Posts Tagged ‘emptiness’



Beyond doing,
beyond not doing,
beyond beginning again
and remembering.
Disbelieving nothing,
the old man,
through walls.


Neither is it the wind
Nor the tree
That howls
In this storm:
In the convolution of the ear,
In the eye’s tear,
In the blood’s roar,
It finds a home.

Finding and losing

Bitter beauty,
Is beauty


tongue cup still tastes,
sharp sorrow,


Clarity: not a knowing,
not a thing,
not graspable,
never owned.
It is a landscape, high,
with a wind from the mountains,
a forgetting of,
a removal of frames and views,
cold on the tip of the tongue….


When we hear a phrase of the tune we have always danced to,
we remember and forget,
become more and less ourselves.
That’s it, that’s it.
Struck dumb by namelessness,
bright eyed,

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TURNED, GONE ON (requiem)

Stillness now, lost blue and empty silence.
After wracked storm, tearing breath,
Tangled rain. The howling
Has ceased, calm, calm.

Where sun reaches, there
Is hope of a little warmth.
But little warmth in shade,
Little warmth when the face
Turns away from light.

Calm void where you have gone,
Spacious, rested, freed from pain of time.
Naked void where you were,
Are, no longer.
The empty fields,
The stiff sloped horizon,
The days ahead unformed, vast.

These winter roads
Will lead to a surprise of spring,
But not soon, not soon.
Not before the world becomes ragged.
It must become ready, choosing, too,
Letting go what is,
Letting uncertainty bloom.
Too tired to breathe
One last slow, drawn out,
Whispered breath.

The void of skies
Fills slowly with new cloud dreams.
The scoured earth will clothe its scars
In new skins of green life.
The hollows will slowly fill,
The woods, they will be bound in birdsong.
It will become gentle, dancing once more.
But not soon,
Not soon.

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Are we cradled in this new, cold dawn
Or do we fall weightlessly,
Our feathered bones hollowed by the mighty?

It comes in waves and seems to say
You must remain, but I,
A majority of one,
A minority of millions,
See no way to please the chosen machine.

We weigh nothing,
Vaporous, without memory,
Vacated, echoing,
The inconvenient, avoided, disregarded,

What it is we seek has not been found
In this slow, death-quiet brightening.
This birdsong is not for us
Nor has been given us this breeze.
No blessings that are not earned,
No comfort not calculated.

To fall without sound, to fray
And neatly dissappear,
Not to whimper or moan,
Nor to cry out to the invisible.

I shall put on the wings of the crow,
His sharp eye.
I shall guiltless rise on storm
And consume the already dead.
Guiltless and open as the sky.
To accept nothing, to bless everything.

Our peace cannot be stolen:
It only lives within us,
And cannot be traded
Nor snuffed out.
Yet we tread the ruts of long war,
Futile, strive to best these dark passions
With muddy fires and sounds of ripping time.
Run, run, from silence,
Run from stillness.
The hounds of midnight mad for blood:
Their hunger is our failure to face
The white mirror of emptiness,
The fall,
The long fall,
With no end.

O ye birds of silent air,
Ye travellers before dawn.


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She pours it all out,

Empty, ringing.

She knows

Fullness will come again,

And she will pour

Herself empty

Without regret.

Teach us,

Mother moon.


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Eight Haiku for a Year of Days, another posey of haiku for the changing year, now that autumn skies and golden light begin to soften the edges of summer….

The dew departed;
But under the willow,
And in the lark’s voice….


Cattle grazing
On the sky.
Early morning lake.


Watching them swing
This way then that –
Small boats
On the breath of the tide.


Hot dust
Between my toes.
The empty fields.


Amongst the stubble
Drunken daddy-long-legs.
The silent sky.


Come in, come in,
Leaves of autumn,
The wind is cold!


Four day’s frost
Crunching underfoot.
Chattering jackdaws.


Stubble field.
One withered apple
On the old tree.

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Every other noise
In the storm:
The latecomers.


Sounding deep my soul:
The wind that moves the dark pine.
How far seems that home!


Only me
And the full moon
In this empty boarding house.


Nothing remained to be said.
The wind
High in the darkness.


The empty clouds
Fill with light.
Slowly, the moon.


Dead of night.
In the empty yard
The dripping standpipe
Is silenced.


This sleeping world:
River singing to itself
Under the stars.


Halo of the moon
Shifts like a dreaming cat.
The dawn wind.


This is a selection of haiku from various times, put together with a similarity of mood or feel. To add to it a very recent little piece:

Little cat
Can’t settle:
Rippling through the windows.


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