In the library
Agèd pages whispering;
sharing truths and tales.
– the intoxicating crunch
curls my lips skyward.
the lines written on their faces.
Relative to all and nothing,
their gazes glaze glowing stations:
a paper falls and tumbles
twisted by underground rumbles
and mumbles of eternal shufflers
in a rat-race chase where speed
and haste choose the transportation
of the quickest; opening doors,
Destination reached – Escape – Release –
Still working on this one, but it originated from thoughts that came about whilst tending to the veggie patch over the summer..
Sole-deep footprints where
the soul reaps from the
impressions the body makes
-grounded, not bound but wrapped
in earthy warm embrace-
the sun-baked soil raises you
and takes you back to you;
an intimate conversation with the world,
a gentle exchange,
not prising but patiently unfurling you
-blooming you without stigma or style:
you look out to look in.
Changing of tides, turning of seasons,
natural progression and succession,
not subject to reason but filled with rhyme
in which time and place lace burgeoning lines-
trying to find space for the unplaceable, unwritable,
unreachable with words. The eyes looks up.
The pencil stops.
There’s the poetry.
Free to feel those loose beats drumming
among the forest humming of a world
of activity so close, so far –
where peace dwells tranquil and apart
and yet imparts and bestows a
warmth of heart which brings you back to
you with a soft, subtle start-
muffled with leaves which wrap you,
keep you, warm, feed, and nourish you.
Heat for the soul which began to grow
cold through a gaze shifted outward
dealing with the hurly burly bustle –
but here, now, hear the leaves rustle,
the birds sing and the contented hum of
a leaf dappled world.
Unremember all: this is everything.