It's not that I don't know
but time and time again
a leaf falls from the chestnut tree
This is mortality
the eternal ending
my question, never asked
answered long time ago
I am pure in imperfection
we saw, on the horizon,
everything you need to know.
It's not that I don't know.
It's just that I don't know how to ask.
the pen writes fast, illegible in part
but that is not the point behind the lines
the ink remains long after these bland signs,
my love for you inscribed right from the start.
The content doesn't matter, nor the sense
it's so you feel "he loved me" by the end.
Listening to Astral Weeks on the record player
That harsh, rough voice paints pictures with words
capturing Belfast times, past times, times rare
I can almost hear the passing birds, the passing birds.
I remember listening to it with you
here in Hamilton, the way young lovers did
slim, slow, ah we were sweet things. Beside you,
you were Ballerina, me just a kid
We had our own Madame George on our streets
Harassed by some, protected by a gang.
As weeks turned to years, we danced to those beats
and decades grew old as Morrison sang.
Drinking beer became drinking cold white wine
the bass upfront, flutes and strings floated up
my brother lost, my sister gone, too fine
even for Van's voice to refill their cup.
A toast then to David and Maria
and a bow to the man whose aria
brings peace to all with ears to hear.
May all have ears that hear.
the serious mind tends to be blind
to the things in life that are nonsense but kind
It can be so much a pious old bore
Say far too much and then add a lot more
the serious mind should switch off and stop
and just enjoy a wop bop aloo bop
bal lom bam boom
... and no more doom
oh too serious
give it a rest for fuxache
bores with chores of poetic scores
just give the rest of us headache.
some seek acclaim outside themselves
others
seek understanding inside
neither is better than the other
as ultimately we die at the end
but one nurtures, while the other depletes
we are separated by experience
bound by experience
confused by life
made clear by life
lost and found
there is a sadness within
the vase looked dynamic on the table
half cast in shadow
its pattern seemed like waves on the sea
or the raked sand in a Zen garden
I felt I could step in
and paddle in its waters
spiraling out of control
the robin hits branches, one, two, three
lands on a soft mound of yellowed tufty grass
hides till the hawk stops circling
A heart repaired
glowing clean and fresh
grace becomes you
and you have become grace
the worm wriggles up from the soil
the blackbird is on the prowl
Fate sits on his indifferent cloud
and awaits the result
the psychology of the people
crazy travelling monk
the present doesn't hang about
pass forth into the unknown
into intuition of Reality
a profession of peace
the solitary anger
desires to make a choice
to pass the stringless crisis
and no fish do sing
vans and stuff
and tradesmen
six vehicles outside my house
to do work for my neighbours
with a click of the finger
no van or stuff
no tradesmen
no vehicles
just my friends the neighbours
boom says blast
days gone past
far too fast
cannot last
firefly
will not die
hope says I
birdlike cry
never ask why
it's not the point
the point is not
is not the point
to have a point
or may be no point
indeed in deed
I'm deid
purpose and meaning
always gleaning
noise from a distance
fashions resistance
babies are Christened
waterpoured rinsened
all hail the persistence
soaking in knowledge
lie plates of porridge
or trekking to forage
allsorts of garbage
like samuel babbage
and dark green leafed cabbage
the pixie in lot number two
enjoyed murmurs of praise from the zoo
collapsed in a heap
at the wall it had dreeped
and found it was world war two
porpoise is extnct
on ther brink
of the kitchen sink
would cause such a stink
as if somehow to link
to the academy think
or the old blind man's wink
as the champagne cups clink
surreal like a seal
bred for its veal
as the vegans will kneel
to pray God to unkeel
the supporters who feel
they need zealots and zeal
and dance reel to reel
in order to steal
the racing car's wheel
in the never motion movement potion
blender bends a Belsen blast
beloved bled before bizarre
are we ever to river a sliver
of motion
a hint of regression
possession of legal drugs
a potion of notion of peace behind lies
paper
thin
think paper
paper this papal pontiff
pontificating
berating overstating
frustrating
God in Heaven
paradox parody perceive in political party pooper
to what end
no end
day
deus
te deum
daytime
night time
timeless flight
time ticks
talks
stops
day
becomes
day
day ends
day is forever
day
when day dares daze
Daedalus
dad
dad don't die
son don't fly so high
Day becomes
Charlie's gone
Bowie's dead
Lennon killed a long time ago
Paul will go sometime
Fogarty too
and Dylan and Crosby and McGuinn
Don't you get it yet?
The great matter -
nothing lasts
Notice
Just stop
that's how to stop
Stop anger
stop distraction
stop irritation
stop hatred
stop war
stop grief
stop
then create love
laughter
joy
art
beauty
life itself
Put the kettle on
take a teaspoonful of dried green tea
and put it in the tea strainer.
Add a little cold water to your cup
as green tea should not brew at boiling point.
When the kettle boils
pour the boiling water into the cup.
put the tea strainer on top
and wait a couple of minutes.
Then feel grateful that you are alive.
Followed by joy at having green tea
Smell its gentle aroma
and take your first sip.
Life is miracle.
Let it brew inside you.
I live in two worlds
One is crass, commercial, noisy, busy
The other is silent, peaceful, solitary, intimate
I spent most of my life trying to escape the former
and find the latter.
Even now, in the world of peace
it's so easy to be pulled back into the morass.
