Big rocks
Little rocks
White gravel
Grey pebbles
Green moss
Earth wall
Seeing nothing
Mind closed
(Look again)
People chatter
Dappled sunshine
Gentle patterns
Lovingly tended
Every day
Nothing seeing
Open mind
Endless, zen [o]
I ache… for cake! [o]
I feel the skies darkening
The tension builds, the clouds swirl
Suddenly it is all around me
Lttle rivers of mud appear at my feet
Is it the water or the wind
That cools my cheek?
An immense sadness and relief
floods my world
I cry as I remember the falling rain
When I am six [o]
Life is meaningless,
Life is precious
Fine soil, streaming through our fingers
Days spent on mindless tasks
Worship money, justify suffering
Of others and ourselves, an endless pursuit
Everywhere, the poor and the infirm are the same
Walking past, how we avert our eyes
Ascribing meaning to that which has none –
Of precious things, we lose our sight [o]
Happy here, simply being
Yellow leaves, fluttering
Shining sun, day begins
Painted frame, birds sing
Yesterday’s clothes, rumpling
Simply here, happy being [o]
Undeniably beautiful
I am grateful for my waking moments
My hand obscures the light
As I write these words down
I rub my feet against each other
And settle down to sleep [o]
Sitting in the shade
And yet the prickly sweltering
Heat engulfs my skin I hear
A rustling in the trees beyond
The chirping of a bird, a child
Shouts with glee as the
Laughing buddha statue tilts while
Standing in the sun [o]
Imagine, if you will…
You’re here
An icy desert, a thought wasteland.
All around, snow and more snow.
Endless potential and certain death.
Not a penguin for miles.
No one to ‘Arctic-ulate’ the pain you feel.
Obstacles are here
Like polar bears and frostbite –
Best not to think too hard.
Distractions are like warm fires –
Rather nice but they melt the ice
And leave you with nothing to stand on.
Creative blocks, on the other hand,
Like blocks of snow
Can save your life…
If used to build an igloo [o]
The breakaway island of Europe
The rogue nation that seeks to sail west towards the Americas
Whose inhabitants know not the sun, and barbeque defiantly in the rain
The land where, we’re and were are oft mixed up, as though the same
The Great Britain [o]
dokieo 