when all at once, there caught my eye
a host of grinning crocodile
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and that day
smiled, joined hands,danced in a ringand as they danced around and roundthe space inside the circlebecame magicthe earth flowedinto a brightness in the airwhich in its spacebecame soundthe words dancingleft a ring in the grassin the sound of a poemthen returned hometo where words restin stillness and in silenceuntil called uponto waken fresh
I guess I thought old age
But no – it’s rich in questions;and not all of themabout Me.
bee,
flower,said the beerain,said the seedseed,said the rainearth,said the skysky,said the earthman,said the creatorcreator,said the mando they knowthey all speak the same language?
It’s said in Indian circles that the years of retirement
of their next life. So I’m sitting here on a fine Sundayin a quiet London suburb, the very day when the geraniumshave decided that they and the sun are intoa long-term relationship, sitting wondering whetherI’d like to be an American poet next time around.It seems on the surface very tempting:for economic survival, teaching creative writingin…
This first plum-blossom in the snow
which has no words for ‘Spring’ or ‘happy’.
A noun, a name, a concept perhaps,
asset-optimization; thought-structure; self-realization…suddenly, from something you’ve never heard of,it becomes a consumer desirable…it’s on your shopping list…better approach it with a laugh; with joy:I sat there with her, drinking teaand complaining ever so politelyabout the difficulty of being me;the air in the room grew heavy and even seemed to yawn..suddenly she sprang to her feet,opened…