me, the bow,

Your fault? Or that of others?Does it matter which, any more?Tears maybe? Time, then,for a laugh…try this:thank your lucky stars –or whatever or whoeveryou might thank, in the unlikelychance you feel like thanking –for the freewill that allowed youto create this lifelong mess..You’re joking? What a laughable idea!That’s totally absurd and inappropriate..ineffective, too…go on –…

than that cessation of our mortal breathbeyond experience; only surmised;a ‘death’ that’s not an end, but life anew;a death that leaves no space where to be sad;that leaves no time for guilt, regret or ruebut sets us free to know ourselves, and glad;quite free of ‘past’ and ‘ future’ in the mind,a life entirely of…

and says exactly as he feels,feeling as if he isthe whole wide world;himself the universal man;lives a measured life,nothing too little or too much;the universal man, himself

named it, ‘word-hoard’ –for a word that exactly matcheswhat needs to be said,a word may call out from the pagelike that kitten or that puppyin the pet-shop, which devastatinglylooks you straight in the eye and mutely says‘Master, treasure me…’so, the other day, ‘godly’ called to me: asabbreviated in former times from ‘godlike’;not a word to…

this winter morning, sharp, cold, bright and clear,the morning sunlight pours across white paint;contains a thousand messages, in meinterpreted.. or simply left to be..this moment, that’s as much as being craves:this morning’s glory; and I, born for praise..even as I write, I watch the sun’swhite paint brush move across the house’s frontand tell the eye…

the god lies sleeping;a sweet sleep, full of refreshment,as snug as a bug in a rugor Arthur, all his knights around,under the green hills of Avalon;we, each of us full of all Olympus;gods, sleeping as a mother does,always an ear for the slightest soundof those they love;the gods love us,how could they notand of those…