Peep through tears reclining,

in shining, shimmered fall,

can touch the tender edges

of heart, in soul’s pure call.

And in the shivered droplets,

transparent and revealed,

we see the dreams of ages;

lay out the things we feel.

Reflected in those moments,

bright mirrors of old sight,

the truth of hidden stages,

is lined in staggered height.

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Effervescent atoms birthed

in ways unknown, as light

they gather joyfully, present

the source bestowed.

And in the bliss of doing,

life surges forth in ways

of unimagined being;

creation full displayed.

We do not know the

answers to why this world

is so, and yet it is enough

to honour all bestowed.

In temperamental shining,

all is beckoned forth, and

light is pure made manifest;

the universe is wrought.

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Do years betray the moment,
sabotage the dreams, or do
the years invest our souls
with what life truly means?

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Could there be ways to live

this life of mine decreed,

without the shining edge

of pain, so finely sheathed,

and then in time released,

to cut through minutes

neat, and chop the days

and sodden nights, through

realms of merciless sleep?

Or is it all so written, in

times before I breathed,

that life would be arranged

with pain, as waiting thief?

Can there be an answer

to such a question met, in

knowing there can never

be, and that the ink stays

wet, allowing all the seep

and blurring on the pages,

where suffering does dress

the naked soul she graces.

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Breath held, drawn in
and down …. slow …
becoming of deep
thought, waiting …
to be released, upon
an unsuspecting…
world, in that silence
which holds court
for soul’s full and
liquid language, as
it roils ….. in doubt
and hope, before it
can be …revealed.
In silence all things
….are born.
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What is love?

What is love, beyond that
yearning for connectedness,
the desire to join together,
to unite, establish union in

all forms, become as one,
be held together with bonds
unseen, and unremarkable,
but strong all the same?

What is love, but the slow
weaving of feelings, thoughts,
experiences, knitted into a
shawl of soul, under which

it is possible to shelter, or
even to hide for a time …?
Such is love as called by
heart and mind in being.

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Bequeathed in endless images,
stories trailed through earth,
clay clenched drowning water –
painted face and breasts.

Distant was the inner yearning,
mournful was time’s cry,
joyful was life’s great promise-
no sound, but sandy sighs.

Lost in aching age of meaning,
driven deep beyond the cities,
so we walk with shuttered eyes,
curse and bless as we do grieve.

Through the ancient landscape,
back beyond our fear and dreams,
world’s soul beats in rhythm-
truth licks lips and seals.

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