The ability to be alone with the world,
the space to see and think,
empty enough that it invites filling with something new,
yet full enough that there is no room for loneliness –
how rarely it happens…
Tag: poetry
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Train
I love train journeys, especially at night.
Lights, lights, lights – they conceal details and smudge shapes,
they fill my eyes – imprecise, beautiful, meaningless…
And the wind – its motion is the same,
it blows the lights through the night and away,
it fills my ears with noise and my skin with sensation –
indistinct, but directional…
It blows the stars out of the sky and memories out of my mind,
and I feel so light without the excess weight… -
Ancient Giants
I find bare winter trees endlessly fascinating.
The branches lead my gaze with hypnotic power, and it follows on and on…
I think it is a visual equivalent of learning and gives the same joy of
discovery:
ordered enough for the mind to create patterns,
with enough chaotic variation to keep it interesting,
to forever suggest the possibility of better, more intricate organization… -
Cherry Blossoms
Cherry blossoms – a staple of poetry,
they appear so briefly in such profusion…
What is the fascination?
Is it our slightly guilty,
maintenance-free
enjoyment
of the beauty of evanescence? -
Kindertranspot memorial at the Liverpool Street train station
City at twilight:
its lights and shadows, its lost and self-absorbed…
people in a rush, with no time to stop and people with nowhere to go…
and, in the middle – a memorial to human kindness that makes it all worthwhile. -
How to catch a rainbow
Catching rainbows is very difficult, especially on your own.
They are elusive, evanescent, evasive and often enormous.
So, what I propose is this:
1. Look very carefully in all the right places and find a rainbow.
2. Find someone who cares and show it to them.
3. Catch the rainbow – with two of you, it’s easy! -
The Wind of Time
The wind of time…
it distorts the present,
creating a chain of illusions:
in time, but not quite the right time
and not quite the right way…
in memory and perception –
but not quite mine…
it blows clean through me and leaves shadows –
the shadows of burned-out candles…
