I said to My Beloved

punctuated with the lighter tapof brush on pan, the contents neatlytapped back into its metal or plastic maw;the knocks, sometimes gentlewith the happiness of home and heart;sometimes, sharper, as if they carryunspoken messages of time too short,and tempers too..not today the hoovering intake of that continuousindrawn mechanical breath that so disturbsdomestic pets; that brings unease…

not a good poem, to former minds;but a poem that remembers goodness;not a beautiful poem, to former minds;but a poem that remembers beauty;myself, as blissfulas a stretching cat.

he’s moved up the line; now he’s got that end cell.All legal processes have been tested.Of course his lawyers will fight once again –a pardon’s out of the question, of course,but maybe just a lifer? (He’s spent half of itbehind bars anyway.) At Association Time,if it’s allowed, the others look at himcovertly – how’s he…

‘As I argued in my previous book,‘Some definitions of ‘definition’ in contemporary philosophy’ –an argument which I hope to pursuein a following volume, (and I quote) :‘to define what we mean by ‘definition’we must first considerthe nature of definition:can it be itself defined? Isits definition itself a retreatfrom what definition defines? …’and the wood of…

in stillness; beyond waitingrests her being.Then like a lightning flashwithout light, without sound;micromoment of all presence that ever is,in which she knows all that there is to knowbeyond all thinking it; humilityand glory then the same.Now no need for questioning:she nor others; disbelievers; enemies;herself, all that concerns her, now known fully;she, now full of truth.Later…

you can’t always remember whatwhat you always say is

so now I’mone inch talland spread all over the roadI should’ve takenthe road not taken

you open the front doorand the house is rent with upraised voices –all the children adding new woundsto years of grievance; your eldest daughterthreatens once again to go live with her boyfriendalthough she’s under age; your eldest sondespairs of girls ‘not being able to argue properly’;the cry, ‘that’s not f a i r..’ rings through…

is a poetlooks with aweupon all thingssees one in manypraises one,delights in manylovesreasonswonder is a poetBarely a year ago nowwhat was he?an adult student whom I scarcely knew,self-contained (and whatan epithet that is…) ,a human being with a warmth,a keen mind for profounder things, butnot burdened with over-education,still an innocent guarding wonder with a hidden…

‘In God we trust’and then proceedto deny that in your actions,in your thinking,you start to believe inthe primacy of materialism, physical substancelike, say, drugsand subtlyminds adapt to the ideathat drugs solve all –to aid backward children,to quieten teenagers,to make prisoners docile,to make mad people docile,to keep soldiers brave,to bomb your enemies,to stimulate sex life,to keep…

I will show you happiness; thenI shall show you sorrow;I will show you sorrow; thenI shall show you happiness;and in the one, you shall knowthe more about the other;I will show you rest; andI shall show you restlessness;and in experiencing one,you shall know more of the other;I will show you all that is old; andI…

see as their life’s blessings:first, He gave them the opium poppy:so that if they chose, an easy wealthwould kill their fellow men all round the worldwith its addiction; which they themselves could claimwas not at all their fault..and easy wealth would give them timefor Allah’s second curse: the manly thrillof fighting and of killing; to…

with realist and fine poet andloving gardener and teacherand much else, harmoniously,points out to me that the pink geraniumswinging gently in its hanging basketin the late September sun, withan effusive burst of floweringwhich it alternates with exhausted,barely green recovery and dry stalk,puts on this display simply (simply!)to attract insects to accidentally(accidentally!) aid it topropagate its…

share one’s pleasures and delights with.Some of my family think I’msome sort of misanthrope, hiding awaywith my collection of Chinese porcelain…I tell them, it’s the opposite – I feel thatI’m in touch with the finest work ofcontented men, creating some sort of memory ofperfection, for others to enjoy – I guessyou feel the same way…

that of one used to public speaking,his words so significant that the audiencemust hear every one…James, the high-flying lecturer onthe humanities and beyond,writes books, poems, travels, mixeswith the great and good…‘So tell me, Michael, is there anygreat poetry being written onyour website? …’James looks me in the eye,as one who’s used to hearing, impartially,all the…

but grows larger.Sometimes not knowing is a blessing.Sometimes it’s sad-making.Sometimes it’s bloody annoying.

thick lenses would place your imagein a plane you don’t inhabit;like a fish that in an aquariumsuddenly swims direct toward youstopping at the glass to stare a moment:was there a meeting? Whatare you to the fish?So, nothing. Then next day,he’s propping his bike against the wall,bending down to take off his cycle clips;caught so close,…

when you catch someone’s passing gazeand just like that you suddenly hearall their inner thoughts – non-stop,all over the place: good ones, bad ones,a cacophony of stuff, you wonder whythey don’t go mad with it – you look at them,they look quite normal, unconcerned…then you look at someone else – the same thing happens;what can…

as worthwhile in our life –these, we share with those who’ve gone before..what else more worth the sharing?and share, more closely than we know to seek:those whose ‘loss’ to us we mourn –especially those so recently thought ‘lost’ to us –they are the ones still closest to us:they delight to hear from us, chatting in…

on the cold grey slateof crowpecked years

with its brown, half-healed scarlike an old sabre wound from some great battle,the thought came, if you can calla vegetable, heroic, and why not,then this old bruiser is a hero…its red proud chest so stalwart set,saying, I saw the season through..come rain, come shine, come windand foul weather – what’s going on these days? –I…

Like some invisible burdento do with humanity or somethingpersonal, imagined, no clue,pressing down, tensing the back,can barely walk a straight line,face full of repressed angerabout what I don’t know,then yawning with the wearinessof doing nothingso how to deal with itif you don’t knowwho laid it on youor whyopened the paperalmost too bored to do that,read…

dew as diamonds on the grass stems;sunshine on the hills across the river valley;outside the rabbit hole, a terrier, crouchedon the scuffed reddish run-dust of a hundred paws;focussed, completely still, every muscle ready and alert;ear occasionally twitching at some movement underground;now, all things are praise.To live with praise, to live in praise,to know; be blessed;…

and, calling a carrier-pigeon from his loft,sent it as a white dove to his belovedIt was a long flightand by the time his beloved read the poemunder the lamplight in her roomits meaning had changed for herwith the course of time and the human heartIf the pigeon, midway on its flight,had rested in our loftto…

gaze into a history that answers not;lost in the troubles of an ancient peoplewhose hearts are not, yet could be mine..I need to talk to the Psalmist: now:for I cannot carry all this burden;for despite the burning poetry of faith,my ears, my mind, my heartfind neither mercy nor sweet justicerunning to you, arms outstretched, …this…

I’ll picture mine, you picture yours –champagne bubbling in the blood and in the mind,hopes and possibilities flooding freshly in..but a spring mid-afternoon… like today, like now:a subtle balance of the elements;the sunlight bathes the room, but gently,with its promise; yet,there’s a timeless peace with itthat’s like a life surveyed; yetfree of thought, of comparison,…

of doing just one thing above all!When I was a child, I did many things;that’s right for children – there’s the world,go play in it; ask, what’s a horizon? but whatlies beyond? and why can’t I see angelsif angels can see me? …When I was a young man, I did many things;that’s right for young…

escaping the family,or waiting for a message at work,or the boss isn’t around;you’re a poet,you need to keep in practice.Now’s the time to knock off a haikuthat will knock the Japs off their cherry trees into the snow,maybe a limerick to throw thosesilver-tongued Irish into the murkyblack-and-tan Guinnessy Liffey out of sheer envy,slag off a…

Your body cannot run away from Him,for He who made your body, runs with you..Your spirit, your soul, cannot run away from Him,for He is your very spirit, your very soul..Only your mind can run away from Him;and then his brothers, soul and body,weep for him, wait for his return,in stillness and in silence –…

‘cus we’re all still – well – much the same;just hiding behind a designer label.

who needs it?why can’t you be just like everyone else –admire the mountain from afar,Olympus, Parnassus, whatever, what’s in a name?its cap of snow, the way you often can’t see the topfor mist; like romance around truth.Homer at the top saw gods – shall you?But no –it’s a fine summer morningand you get the urge…

shames us in the eyes of ourprissy neighbours (we call itour ‘poetic arbour’, wherecamelopards roam) –mowing the lawn – that’s all I can managebetween poetic stints:it’s hell when you put it off –the wife, the pointed looks fromthose prissy neighbours, thepricks of social conscience, andthe guilt…oh the guilt…sins of omission, all that stuff, I’min and…

the poemyou should lovethe readers

you need to read first..In return, give me a listof any of yours you might likeme to read..Though I can’t promise to do that right away;I’m very busy, writing poems and stuff.’Well, go stuff your stuffjust where it came from.Oops, I forgot to take the tablets..

when I saw myself doing thisas I must have watched you all those years ago,and forgotten ever since ’til now –the butter firmly spread right to the edges of the crust,pressed into the yielding bread,and then the surplus gently scraped off on the knifewith all the careful but not mean economyof a family which after…

during their life,especially those who like wine.But now, more than a thousand yearsafter your suicide,men have named a crater onthe planet Mercury with your name…Mercury, the planet the Greeks calledHermes Apollo, messenger of gods and poets;the shining one;although men have not been there yet.When they do, they may find yousitting in your crater, watching the…

– in Britain; whereas in France, itcomes second top after ‘author’…to be interested in everything, by this calling;to be interested in everyone, by this calling;now that’s a calling worth responding to:to ‘interview’ by asking a first question;to listen to the very end of answeruntil in the silence after the last word,the next question emerges in…

knowing poetrypoems come and gobut the knowing staysand grows; ask them,they know that knowing.

I rest, or stand, as both proud parents do,blessed by the loving bed;but I love too, the memoryof what brought being to this poem:the seeming insignificant events of the day,that neighboured with some memory;that chimed with books half read;which joined half-thoughts together like new-stringed white pearls,and then spoke in some wordless tongueand mental paintings without…

in the sea-fog rolling in at turn of tide,what feature of its form alerts us firstthat it’s so present, now, and here?That spiralled horn – why is it that we knowthat’s where it should be seen,that place upon our forehead we can feel ourselves?The unicorn within us knows –when attention spirals to a fine, fine…

Now that you’ve hit our ‘top poems’ list?I’ll bet that, as a National Treasureyou’re asked to give readingsat a minimal feewith the request‘please wear a red hat and a purple cloak –our members would like it…’ aw shurrup…I’m contemplating a parallelto raise the status of old menGod knows we need it…Where shall I start?I guess…

in the intensive care wardas if with no regard for youit’s self-sufficient; sufficient to the self;the same curve that the flute’s note makes onscreen,pure as Krishna’s smile; his lipsmaking breath into soundhear that, hear that whichruns day and night; repetitionthat always never does repeatand only when you’re stillwill you know with Krishnathe sound of inner…

the supermarkets will just buy elsewhere,we’ll hardly notice, apart from TV’s brief comment…This week, what of our organic vegetable bagwhose carrots are usually a joyful memoryof what carrots, pulled yesterday, used to, still can, taste like?– so this week, just one, huge carrot. The Great Survivor.Gnarled, a giant among the pretty, washed, and fashionable onessmiling…

what may I give to you,ask of me what you mayI said to My Beloved,O my dearest one,give me whatevermay bring You closer to mebring me closer to YouMy Beloved saidTell me O my dearest onethat I may give you thatwhich brings Me closer to youI said to My BelovedSend me pain and sufferingfor when…

but I knownot tocarpover someone else’sparc

Who is that man who says ‘You’re really somebody’?Watch him carefully.Who is that man who calls you ‘everybody’?He is a poet. Listen to him.

the ozone of the sea not far awaylivens the nostrils of the hopeful studentpausing in front of the marble columns.The pause is a departure and an arrival:there’s dust on his sandals;he’s come from far away;who knows how far?How many times has his spiritbeen washed by Lethe’s oblivion?That forgetting which by gracemay lead to a remembering?The…

as large as the boundless human mind,and into one scalepour all the goodness in the world that you can seecarefullyand into the other,all the evil in the world that you can see;into the first scale now addall the joy that you have known(the joy of others you can never measure)and into the other, all the…