Vol. 2. / 200.) A Garland of Love

I looked at the sky

And collected a bit of blue

I looked at the sea

And collected a piece of green

I looked at the sand

And gathered a touch of yellow;

And from a nearby field

Bright with big daisies

Scooped up an armful of white;

And happy with light’s snippets

In my heart’s basket of colours

I dressed up my bridal day

In blue, green, and yellow

Weaving of my colours

A garland of love

*

Vol. 2. / 199.) Marvellously Is My Life Un-Leashed

Marvellously is my life un-leashed

Walking along the un-gated road

I stretch out my right hand and touch

The leaves of the living trees

They are faintly warm to my hand

They have been caressed by the sun

As I feel their surface smoothness

Which they share with the world

Contact with life on the outside of me

Is given, and I notice the meeting

Walking, noticing, keeping on going

I reach out my left hand and touch

The broken walls: harsh barriers that

Once hemmed in this road with fears

They are rough to my touch, they feel

Sharp as arrows wanting to pierce me

Light, and a realization, and I discern

Between my left hand and my right

I turn, face the other way, and walk on

Living the other half, the next stage of

Being, the part I cannot see but by faith

For the road, open --- it is first one way

Then the other --- that is the way of

Outsides and insides --- which the world

Deems dark, crazy, or else impossible

Turned, my right hand feels what could be

Until it is, and my broken walls mended

Are as smooth inside as the leaves were outside

And I see the mystery of the unravelling

*

Vol. 2. / 198.) Tidying Up Putting Things Back

Putting things back tidying up

Tidying up putting things back ---

Where they belong ---

Is one rightness, another is ---

Putting them in a new place altogether

Effectively working to actually

See them again --- the second time  

And so on --- unto the third place

Of putting things back and tidying up

You sift through your inner thoughts

But you don’t think of putting them

One against another in a different

Kind of order --- in a different place

Then one day you do ---

And in a flash you glimpse ---

The cohesiveness of all things

The interrelationship of all things

And you marvel --- but, they think

You are mad who listen to you

They’ve not any inside ears ---

And your words to them are nonsense
            As is the fourth place in this world --- 
            But all joy --- to those with ears to hear

                              *

Vol. 2. / 197.) Much Can Be Done With Little

With little much can be done

It needs only the word

Which drifts in to your mind

From nowhere

To create a world of thought

New and exciting

Never before thought of ---

At least, not by you

If you could only know better

When you have brushed by

The thing: touched near the truth

At that moment alone are you

By the door

                          *

Vol. 2. / 196.) We Do Not Know When It Is Ripe . . .

We do not know when it is ripe ---

That burgeoning fruit of love

That has grown from

The hurting place

But others will taste it

And though they will not

Tell you of it

They might enjoy it

For themselves, and eat it, and

From the pips, seed their own fruit

In the secret place: the holiest place of all

                              *

Vol. 2. / 195.) Where 'There' Was

‘There’ --- could always be questioned as to

Where it was, but that it was always there

Was true --- taking only love to find it:

Yes, in that very place was “it” --- I need not go

Elsewhere or anywhere other than where I was

The thing was not to shut my wings ---

Which it is sometimes, too easy to do ---

To live in the space between is exceedingly joyful:

Everlastingly youthful: a place of child’s eyes

But at times I am afraid of joy: it is total exposure

                                     *

Vol. 2. / 194.) From A Driftwood Pen

Upon a lonely beach of hard sand

Light fading with the ebbing tide

I stood within its scalloped edges

Felt the sea-surge pull and push me

In gathering cold I felt the in-light

Knew within me the waiting depths

To the sea I turned and to all within it

Quickly finding there a sweet release

A stick of driftwood, bleached, bare

Held tight in my hand but light as air

Could such a pen as this, write here?

Write what I was being shown here?

Six lines of what I knew not formed

A swirling pattern I drew upon the sand

‘This is you, my child, and here your hurts

‘This is what I see of you from inside’

A cry, a single sob, a breaking voice

Before a sea-surge swept it all away

No trace, no line of pain was left me

Nothing there but retreating sea-lace

‘Write again, my dove, my only one,

‘Let me show you what I see is there’

By some strange magic I drew again

A pattern of living shapes, and joy!

‘Gentle-kindness, patient-trust, and love:

‘Courage has given birth!

‘Here, what hurt has worked within you!’

I saw my hurts were all transformed

       *