As we know

march to a metre –regular in treador cunningly disjointed – silken, the threadthen sharply pulled, to wake the reader’s ear;rhythms, I can dance with a magic, laughing twirl;play like the ringlets of poetic curls;but metaphor – ah, there’s the sadness in my play:that golden box, its gleaming lid all joy,all mystery… if I only had…

those horoscopes (Dadcalled them ‘horror-scopes’)which we may read with mingledemotions, hopes, resentments;seeing fatalism imposed on us,rather than a challenge –suppose them, not as limitationslaid on this unwilling innocent…but rather, that at very momentinside, outside, passing time,and in that very place,the balance of the cosmos – that, so exquisite,that we may never know the microscopic detailof…

It’s the end of the midday break, andthe sun, already warm for Spring, is easing;the sheep are grazing on the new grass;two of them have jumped the low stone wallto munch the juicier grass of the roadside ditchwhich has spent the morning in dewy shadow.Where the path to the stony fieldscrosses the track back to…

whose numbers I cannot countand would not wish to know;who seldom know each other;and perhaps, that’s just as well..who, in their dressing-gowns on Christmas morn,amid bright wrappings hasty torn,and exclamations…fall suddenly quiet,are far, somewhere else for several moments;return, and look silently in thought, deeply,at partner, children; their eyesnow a little more shining than they were..or…

To sing life’s glory now I’ll seek, these days;to find a greater life through constant praise.

from poets and divines –it’s fleeting, can’tbe trusted, bringsa downside;better far they sayis bliss: quiet, indifferent,that is, beyond all differencesthat sadden; divisionsthat steal our perfect,timeless, spaceless I guessunitythis poem lookswith joyful hopeor hopeful joywell joy and hopeor would joy or hope be enough,Paul,to a future blisswhich when foundhas no past or future butonly the perfect…