfacing
                                from a quiet sag – only noticed when
                surfacing amid the twilight sump,

                                                only
                                the silence of lapping remembered when damp seam and sole
                feel cold and slimely green –

                                                still
                                I do not know my true nature, panicking and gasping,
                wanting to float, wanting to hover,

                                                even,
                                without any buffet at all, without taint, and
                the local too close to distinguish

                                                myse-

 

 

 

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

acceptance wormhole: prelude: // travel
being & depression & identity wormhole: lack of center
green wormhole: river
pointlessness wormhole: is this it // all the time
silence wormhole: the silent night of the Batman
twilight wormhole: and // do your ears burn red?
water wormhole: om muni muni maha muniye soha

 

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divergent // direction

Tags

2013, 6*, attention, being, CGI, control, distraction, echo, film, growth, identity, life, movement, naked, nerve, observing, reputation, self-compassion, self-love, sequel, sitting, society, sound, static, thought, waves

                it’s not just the oh-ho naughty thoughts
                that really shouldn’t but burst through
                ta-dha because you can’t stop them yet
                (secretly don’t want to, yet)

                it’s not even the oops echoes and sequels
                of each sprain and twinch that ached
                and deadened a sense of naked self, no
                it’s the thousand little nerves and waves

                the stylish static of the over-working CGI
                that test and flash the Dolby sound before
                the titles roll and the big names appear it’s
                all of that wide wide widescreen that needs

                      the love of incorporation
                      not the surroundsound of
                      stereo or the left and right
                      eyes watching in divergent

                      direction

 

 

 

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

attention & distraction & sitting & society & sound wormhole: nevertheless
being wormhole: facing the crime section
echo & life wormhole: the quiet whale
film wormhole: spit / spot
identity wormhole: written relief to / creeping anaesthesia / through palimpsest / and crankled page
thought wormhole: Virginia
waves wormhole: do I

 

prelude: // travel

Tags

2013, 6*, acceptance, castle, coffee, compassion, doing, driving, dust, field, green, Have, mist, motorway, passing, people, progress, self-compassion, sky, steel, stone, sunlight, tarmac, travelling, waking, wood

                                prelude:

                had a day to myself
                no work to do no family no obligation
                I could have built myself a castle stony to the sky
                but I did nothing to make my mark in the world
                nothing to house
                the sky

                and I felt strangely accepting of that
                a sort-of love really

                                travel

                woke-up stupid lack-slept
                but I have a certain love for myself
                and I get on with last-minute packing

                people, slaves in so many ways to Have
                but I have a certain love for myself
                and can accept us all to suffer our own coffees

                there is steel in all the greens and mist in all the sunlight
                the harvester shaves the field to dust and someone
                burns the wood to waft across the motorway

                but I have a certain love for myself and
                I let them all pass and while the rubber turns
                the tarmac I progress to a destination

 

 

 

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

acceptance & sky wormhole: stone
coffee wormhole: magnificent salad
compassion wormhole: so pleased to see you again
doing wormhole: wasted –
field & green wormhole: greedy
Have wormhole: beepbeep
mist wormhole: retirement
motorway wormhole: dawn
passing & travelling wormhole: handsome
people wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] – agricultural show
stone wormhole: Salisbury Cathedral // suspended in everything
wood wormhole: the 19th century

 

breathing out

Tags

2014, 4*, ambition, breathing, daily, emptiness, non-doing, openness, self-compassion, sitting, talking to myself, time, words, writing

                I must take
                the time

                to sit with
                an empty page

                each day

                without guile
                or ambition

                completely
                and openly

                and let

                the words write
                themselves

                with compassion
                as if I were

                breathing out

 

 

 

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

breathing wormhole: writing: // in turn
emptiness wormhole: this aching // and spacious dichotomy
openness wormhole: con / sum / mate
sitting wormhole: pocket
talking to myself & writing wormhole: No
time wormhole: open window
words wormhole: ah … // oh … // meanwhile … // … // tha ya ta …

 

just one, open, nerve,

Tags

2016, 6*, ageing, avidhya, Granada, identity, life, nerve, opaque, realisation, self, self-compassion, sense of self, the Three Poisons

                      I have a self
                      it is my self

                      a little capsule
                      grown in life –

                      whenever I noticed
                      every time I didn’t
                      each time I wouldn’t

                      a sliver at first
                      twisted once
                      but never looped

                      back to feed,
                      no helix to hold,
                      just one, open, nerve,

                      preserved in cartilage
                      opaque: hit it
                      you bounce, cut it

                      you slip, ignore it
                      it withers leaving
                      a baggy sheath

                      time now, quickly,
                      to make amends

                      time now
                      to connect the ends

 

 

 

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

life & realisation wormhole: moment
identity wormhole: new-found love – poewieview #36

 

my seat // now

Tags

2016, 4*, balance, cafe, cars, contentment, doing, giving, grey, hair, Have, identity, joy, listening, mauve, others, Oxfam, patience, pink, red, seat, self-compassion, sitting, sound, speech, talking, vista, walking

                I lost my seat of joy
                in giving, I might have had it yesterday,
                but today I find myself
                gilled by her pink coat to do
                all the talking and irritated by
                the loud-enough heels to do all the walking

                I lost my seat of vista
                when stopping, I might have had it yesterday but
                today I cannot stop hearing
                the all-things-considered voice
                out back of the Oxfam shop wondering if dictatorships aren’t what’s needed in the end, I
                have to leave the shop

                I lost my seat of patience
                in getting, I might have had it yesterday but today
                I clear-the-throat listening to the too-exhaust-[ed] luxury cars
                revving and braking to leave the NCP

                I lost my seat of balance
                when doing, I might have had it yesterday but today I must listen
                to her hold attention with red-mauved hair
                and one greyed temple talk-clear to her back-turned friend,
                from the other side of the crowded room

                `never had a settled seat to miss, that I remember – `still trying to find that one –
                `never lost my seat and been happy about it, until

now

 

 

 

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

balance wormhole: balancing // with a whole lot of deft
cars & pink wormhole: the policies came to nothing
doing wormhole: The Boats of Vallisneria by Michael J. Redford – A Precious Moment
giving wormhole: dry rot
grey & identity & sound wormhole: Elektra
hair wormhole: tag cloud poem IX – haiku is awkward / the more that is left in / like uncombed hair
Have & listening & speech & talking wormhole: listen willya
mauve wormhole: between thoughts
others wormhole: reaching branch
red wormhole: El Palacio, 1946
sitting wormhole: substance
walking wormhole: Lapping Reflections [Deep Within Waters] by Mark L. Redford – moment

 

sit

Tags

2010, abandonment, ageing, Batman, bedroom, being, biography, birthday, books, border, branches, cape, carpet, cars, Catcher in the Rye, childhood, children, comics, compassion, counting, cowl, crying, Dad, divorce, father, flower, fog, fracture, French, green, guru, history, house, identity, image, leaf, life, living room, lyric, marriage, moonlight, Mum, music, night, numbers, parents, pattern, planets, posture, power, Salinger, self-compassion, sentient beings, settee, shadow, sitting, skyline, speech, stone, sunlight, superhero, Superman, surrealism, talking to myself, teaching, wife, world, writing, yin yang

 

 

 

                           I stared at the pattern of the carpet
                           driving my cars behind the settee
                           while my parents said final things
                           to each other; the twirl of the branches

                           a better life, the curl of a flower;
                           you’d better go, the border; and
                           never step back in this house again,
                           the shadow of the leaf is also a

                           darker green; I had never studied
                           the pattern before – never had to,
                           never could – I can work it out now,
                           see how it repeats; I think something

                           is happening with Mum and Dad
                           on the other side of the settee; but
                           this pattern continues around the
                           whole carpet, around the whole room;

                           only later – in bed – is it announced
                           what I had already known, and only
                           then could I ask why does it have to
                           happen to us and cry; only when it

                           was announced, only when it was
                           expressed; I had already known
                           but I could only count the patterns,
                           I could only drive the cars; and

                           as I cried, I was numb – pattern
                           before settee – I could fracture
                           from the world, just find a pattern;
                           you’re the man of the house now,

                           someone said to me, so I studied
                           the pages of comicbooks – patterns
                           of power, solving under cowl,
                           jumping under cape, between the

                           skyline and the world: I shall
                           throw stones high, until they
                           don’t come down; I shall dig so low
                           that no one could follow, no;

                           I shall count all numbers; I shall
                           collect all numbers; I shall
                           discover all planets; I shall adopt
                           the posture of heroes, no; I shall

                           number the histories; I shall weave
                           the texture of music; I shall taste
                           the shock of lyric; I shall smell
                           the books, no; I shall sunlight

                           the chorus; I shall cry the biography;
                           I shall see the image, and write them
                           into existence, yes; I shall follow
                           the curl and the twist and the twirl

                           under moonlight all the night long;
                           then, I shall play catch in the rye;
                           I shall alors les boulevards; I shall
                           yin the old yang; I shall surreal in

                           the fog; I shall honour my guru
                           I shall marry my wife; I shall father
                           my children; I shall teach in those classes –
                           but forty two years on, he had still

                           just left; and I still didn’t know how
                           to be the man; time to get out from
                           behind the settee, take a seat with
                           all the others, and
                                                  just
                                                  sit there with them all awhile

 

 

 

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

abandonment & divorce wormhole: … back to the outbreath
Batman wormhole: zok! and pow!
bedroom & Dad wormhole: 1959 –– MANHATTAN –– 2012
being & identity & talking to myself & world & writing wormhole: out!
books wormhole: library: start where you are IV // all the distance I have travelled!
branches wormhole: Exceat to Cuckmere Haven
carpet wormhole: Ashdown Forest / 080213 14:47
cars wormhole: after all?
childhood & music wormhole: fantasia
comics wormhole: Detective Comics #345
compassion wormhole: de Boeddha // of light
father wormhole: sight / seeing
fog wormhole: my life / of others
green wormhole: three musicians
history wormhole: Brugges April 2015 – looking lost
house wormhole: House by the Railroad, 1925
life & speech wormhole: “write, let’s break outta here!”
living room wormhole: Woolwich Central – making life better II
Mum wormhole: dream 230315
night wormhole: mauve / night
posture & sitting & superhero wormhole: exactly equal
power wormhole: the continental stride of trains
shadow & teaching wormhole: … anymore
skyline wormhole: The Louvre in a Thunderstorm, 1909
stone wormhole: Evening Wind, 1921
Superman wormhole: escape from Flat Planet

 

tong // len

Tags

2014, 6*, breathing, doing, giving, heartbeat, identity, meditation, others, Pema Chödrön, self-compassion, smile, tonglen, world

 

 

 

                                              tong

                                with a slight smile
                I let all the flexed up and over-extended
                                gantries and girders
                                creaking and grinding like an obscene and vulgar meccano
                                              go

                                              len*

                                              just
                once and suddenly realise that this
                                is what I have to give
                                organic to the world like a heartbeat

 

* ‘tong’ is a Tibetan word meaning ‘taking’ (the pain, fate and tragedy, of myself and others, in the form of gastric-oily bile [whatever], into your heart, where it is cleansed and purified by your naïve and blatant care); ‘len’ means ‘giving’ (back, to yourself and others, the care and release that you have generated [at their instigation and encounter] with gratitude); done both with mind while sitting [meditation], and with body while doing [breathing]; until the roles of self and other are reversed like a tight glove taken off inside-out; if piqued have a look at:

 

 

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

breathing wormhole: Plumstead – Woolwich 121114
doing & smile wormhole: a gift
giving wormhole: – sigh! –
identity & meditation & world wormhole: I need to keep my eyes open / in meditation
others wormhole: 20th century / schzoid man

 

we’re all the same age really

Tags

2013, 5*, age, compassion, self-compassion, speech, talking to myself, taxi, time

 

 

 

                                can I help you Old Man
                                with a tri-footed walking stick in one hand
                                and a loved walking cane in the other
                                step by slow step up the ramp
                                from the taxi to the Health Centre
                                that’s very nice of you sonny

                ah but you used to be my age once and could move at a walk,
                                and anyway I’m 53,
                                we’re all the same age really,

                                I’m 37 years older than you,

                                we’re all the same age really

 

 

 

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

compassion wormhole: Tulips by Sylvia Plath – How Far To Step Before You Raise The Other Foot
speech wormhole: poessay IX – … just saying, is all II
talking to myself wormhole: stuck free to move within
time wormhole: oh-pen too

 

day off

Tags

2013, 6*, attention, cleaning, doing, fear, flower, growing, guitar, hope, house, jam, reading, sandwich, self-compassion, talking to myself, writing

 

 

 

                                                              day off

                you could write a piece that quietly chords
                                a lost decade
                or you could play Solitaire and unbelieving
                                lose $5000

                you could read a hundred pages of the most
                                beautiful word
                or play the guitar-line weary in your head again
                                again

                you could clean a house transparent in which to smell
                                a flower
                or fix another jam sandwich to chew over
                                old exchanges but

                whatever you do in hope and whatever you don’t do
                                in fear never
                never let it all slip from your almost-not-watching
                                parent-attention

 

 

 

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

attention wormhole: waiting room
doing wormhole: ‘like a piece of ice on a hot stove / the poem must ride on its own melting’
guitar wormhole: b / l / u / e / s / at a right-angle
house wormhole: tag cloud poem IV – C
reading wormhole: Tulips by Sylvia Plath – How Far To Step Before You Raise The Other Foot
talking to myself wormhole: poessay VII: // true revolution
writing wormhole: I could step / more open