The storehouse

The world is filled with grandiose things
like birds and trees and love
but unless they mix and mingle
and reach across the great divide
the clouds come in and threaten
to wash the goodness out.

Not everyone is like a vine
to wind within the meaningful
and wrap it, pack it, seal it up,
without the touch, taste, smell,
and so of them not so endowed
they become as travelling minstrels
gathering and harvesting
from intuitive insight.

There is no limit, none at all,
to how much the soul can store
when at a thought inbuilt reserves
discard the trivial
each day, each minute, second,
as the wagon trundles on.

It is the roll on rough terrain
that tests the mechanism
of how we act, react,
to make of the storehouse
a good place to dig and ferret.

I’m building such a place
but each day, each minute, second,
I’m conscious of a mystic glow
From an, oh, so empty space.

Inbuilt reserves?  Oh, yes, indeed.
They simply cannot move
a glow so intangible
as to not be there at all!

Round the mountain

She’s going round the mountain
the only way she knows
because to climb straight on up
not in her thought processes.

It’s the long way round that ne’er brings in
the full spectrum of belief
in all her dreams and wondrous things
waiting to be claimed.

But she fights through the underbrush
because she knows, has always known,
there are treasures on the round-about
that first must be collected.

They weigh her down, indeed they do,
but once the creep under skin
finally complete
she can become … a flying acrobat.

And then and then once on top
she’ll know she claimed the lot
and the slide back down to ground
no hardship to her crown.

She’s going round the mountain
day by day, step by step.
See her there in mud and slush
and ask if it’s worthwhile.

The flow

When the flow of what is meant to be
comes up against a wall
it stands there quite bemused
for at least a million years.

It studies every straight and curve,
every crack, bump, hole, and split
but none sufficient for a pass
and it prays for transformation.

Let it be as water so to seep
slowly, steadily,
through the seemingly impassable
and reach its destination.

But water? No, no, no,
It’s still of weight and measure
and a million years turns into two
while the flow thinks what to be.

So after two or maybe more
prayer discarded turns to slush
and sullies every new attempt
at change and transformation.

It’s just the way it goes
when the flow can’t see the way
so for me I pray for floods
to rise the flow above ~
and it does; it rises, up, up, up,
and like a dream supersedes
this reality!

The deep within

The mountain didn’t ask to be
a container for earth’s righteous soul
but it was calm and undisturbed
until the plea from deep within
“Please open up a crack or two
so I can see what mountains do.”

The mountain pleasantly obliged
but ‘twas a dangerous journey
as the deep within clawed its way
onward, onward, onward,
towards a higher up perspective.

Finally it celebrated
and on the peak stood happily
determined there to balance
all it saw and felt.

First one foot then the other
but the two together didn’t work
so the deep within slid back again
to ponder, assimilate, and justify.

It churned within but at a loss
it merely boiled it all together
and pumped it like a geyser up,
up, up and further up,
till out the mountain flowed the feel
of how mankind behaves.

Hot like lava, yes, it was,
to bury all the lies, deceit,
and burn the trail of footsteps
that forces on the innocent
a mindless follow-on.

The mountain argued reasonably
that humans are a race of greed
born and bred to first believe
truth doesn’t fill the coffers.

So the deep within took pity on
all the lowly folk just like me
and after a mere token of
its deep upset and heartbreak
thought to let the people be.

But of the deep within
how can it now be calm, composed,
when in the know and aware
that it must one day rise fully up
to change the way humans behave!

Love in the dirt

Love came upon a dusty trail
trodden on by many minds
and at the crossroads saw a sign
that left it quite bemused.

It wavered there for quite a spell
but no spell of insight came
to make it move right or left
or carry on ahead.

Finally it turned around
and went back the way it came
for far behind it knew to find
the point of no departure.

And that point of no departure
it’s very own true essence
still clean and untainted
by life’s so dusty trail.

But sad to say there’s no water
to wash the dust away
and that point of no departure
sent it back onto the trail.

But trails aren’t laid down roads
with no options at the crossroads
and that is why today you’ll find
love sitting in the dirt.

It simply doesn’t know
which option best to clean, refresh, renew,
and befit if for a welcome back
to that point of no departure.

One day love will walk again
but for now it merely sits
head bent and waiting for …
a little spell of insight!

The air

I won’t remember the air;
it’s a featureless entity
silently hanging like a prayer
when it’s not disturbing my hair.

It’s the keeper of pure energy
that neither can hold my hand
nor walk me to paradise
one beautiful step at a time.

There are no separate parts
like love/love me not petals
on flowers prepared to be stripped
down to the essential core.

And though I stare like one enthralled
I don’t see the face of the one I adore
nor the witch and the wizard of magic
dressed and adorned as I once was.

It’s air, only air, featureless air,
with a punch that keeps me aware
when I breathe and again breathe in
what it decides is befitting for me.

And so of the air, that featureless air,
I sacrificed so much to feel
it really is now and forever will be
a great disappointment to me!

--ooOoo--

(Don’t ask me – I’m just the writer)

Delight

Upon the mountain way up high
no bells ring out an order
for one and all to gather there
and build a bonfire of delight.

Delight can burn, it surely does,
but not up there on mountain tops
that forces on a burdened flock
a climb beyond ability.

It burns where ere it’s called to be
and fuels itself with true intent
passed from the soul to me, to you,
as a forever Christmas gift.

Time passes though and gifts grow old,
styles change to modern ways,
and fashion statements then decree
we all dress up the same.

You’d think delight would follow suit
but, no, it stays as once was made
old fashioned in its coloured robe
left now to trail behind the times.

It’s not a problem, really not,
be thankful that it trails at all
for easily could give up the chase
and stay back in the past.

Delight is there, always there,
waiting for the call to be
a fire that burns no matter life
that douses true reality!