old poems

 

afternoon

sunlight moves across her book, the wicker chair, her legs
salvia bows to the bee and the dog watches,
in case of adventure

crocus

tender mauve arches
reach through tangled rosemary
sunlit, bees humming

Starry night over the Rhone – vincent

reflecting voices
individual stories
in parallel worlds

Red vineyard – vincent

smouldering red vines
saturated in sunlight
you sold a painting

Starry night – vincent

Blue need not be downhearted, maybe intangible hope across a waiting space, breathing deeply, somewhere quiet, thoughtful, walking. Yellow though is solitude, each individual star and voice calling into the emptiness; messages wrapped in silence. Stand with the trees reaching for some other space, past their flaming blackness, into a night busy with form and purpose, patterns made by other lives. I would like to visit without sadness, with a gentle step, taking care to preserve the balance for the morning’s celebration of sunlight.

mirror

Step into the distance, space and time, because
with each long day we are more vital and tangible
cherished perspectives revisited, moments crystalised
no empty thought escapes this fractal signature.

Move through the world like a dream of yourself
because you are reflected, reflecting, refracting
dancing potentiality, intensity, and nothingness
smoke and mirrors, infinitely repeating questions.

Small gestures dissolve, resolve like sand
moving with tidal currents into solid arcs and emptiness.
The architecture of impermanence, living, drifting
ephemeral pearls of layered speculation.

Uncertainty forms and reforms, floding time
and distance, so that we have never been, so that we have ever been.
You leave me here, I believe you’re here, indefinable, undeniable.

waiting

our thoughts of moments shared
reach across the span of days
memory, an echo of company
we are not alone, just between

perspective

There is no such thing as an external factor in this mesh of system, in this pattern of life.
We are part of each other; sometimes it is intangible, sometimes incomprehensible, impossible, probably all of this, but integral all the same.
Like the sky today, unreadable, blue striped, silvers, greys; wistful, balanced on the edge of rain. Chilling doubtful shadows and sudden saturation, flashed with the maybe heat of the afternoon.
Somewhere between that wild breath of chaos and the rich smell of living earth, we are woven. So aim for the horizon, for the edge of the edge, where the sky touched the rough clumsiness of finite lives and know that somehow we share this moment and laugh together.

 

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