Posts Tagged ‘as it is’

How the cuckoos sing sweetly
Of treachery and loss.

In the dewy morning
The rivers run low,
The hills to themselves,
Quietly weeping.

Ravens are joking on their way
To the slaughter-fields.

They do not need
The permission of gods
To be satisfied and at peace.

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Cradled in sound.
Cradled amongst the ins
And outs of breath, of heart.
Cradled, covered, rocked.

This certain skin touched, warm.
Cradled with word,
Cradled with song.
Cradled in longing,
Cradled in dream.

This long voice,
This sunlit unfolding,
This silken morning air,
These slow, precise moments.

Voice is not
The only voice
(Says the world).
Heart has not
The only song
(Says the slow dusk).

Peace is not
(Says the river,
Says the floating trees,
Says the flight of wings above,
Says the silence of their passing).

The living sleep, the sleeping dream,
The breathing pauses, the song resumes,
We melt and merge, swathed and cradled.
Delicate is the rainbow,
Impossible to catch.
Delicate the dance:
The balance of remaining.

Cherish and sustain
Uphold and move on.
So little, so few,
A heart to hold all,
A mind of whispers.
Gently, gently,
No lamp flickers.
Scent of evening.



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My mind is clouds
Shades of grey
Shades of light
Pellucid smoke
Moving to a breeze of birdsong
A dream of seafoam
A warmth
A honeyed breath.

Discard perfection
Disregard the starch ,
The po-faced judgement
Of those who weigh
Degrees of holiness,
Degrees of failure,

The world is
What the world is.
This river,
Not the water,
Not the valley,
Not the sound
Not the blackbird’s cool….


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