A poem simply sounds the bell, of that which words could never tell.


Tentacles of longing,
Stretching out,
Into the murky unknown,
A sometimes alien world
Of unfamiliar
And paradox,
Suddenly a touch,
A tender warmth,
A hand that holds
But does not grasp.
Beneath a dark horizon,
Undeniably and assuredly,
Arising like the morning sun
A glowing,
A growing,
Filling the landscape
Of the soul,
A knowing,
Here is a heart
That feels like home.


King Canute
And Dorian Gray
As ghostly spirits,
Met one day,
And hand in hand
For company
They walked the sand,
Then swum the sea,

And no dispute
Between them lay,
A new agreement
Holding sway
As they walked the sand
Then swum the sea,
And fantasy,

Both resolute
In such a way
That neither cared
What folk might say,
For fact
And fabled mystery
With sea and sand
Did quite agree

That time, nor tide
Will stand aside,
For common man
Or Majesty.


The Zen garden
A moment of stillness
Petrified in time
Ripples in the gravel
So devotionally raked
Halted in their disturbance
Caught in mid pace
Shades of grey
The middle path they say
Between black and white
Half the way to certainty

Worn smooth
By mountain torrents
Quite at ease
Though far from home
The centrepiece
A dome of stone
Flexing its polished back
Like a cat
A glimpse perhaps
A crack in continuity
A portal for intuition
Sentient feeling
Knowledge and will
Always existed

Soon after
That first long
Wistful sigh
When space
Clotted into worlds
Before the gardener came
To rake and tend
Were stones the guardians
Of awareness
Perfectly at one
Silent and sure
Today tomorrow
And evermore


Can there be
Any simpler than one,
Or more profound than nothing,
The cold mirror
On which one breathes?
What can there be
Dearer than one,
Clearer, more than zero?
Whose circle,
At no point begun,
Is, oh, so simple,
By just being one.


It is this silence
That contains me,
A vessel
Without walls,
In a stillness
Beyond the memory
Of dreams,
The cusp
Of this moment
Without horizons,
Vanishing at will
To flow
Into every waiting heart,
To hold
Each empty hand,
How could there
Come an end
To this?