[Byzantine Bindings]

Sunday, 11 September 2016

Here he is!

that's the hardest
the rest falls into place
probably guided by God's hand

50 Words

It's all inside 
the trick is to find the tap
valve door or gap
thin place at any rate
place where knowing and being in charge
let's say
are less important than
letting go and seeing what happens
having the faith to erase that which is making meaning
easy then.

300 Words

The creative truth is nearer than we like to think
like God
waiting for you to be still enough
present in this moment
prayer-full in some way and yet 
in other ways constantly flowing like a river or a stream.

There is a tiny brook which runs under our houses it links us to the stream
and in turn to the river and the sea.

Then suddenly there he is
popping out of the page
this gentle clumsy giant with bundled flowers
longing for his innocence to be noticed
ignorant in the ways of love
feeling a great rush inside
unsure of what it means or how to handle it
there is s tremendous strength here which would overwhelm you 
crush you with his cumbersome love
he blunders into your world
lacking in the social graces 
unrefined immanent

Probably a blacksmith
great hulk of a man
forged himself in fire and ice
over the millennia
weathered now
seeking something
more than friendship
less than love
committed only to the fire 
which breathes life

Maybe a sharecropper
aware of the obligation he has
to family and land
returning home for dinner
noticing by the side of the field some posies
thoughtfully plucking them from the earth
table decoration
gifted from the earth
of no commercial value 
but being that which makes the hard work bearable
maybe me
maybe you
maybe everyone
that part of us which is strong and gentle
aware that there is nothing we need more than
a sign every now and then
kisses from the sun
changes in the season
trickle of brook
graces beyond measure poured upon us
it's as simple as that
no meaning 
or explanation
just moments when the heart beats a little faster 
or tears smile through a half forgotten memory.

Friday, 9 September 2016

Coming and Going

out of the ground
sometimes it's hard to tell
between the autumn and winter

50 Words
There is that time,
the mornings are chilly,
the geese start their melancholic tones
warning of the impending changes.
First swallow,
first geese, lime and chestnut
all tell us their tales
year after year.

Latterly I have taken to listening and it seems to be making some sort of difference.

300 Words
Last leaf fall quietness coldness and dark times evoke a time of earthy returningness
until rising again, at walking pace I'm told,
Spring shakes off the earth from her
overwintered clothing and wipes the sleep from her waking eyes.
It all begins again with joyous regularity.
I know that Sartre and Beckett would not agree and found no solace in the natural changes, at any rate it makes an impression on me these days and
layers upon the fabric of meaning
I make for myself wrapping up the baby in swaddling bands
somehow safe and secure in something known but unlearned
and for which I give thanks
in a way I thought I had lost
but even wounded bids can sing
attracting predators
yes I know
but with a zen like quality
being in the moment
becomes easier
with every breath
and things which used to
matter more
matter less
invited into the mix and meld
weave gloriously together
music and movement
I never learned to dance
another language
but it is never to late
the lost villages of Italy
still call
threatening my self -induced coma
I call life
the chill creeps though the window
the sunlight
with less and less warmth now
but that is to be expected
no dawn chorus
the dawn catches up with my rising
soon to overtake it
they say
memories become the mainstay of reality
as age creeps along too
we will become friends
you and I
autumn to winter
age towards death
and we will make a fist of it
discovering more and more about how it works
in truth though I know there will be
no knowing of truth
only significant stories
to feed the traveller
thanks be for
small changes
wonder and magic in the world.

Saturday, 3 September 2016

Pray the Way You Can

sometimes it takes a while
a long time
nothing is lost
to a god who counts

quoted from a lecture given by Fr. Eamonn Bredin at Mt Oliver Institute of Religious Education 1984. I have tried to find a a source for it but in vain. Anyone out there have an idea? It has proved to be an inspiration to me in so many situations.