his beloved admiring in the mirror
herself, glowing with his love,
so I watch you secretly;
polish that mirror, so that
we may see each other in it
and laughing,
wonder whom we see.
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I bumped into my grandson’s English teacher yesterday
I moaned about the state of A’s Eng. Lit. not to mention Eng. Lang. –you know, you’ve heard it all before… in my day…..never regretted….he agreed, but said go easy on the lad he’s only thirteenthey all want to be fifteen and grown up at that age,they can’t be seen by their peer-group to be…
Sometimes fat fingers on the keyboard
not cursing as usualat the way my brain brain he saysand hand were not wired up properly,but laughing out loudwith sheer delight like a childmeeting the joy of absurdity in wordswhich somehow gets suppressedin the years of growing… down?I’ve just written a commentabout such matters of mistyping, andthere on the paper it is in black…
The lazy cuckoo
the gods are counting.
Today
then throw the diary away..) :Today dawned with the unusualwrapped intriguingly in the familiar;a freshness unidentifiable;a promise, that promisednothing specific:as if I walk in a worldwhose infinite complexityis no problem;its multiplicity, a straightforward matter;which delivers something hoped forand yet never formulated with real meaning:simplicity;here and now, yet feels eternal;a heavenly sense of down-to-earthness;a freedom that…
It’s his light touch.
convince you of anything,he’s not watching your faceto see if you agree.He’s just mentioning somethingas if you were walking togethersomeplace real nice.Already, his light mindis somewhere far elsewherein this world of wonder,just mentioning itbecause there seems a connection.You too?Rumi was here.The air is singing.
There was huge pressure –
But I remembered the instructions –keep cool, do just what you’ve been trained to do…so,to get through, do so wellwas just amazing…just amazing…I feel – just – fantastic..the whole experience has been – fantastic..and yes, I guess my sights are nowon London two hundred twelve..the stadium, the village, the facilities, were just fantastic..but now it’s…
sleeping in Myself, I came to you
and looked into your mirror
to see whom I might see
and when you wake,
then you will see My breath
still moist upon
that mirror.
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They never teach you this at school;
in their own instructed ways;but now, if anyone suggested it, there’d be howlsabout the impertinence, the interference,the rights, the dangers of this and that –but all the same, they never teach you:how to get on with your parents.Oh there are books and books and bookstelling your parents how to look after you, but hey!there are…
Today, and every day – someone booped!
An apology, a resignation of their tarnishedposition in our public life? Don’tmake me laugh…No – they grandstand, chest inflatedwith their moral worthiness –‘This is absolutely unacceptable…’implying, some minion… escaped my notice…of course would never countenance……torocaca! That’s exactly whatyou just did – accepted it…It’s another variation of the now familiarresponse to some organisation’s failing –don’t admit…
There’s what we remember we remember
then there’s what we rememberthat we’ve forgotten;and there’s what we’ve forgottenthat we used to remember;and there’s what we’ve forgottenthat we’ve forgotten.There’s a poem there somewherenow I’ve got that far.Dammit, I’ll go for a walknow the daffodils are out.
beanz
fartz
Rose-pink, glowing, tiny hands and toes,
if we can think beyond that self-same glow,how may we help your passage through this life?For ‘education’ seems too long a wordto speak too near your tiny ear just yet;yet mother’s, father’s, total hopes and loveupon you – who are world itself – are set:perhaps, like Hindu mothers, we should singa cradle song: ‘You are…
The cell was smaller than a bedroom
but the second night,the first of sleep,S. was awokenby a knocking on the walland so the wall that separated themjoined themwhen wallsbecome shared wordswe are in the presenceof ourself.With acknowledgements to Simone Weil
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what may I give to you,
ask of me what you may
I said to My Beloved,
O my dearest one,
give me whatever
may bring You closer to me
bring me closer to You
My Beloved said
Tell me O my dearest one
that I may give you that
which brings Me closer to you
I said to My Beloved
Send me pain and suffering
for when I cry out to You
then I am closest to you
O my dearest one
My Beloved said
I shall send you what you ask,
O my dearest one
It is called the world
and we two shall be one in it
and know it as our dream of love
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They walk down the passage,
as if called to some formal gatheringof honour to be bestowed;humility and dignity togethermake them beautiful; watcherssee this, feel this too.Seated, they glance into each other’s eyes;they barely know each other, yetglance with the level, cool respectof equality; and of precise love:a love of what they treasure in themselfoffered to another who is not other.And…
In fifty years, when Jerusalem’s gone,
to whom will be the spoils, in this tear-stained land,lifeless, radio-active in its blood-drenched sand?
As we know
There are known knowns(we all need more love)There are things we know we know(we’re not getting enough of it)We also know(like I know I love you)There are known unknowns(but will it last?)That is to say(according to me, anyway)There are some things(especially about love)we do not know(is there someone better around the corner?)But there are also…
The famous Poet Laureate
has been suspended on full payjust because one merry dayattending a writers’ conferenceat a restaurant, under the influenceof the Bacchic nectar he’d imbibedthere were incidents, yet undescribed.But his students have Larry Woiwode’s promiseto deal with their theses on Dylan Thomasand other poets. Ironic, it must seemto all those drunk with poetry, in Academe?
a rose is a rose is a rose is a rose
but a rose is not as rosy as a ring –for diamonds are a man’s best bet;a rose is just a rose but the future could be rosy –a diamond is a girl’s best bait.a rose is a rose but eventually goes off;even love can have a nasty end;but a man who’s had his day…