ARROWS

I have but one arrow left,
Unspent,
In its quiver,
The very same
That bristled with passions,
Some which flew at phantoms,
Falling wide and wild
To places unknown,
Others piercing their chosen mark,
But all of these,
I'm now outgrown,
Save this, the last,
Amuses me -
Though once buried
In that crowded place,
Biding for its time,
I can see
That all along,
It's target was already found,
And it shall stay
Upon my back
To never meet the bow,
For this new passion,
Happiness,
Is all I need to know.

NAMING THE BABY

Perhaps I am already buried,
Blinded by obsessions,
Compulsions,
Large and small -
Lost in a fantasy world
Polarised strands of perception,
Pathetically incomplete.
Imprisoned in a cubic cell,
Home-grown,
A cocoon,
Self-spun,
The roof,
The floor,
There is no door,
And what is a window
But a see-through wall?
Could there be more
To learn
By not looking
At all,
Through the sticky, thick,
Congealing threads
Of my own beliefs?
Setting,
In an instant,
As if by command
Of a most obedient genie,
Into binding reality.

Perhaps there is another way.
To feel this life
Instead of thinking it,
Ignoring the shell,
Tasting the meat,
Back to basics,
Before I was taught,
Clever,
Before my innate & total bliss
Was scattered
Along the wayside
In my hasty pursuit
Of success.

The thing is -
What do we name the baby?

BRIDGE OF JOY

A bridge of joy
Spanning the fathomless divide,
Built of no more
Than the shimmering of souls,
Sharing whispers of secrets,
Deeply felt but only half known,
A silent and invisible communion,
But irrepressibly so,
Incandescent in its way,
A radiation so fine,
That soaks, like the rain,
Into every pore,
Enlivening,
Quickening,
Awakening
Dormant, waiting hearts,
With hope,
In the certainty
That what has passed across
Is real,
The soft footfall
Of lives, kept apace
In parallel worlds.

STROLL

Clouds were gathering for trouble,
Agitated,
Curled with grey
As I walked across the park today,
The scent of the grass,
Freshly mown,
Sugared the air
And lifted a playful bird,
Softly, sweetly,
Gently buffeting
On its way.
Behind the wall,
A hedge -
Tall and thick,
Bowls, nudged
The long jack - click,
To well mannered uproar,
Underplayed,
In an afternoon,
Lacking perfection.
Until my yearnings
Are silenced
By the breeze,
A bidding from the trees,
Whispering their pledge
To quieten me,
That I should listen,
More.

MATRYOSHKA

Profound yet simple
Fractal cell,
Within, without
Each nesting shell,
I am one,
And one the same,
But answer to
Another name,
And wearing but
The thinnest veil,
Identity,
Disguised by scale,
I exist
As large or small,
As heart or home,
Throughout them all.