was plaintive. And even after
we’d swept them all up and
found homes for them,
bandaged their paws, and
got them down from the trees
and chimney-stacks
there were still
poodles in the street.
Similar Posts
This is a disposable poem.
is a perforated line– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –you may read it stanza by stanzaand throw away each as you reador having it read it through,shorten it stanza by stanza– – – – – – – – – – –…
Suppose it said – and, yes
you were made to beas much the same, as God,or, The Creator – orsome other word thatmeans as much – were made to beas much the same as – That –as any human being could be; thatthis, waits for you; it’s there;cease to deny that that is so,and then, it will be so…suppose you hear…
and sad, perhaps;
visited for the first time in their lifeby sadness; pure sadness,without friend or enemy,just sad; sadness which does not tellof its parents, or of where it came from,or of where it might be going;or of how long it might stay before it goes..yes, sadness like that.
Like a favourite vase,
I’m beautiful as I am,empty yet shining,what will you fill me with?
and if you wonder, friend, why I begin
that it’s as ifwe have been close friends all our life,friends, as Kabir defined a friendas if no-one ever tried to speak of friend before –friends, who share the silences between their wordsas much as sharing their most inward thoughts;so, our conversation’s just as mucha continuation of our friendship,wasting no time in speaking passing things,sharing…
This mind is full of sounds…
no mind is like an island…where are all those sounds stored,indexed, waiting tidy on their shelves?Only when a sound returnsdo you realise that it’s been missing..hasn’t deprivation always beenthe Creator’s pointed message to us?just now, sitting with a teacup,after a ‘testing’ week…a gentle, sweet and reasonablewoman’s mother voice returnsto mind’s uncatalogued fine inner ear;reminds me…