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Dost thou conspire against thy friend?
What is it that makes us believe? For that matter, what is belief? If it has evidence to support it, does it transmute into knowledge -a different Magisterium? When I was a child, every once in a while when I happened to think about somebody, the phone would ring and it would be them. It…
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The Unplanted Seed
IfI stumble into a wordSomewhereAnd pick it up,Is it mineBecause I found it?Is it like a penny:Lost,Hiding on the ground,Hoping for a pocket,Or maybe a mindTo store it safelyInsideWhere it has worthAgain?Would it beStealingIf I used it later,Instead of confessingIt wasn’t always mine?PretendingI hadn’t seen itLying there;Hadn’t stroked its surfaceUninvited,With my thoughts –Or worse-My lips?AndIf…
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Thou art not for the fashion of these times
Do you ever think about clothes? Not about what to wear, or what’s hanging in dark corners of your closet or anything, but clothes. I mean, why are clothes, what are clothes, and who invented them? Existential stuff like that. There must be something important about them, otherwise we’d only spend our money on food and…
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Behind the mirror
I stare at them And they stare back As if they know me; It is a mirror After all, So I suppose they do. But sometimes, Sometimes They look puzzled, Disappointed At my curiosity. We are friends, They seem to say, No need to look away; I cannot read Your thoughts; I am your thoughts.…
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Cleanse the stuffed bosom of that perilous stuff
I was married once; it was okay; I might even describe it as fulfilling at times -although mostly the filling full of rooms, and often with furniture. Or rugs. Or appliances. Or, well, gadgets: time-savers. But now that I’m retired, Time is only a nuisance -something I am destined to have instead of money; something…
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Time
DaysHalf awake,Immobile as old men leaning,HoursStacked in untidy pilesAround the room,MinutesStretched along the wallsLike arms unlinked,Immune to the pale blue infectionOn the window’s breath-They lounge,Cow-eyedIn the tedious drag of shadowsAcross the floor.And me?Forced to spendWhat seem like yearsFinding patternsIn the ceiling tiles,I watch the slow danceOf dustSettleOn the unhurried tongueOf sunDrying on the carpet.With each…
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Wind Phones
There are times when I wonder how much of it I need: Time, I mean. It’s not that I wish to shorten it unduly, just that there are times when it gathers as a storm approaching on the horizon like I used to see as a child living on the prairies. Now, of course, I…
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Colours
I do not knowWhat colours are;They are beyondRich;Too thickTo frameIn the usualWords.They are more likeTexturesI suppose,ButMore tightlyWoven;So dense,That to see themIs to feel themIn yourMind.I don’t haveNamesFor touchLike that.
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Art thou not sensible to feeling as to sight?
I had an extraordinary experience the other day: one that I’ve had several times before, but never so… profound. Never so personal. I’m not one to deny epiphanies, but it wasn’t anything like the one that the Christian apostle Paul was said to have experienced on the road to Damascus: no voices accusing me of…
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The Fallen Bench
I saw itIn the park,LyingOn its backLikeAn old manSleepingOn the grass.PerhapsIt faintedIn the sunBecauseIts wooden ribsWere paleAnd warped-So wracked withTimeThey hardly fitThe painted frame.I remember it,Though,From better daysWhen I would shareMy eveningsIn its lap. I wonder,Did it finallyToppleOn its ownBeneathTired birdsSingingIn the treesAt the end ofDay,OrWas itThe silentVictimOf a needlessCrime:A senselessMuggingIn a parkGone grey? IDo…
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