Poetry

Poetry is a language in which man explores his own amazement.  Christopher Fry

Sometimes, when feeling inspired, I write a poem. Below are some of the poems I have written.

The Ultimate Experience

 

I Am

I am unremitting joy. I am utter despair.

I am languid peace. I am chaotic turmoil.

I am abundant generosity. I am insatiable greed.

I am adoring love. I am heartless indifference.

I am pure innocence. I am vulgar sleaze.

I am cocksure swagger. I am fearful doubt.

I am a shy smile.  I am a vicious snarl.

I am a soaring symphony. I am a fearful din.

I am a scurrying ant.  I am a motionless sloth.

I am a soaring eagle.  I am a crawling worm.

I am a gargantuan tree.  I am a tiny flower.

I am an omnipotent king.  I am a cowering subject.

I am an athletic champion.  I am a lazy slob.

I am a holy saint.  I am an atrocious tyrant.

I am an impenetrable jungle.  I am a withered land.

I am a  mountain peak.  I am a gaping abyss.

I am a blazing sun.  I am a planet of ice.

I am an endless galaxy.  I am a grain of sand.

I am a radiant light.  I am the darkest night.

I am this.  I am that.

I am here.  I am there.

I am him.  I am her.

I am you.  I am me.

I am the collective experience of all these things

and many, many more;

a kaleidoscope of a quintillion different perceptions

and I am that which makes experiencing possible.

I am the Eternal Subject

yet I also take the form of every object.

I Am All That Is.

I Am all Knowing.

I Am all Being.

I Am.

I Am.

I Am.

Written: 2021

Right now

Right now I Am…

   soaring high on outstretched wings

   opening my petals to the morning sun

   scurrying through a termite cathedral

  spinning an intricate web of silk

   trumpeting through an upturned trunk

   laying eggs in a little pond

   picking nits from my lover’s fur

   probing the damp soil with my spindly roots

   singing a duet through a twittering beak

   galloping along on mud-spattered hooves

   surfing waves with gleeful squeaks

   gazing out meditatively with large, luminous eyes

   stretching my branches up and out into the vast, open sky

   smelling for truffles with my sensitive, pink snout

   probing a hole in the rocks with a nimble tentacle

   paddling along a stream with powerful kicks

   hungrily sucking warm milk from my mother’s teat

   searching the ocean bed in search of a larger shell to call home

   charging headlong into the horns of another with a mighty clash

   licking my paws with a raspy tongue

   wriggling this way and that to shed my scaly skin

   breathing in air through my damp, permeable membrane

   bobbing up and down in an intricate dance with my life-long mate

   cutting the water with my dorsal fin

   rising up on thrusting haunches in orgasmic release

   stalking stealthily in pursuit of unsuspecting prey

   enclosing my young one in a protective embrace of flippers and feet

   staring patiently at the water with my rapier like bill ready to strike

   wagging my tail in unrestrained welcome

   sharing a belly-laugh with a beloved friend

   staring in wonder at a crimson sunset

   shedding grief-stricken tears at an untimely loss

   typing this poem with clumsy fingers and an open heart

All these things I, the Cosmic Mind,  experience in the timeless Now

and a quintillion quintillion more things

across countless different worlds and dimensions.

All experiences past, present, and future

exploding forth as pure perception from the Singularity I Am,

the Infinite Awareness I Am,

in a great, exultant cosmic bang,

creating the ultimate immersive, experiential work of art,

wondrous and beautiful,

epic and profound,

beyond all imagination.

Written: 2021

Embrace experience

Gaze at beauty like tomorrow you’ll suddenly find yourself blind.

Listen to music and birds singing like tomorrow you’ll be deaf.

Eat a meal like tomorrow your taste buds will dissolve and be gone.

Smell a flower like tomorrow your nose will be eternally blocked.

Make love like tomorrow you’ll lose all sense of touch.

Express love like tomorrow like you’ll be struck dumb and illiterate.

Reminisce like tomorrow all your memories will be lost.

Written: 2021

Waves

By being a tranquil space for the waves that flow into and out of our lives, we learn to ride them with a beautiful grace; even the mighty waves that seem unsurfable at first.

As the practice deepens, we merge more and more with the immense ocean currents that give rise to the very waves themselves.  And so we become instruments for the endless, loving power of the ocean to surge through us like a spring tide.

To recognise our oneness with the exquisite oceanic force, we don't need to search with exhausting kicks along its turbulent surface.  By Grace, we surrender and sink effortlessly into the serenity of its depths where we are embraced by a love vaster and deeper than even the ocean itself.

Written: 2016

Horses in the Mist

Cotapaxi Reserve, Ecuador, 2006

Horses in the Mist
Galloping wild and free,
through tendrils of morning mist,
with mud spattering at their hooves,
and flaring nostrils snorting steam,
they pass between the swirling clouds
of a volcanic peak
and the wave swept shores
of a green lagoon,
then cantor down to a gentle trot
to nibble on the dew soaked grass
and frolic in the soft, shrouded light
of the rising sun.

Written:  2006

Footprints

Kruger 2012

Footprints

Through the loving ways that people connect;

laughter between friends, a couple holding hands,

the generosity of a stranger, the smile of a child.

Through the gift of knowing I am enough, no matter what.

Through my highest thoughts, my truest words, my kindest deeds.

Through the wonders of sunsets and mountains, ocean waves, dolphins and daffodils.

Through the uplifting beauty of music, art and poetry.

Through the infiniteness of time and space and the intricacies of atoms and less.

Through the mighty power of silence and the peace that stillness brings.

Through these things,

I see the footprints of a benevolent Mystery unfolding

and I look out into the vast night sky

and I smile at the stars and the moon

content in the knowledge

that the universe smiles back.

Written: 2004

Uyuni Salt Pans, Bolivia, 2006

Northern Beaches, Sydney, 2008

How to capture a moment?

With my beloved Grandfather, 1976

How to capture a moment?
How to capture a moment in a word?
A feeling in a verse?
This moment has snuck upon me:
The emerald green from my window; fresh and crisp
The memory of dear ones now departed
And love expressed in days gone by
A feathered friend on the balcony outside
The sprinkled creations of my beloved at my feet
And unencumbered time to be, just be
Oh to capture this moment
In a word or verse or image
To add to a treasure trove
Of golden moments gone by
But the moment creeps away
As elusive as she came
Just a faint impression remains
But enough to make me smile
Warm in the glow and fortified
Till the next golden moment creeps along

Written:  April 2004


.

The Blue Hole

Red Sea, Egypt, 2004

The Blue Hole

From the hot and stifling desert air
and hungry currents that ebb and whirl
From the blinding pierce of sunlit glare
and tiring kicks through stubborn swirls
I release my air in a gentle stream
and sink slowly down through the emerald blue.

Through shoals of iridescent, twirling fish
I float effortless in a weightless world
and at my side, a sheer cliff of coral stands, suffused
in fiery tendrils of orange and gold.

Below, the ocean falls away to fathomless depths
as calm and still as eternity itself
and above, the soft rays of the filtered sun
caress the velvet surface of the ocean in a golden glow.

Floating free like a carefree child,
my spirit soars, my senses enthralled
by this underwater garden, abundantly rich,
of colourful hues and mysterious shapes
and as the soft tingle of living water caresses my skin,
my mind grows still; expands to meet the depths below
and I cease to exist; becoming one with all.

Written:  2004

Poetry (written 2003)

Torres del Paine, 2006

Effortless

I am water gurgling over rocks,

tumbling along.

I am an eagle floating on the wind,

letting go,

as the spirit takes me with her

free and spontaneous

on the ride of my life.

Torres del Paine, 2006

The Yawn

i yawn,

surrender to a languid peace

strive not, hurry not

need not, worry not

judge not, grasp not

i yawn

and in my letting go

my spirit smiles like a care free child

and i float free

within the heart of god

Let It

let it out, let it flow, let it be, let it go

The Valley

The sun shines on a meadow

of smiling flowers and babbling brooks;

I dance through yellow daisies

And sing out loud

under a soft blue sky.

Suddenly…

the meadow plunges into valleys dark

Thunder

Shadows

Chills on my skin

The black sky swallows the sun;

cold walls of rock at my sides

squeezing me in.

Was I ever light of step?

Did I ever dance?

Fear squeezes my heart, and

Grit clogs my soul

as the valley's path twists ahead

like a thrashing snake

steep and bare

then fades into night.

An echo in my head:

the trace of a gentle voice,

"Behold the meadow in your dreams."

it whispers.

"No valley stretches for ever

but opens onto fertile plains

where birds greet the dawn

and butterflies dance in the air."

Warm colours wash through my mind

cheerful yellows and tranquil greens

and I sing again, first hesitantly, then more surely,

For now I can delight in the valley

its chills will brighten the meadow's natural glows.

its lifeless greys will deepen the warm hues;

its thunder clouds will enrich the blue skies;

its ominous silences will sweeten the singing of the birds.

I walk through the valley of shadow

and my heart feels free.

I release. Let go. Flow.

I do not rush headlong

striving in panic to grab at the light.

But follow the steep path, steadfast and true,

feeling the exquisite ice on my skin

that will melt in the sun.

The Great Mystery

will guide me through the valley

and I will return to the light

stronger and more confident

with greater room to laugh, explore, love and feel

in the knowledge that I can weather the storms

as I relish the calm.

Little boy

Little boy 
Little stick arms pumped to the sky
Little thin legs lifting high
Little eyes fixed in a hungry stare
Little pink feet dangling bare
Little teeth clenched through flaring lips
Little frame rising on contorted hips
Little boy launched in a furious leap
Little boy lands in a sandy heap
Little boy striving non stop since birth
Little boy desperate to prove his worth

Written:  2003



.

The Child

The Child
Blonde kid on a beach
Holding Mummy's sandal in my little hand
Mouth in an unrestrained smile of glee
Hat on head, feet in sand
Smiling at the camera
At Daddy
Who's been there
Since life began
Held me tentatively in his arms
And listened to my first garbled words
Dada! Dada!
And learning to crawl
Watch me crawl, dada!
Rising onto wobbly legs
His eyes watch me. What's behind them?
Unrestrained hugs of love? Whoops of joy at my achievements?
Does he hold me close to his heart and say special things
To his little son?
And do I want to impress him, make him proud, live to hear his praises?
Do I feel his pain? Do I feel his Wall?
Lonely, so lonely in the dark.
Do I try to climb it? Crawl under it?
Vulnerable. So vulnerable.
A little blonde son, with innocent eyes.
Green eyes. The same shade as his.
Trying so hard.
Do I feel his eyes on me - critical eyes?
Picking at my weakness.
Got to be perfect!
Caught in a circle of the past.
And future?
Do I feel his lighter sides too, his laughs and sparkles?
Every day, his presence moulds me.
Seeps into my soul.
The circle turns.
Or does it?

Written:  1997

Reflections from a deck chair

Oludeniz,  Turkey  1997

Reflections From A Deck Chair
I gaze into the sky below
stuck to the ceiling of the world
by an invisible force
that makes leaves fall in autumn,
breasts sag with age,
daredevils hurtle from planes,
water cascade into ravines,
chairs collapse under the fat,
snow avalanche from cliffs,
rain patter onto roofs,
and ostriches stay earthbound
as much as they might want to fly.

Written: 1997

You are ...

Ally, 1993

You are ...

You are the the twinkle in my eye

The smile on my lips

The happiness I feel

And the song I sing

You’re the warmth that wells up inside

The word I cannot express

The joy that makes me laugh

And the beauty that makes me gaze

You’re the idea that makes me dream

The thought that makes me swoon

The feeling that makes me breathless

And the love that spins me around and around and around.

Written:  1995

Dolphins
If you ever get lonely, my love,
close your eyes and imagine that you are a dolphin and so will I
Living in a warm sea with a lush tropical island close by
We spend our days surfing the waves and exploring the coast
While at night, we float in the gentle currents and watch the stars above
Mates for life, our love is as deep as the ocean floor
While our being together is as inevitable as the ebb and flow of the tide
And our spirits fly as free as our abandoned leaps into the sky.
So when you’re lonely my love, imagine that you are a dolphin and so will I
Because then our minds will meet in a warm sea under a blue sky.

Written:  1997

If I was a bird

Paradise Island, 1996

If I was a bird
If I was a bird and so were you…
I’d kiss you with the gentle pecks of a parrot
I’d dive down for you with the lightning speed of a falcon
I’d shout out my adoration for you with the piercing calls of a cuckoo
I’d run towards you with the powerful strides of an ostrich
I’d sing for you from the highest tree with the sweet melody of a nightingale
I’d dance for you with the up and down bobs of a love-struck albatross
I’d cry out for you with the plaintive lament of a lonely fish eagle
I’d swim for you with the splashy kicks of a grebe
I’d soar to reach you with the majestic glides of a Martial Eagle on a rising thermal
I’d hover above you like a kingfisher before its plunge
I’d look at you with the unblinking gaze of a forest owl
I’d woo you with the gentle coos of a turtle dove
I’d prepare a home for you with the meticulous care of a weaver
I’d stroke your feathers with the soft caresses of a love bird
I’d fly south – across ocean and land – with the single minded purpose of a swallow seeking out the summer…
To sweep you up in my wings and hold you close.

Written:  1996

Poetry (written 1997)

The Idea

Fresh and pure,
glistening wet from the birth canal
of the creative mind,
it stands unabashed
in the stillness of unevaluated bliss,
neither proud nor ashamed,
just an expression of newness.
Pure creativity. Unrestrained.


Let it Smash
Collect it and structure it
Put it in a box
Synthesized, organised,
Compartmentalised and classified
Then drop it from the highest cliff
where the wind gusts wild and the spirit is free
Watch it fall, fall, fall, fall
To shatter against the rocky ground
in a million fragments
For the wind to whip it up
And send it off
Twirling and swirling
in chaotic abandon
happy in the knowledge
that chaos breeds life
where order creates habit.

Dot the i’s
Dot those i's and cross those t's
gloss that image till it shines
and if your rubbing breaks the skin
rub that spot with frantic care
to restore its perfect look.
Rub. Rub. Round and round.
Harder still.
It hurts!
Then rub to make it go away.
Rub. Rub. Stop all else!
This is where the problem lies -
That robs perfection of its spoils.
Rub. Rub. All day long.
Until the gloss returns.
And I can stare in perfect bliss.
And rub the image raw.


Out There
They laugh and joke out there;
the unselfconscious fun of the free;
their cheery voices mingle
and jovial banter flows.
All the time,  I lie in my hut
timid like a mouse
scared of being judged
as my mind judges  -
and hiding from the pressure
to entertain and impress
with confident wittiness.
Oh self imposed pressure -
Crack and Break!
Let me leap forth from my lonely hole
to sit and be with friends
relaxed and open and free
as me - just me - and no more.

Let Go
Oh to tap deep inside me
For the incessant voice in my head to cease
so I can be and express freely
Gush out of me - colours and sounds and shapes
No judging what comes
Who cares if it's good or not.
Who is to say!
All my life I've put what comes through a filter
Moulded it, judged it, analysed it
Blocked it up till no more than a self conscious trickle
Fuck that, let it gush - please let it gush!
Why so scared?  Scared there is nothing there?
So want it to be rich, but is it barren?
Is there nothing to me but lifeless dust?
Is that why I force it out like squeezing nectar from a flower.
to be left with pulp; beauty that has been mashed.
So self conscious, always assessing its worth.
Sometimes it comes and I exude relief.  There must be something there after all.
Then an empty patch and the terror sets in.  That impotent, nagging doubt.
Shatter the dam that holds it back.
Let it burst and its expression be pure and wild.
Screaming, bursting, pouring bubbling,
unrestrained creativity
from deep inside my soul
broad, vibrant, brushstrokes with exploding colours.
Open the arteries and let it come.
And when it does, leave it alone.
Please, leave it alone.

Places

Here is some "poetry" I was inspired to write in 1997 when I was backpacking around SW England.

Little Dartmouth
The river estuary disappears behind the hills towards a hidden castle,
past hills clothed in bushes of orange
and tenacious trees that cling to the sea coast below.
Grassy fields slope up and away,
as a solitary yacht heads out to sea
between islands of rock.
A buzzard swoops and soars and sea gulls pass on open wings.
Little birds chatter from the hedges and trees.
The sun warms the nip in the breeze.
I sit.
Content.


The Sleepy Village
Soaking up the morning sun on a bus-stop bench, my eyes follow the River Dart
past yachts and ferries and fishing boats.
Behind me, Dartmouth yawns and stretches
savouring her peace
before the steam train arrives
to pour forth her torrent of tourists.
Next to me, an elderly couple passes gentle comments to and fro,
while men lazily man their boat cruise kiosks along the bank.


South Sands
The river embraces her estuary
before spreading into a vast, open sea.
Fluffy clouds float as calm in the quiet sky
as the boats on the blue waters below.
At my feet, the tropical garden explodes
into  green hues  of every shade.
Birds celebrate the close of day
with their chirps and twitters as
the subtle scent of sweet flowers
wisps through the air.


The Cove
Nestled between rocky shores
lies a beach of soft sand and speckled pebbles
with a tangled border of sea weed along the water's edge.
The sea  is a sparkling, emerald green with a stab of red
where a little boat bobs on rhythmic waves.
The entrance to the beach is steep and rugged
over weather eroded rocks and earth.
Scantily clothed in grass and flowers, the earth pokes through, here and there,
like scalp on a balding head.


Salty Pebbles
Pebbles at the water's edge - a multitude of sizes and rounded shapes.
Some speckled, some unblemished and glistening wet in the sun.
The sea slides over the pebbles on its little surges up the beach, surging forwards, then sighing back in retreat.
I put a tiny round pebble in my mouth and taste its salty smoothness.
My senses are enthralled by the beauty of this place, far from the world's gaze.

Sadder poetry

Not all my poetry is optimistic. With bipolar, I have also experienced some extreme lows.

Here is some sadder poetry.