convince you of anything,
he’s not watching your face
to see if you agree.
He’s just mentioning something
as if you were walking together
someplace real nice.
Already, his light mind
is somewhere far elsewhere
in this world of wonder,
just mentioning it
because there seems a connection.
You too?
Rumi was here.
The air is singing.
Similar Posts
It was so easy being a British child
everything was – or so it seems to memory’sselective mind – so ordered:how old was I, when I stoppedraising my school cap(‘Don’t just touch it, Michael;lift it! ’) to, not just staff at school,but anyone to whom my parents talkedor who had talked (‘My, hasn’t he grown! ’as if this was some personal achievement) to…
You came back to the USA, but you never made it home…
for us to meet and greet and thankor try to avoid, or to forget,or try to join, in some vague sense of shame…At what level of experiencemay we try to meet you, back from hellwith decorations visible, wounds invisible?What use are words – they just make us feel smaller and inadequate?Just perhaps, to be there…
This is the story I was told – I’ve omitted
and narrow down the nation,the place, the family, the man…It was in his teens, at school,when the national leader aroseto bring the nation to its future,its fulfilment, its destiny; so, likehis fellows, he joined the youth corps,their eyes shining with ideals.When the war inevitably came,the time to show the world,he was conscripted as a soldier.He…
Its trunk is right next to the front gate
of guilt and anger – next door’s insurance companywant me to have it cut down, which I resent; it’s justso beautiful. It calls out love.All of four feet high when I bought it,slender, almost unnoticeable, and a glorious mistakesince I’d confused it with a ‘real’ slow-growing acacia;now it towers over the house, superb, generous and…
What is it, when we mourn and grieve and cry
that gives our pain such brute totality?so vital, that we almost love that pain(our faces sometimes radiant in grief) ,unwilling to let go pain’s absolute,since there, hides knowledge deeper than beliefof that sole absolute itself, the rootof all our being, oneness that we sharewith those with whom we sought our selves to prove?that pain, which…
I’d been reading some poems with
‘a lump in my throat’; and a pricking in my eyes,and a sense of the awesome power of that poetand of poetry itself; and self-criticismmixed up with envy, wishing I hadthat sort of poetic power myself;and it seemed to call for some sort offormal acknowledgement of this,some ritual of gratitude – not necessarilythe darkened room,…