What now?
Nothing will help.
What am I doing?
Why am I here? Continue reading “Give birth to this moment.”
Down / Up
Saturday, 19 September 2020
Down / Up
Sinking
into
pain of
aging
*
Surprising
bonus
years
Out of the water
Out of the water
alien
I drown in the air
See Saw Jig Saw Words
Found this poem on my computer. Wrote it a few years ago.
In fever
I’ve been
a machine
all night
See saw
jig saw words
tumble
& fall
to make an image
as they land
on sand
Truth is that
beauty
never sleeps
alone
Beauty lies
under a cloud
in darkness
rarely seen
Truth and love
live
side by side
with romance
out of sight
While you’re
asleep
we’re awake
& see the dream’s
a joke
We left the
car & caravan
in the
flooding stream
Retuned to
find a
baby on a horse
She looked
at us with
knowing
eyes
we played
our games
online
so lost
we could not find
the tokens
for the
times
Sonnet 116: “Let me not to the marriage of true minds…”
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds, Continue reading “Sonnet 116: “Let me not to the marriage of true minds…””
Dover Beach by Matthew Arnold
The sea is calm to-night.
The tide is full, the moon lies fair
Upon the straits; on the French coast the light
Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand;
Wide brown land
I love a sunburnt country,
A land of sweeping plains,
Of ragged mountain ranges,
Of droughts and flooding rains.
I love her far horizons,
I love her jewel-sea,
Her beauty and her terror �
The wide brown land for me!
We had to say this at school in the fifties – over and over and the imprinting sticks. I love the place. Went there recently for the Psychodrama Conference in Brisbane, spent a week in northern NSW, driving around, camping, the poem kept rolling through my head, especially when there were floods or sweeping pains. I saw plenty of both while there.
Ithaca
Always keep Ithaca fixed in your mind.
To arrive there is your ultimate goal.
But do not hurry the voyage at all.
It is better to let it last for long years;
and even to anchor at the isle when you are old,
rich with all you have gained on the way,
not expecting that Ithaca will offer you riches.
Love this poem by Constantine Cavafy. Thanks Stephen, for sending it along a few years ago.
Continue reading “Ithaca”