Christophe Gordon-Brown - Sculptor



the jester

All things are a fiction, said the Jester to the man,
Including our thoughts and emotion, for they have
Been made, and will undo

He paused awhile, the poor man too. Whereas the
Power from whence they sprang, that is your true
Home, the true home of man

Objects of time will scatter and matter only to give
The mirror - for without that bind, no man is born.
You understand? He laughed

Then bowing low before the man, he went on, best
Love your self and the things of time, which you my
Friend have made – tis true
But make you sure of this. That you do make them,
And they not you. Do you understand? else you will
Lose your life and fall

Fall from a cosmic horse my Lord which verily is you


listen children

Children listen
For we have a deafness in our ear,
But you can hear...

We are not so near
As you in your tender years,
Look into that deep well
Whose violet gloom we know not well
But fear... Listen

Can you hear a gentle boom
A soft sound, too fine for our gross ear
Can you hear the ancient seed
That speaks in whispers
Of a golden time

O little children
Please listen in your ear
And tell us what is being said,
About that, which we need to know,
About the way ahead

For we are grown deaf
Our minds heavy with a silent noise
That shield us from a wisdom
From a still and silent voice
That we just cannot hear

For we cannot be, where you are near



Hell is to be held in awe with one's own persona
Which is a through sounder of the Infinite
Vectored towards the finite
Consisting of a little knot or agent
Between spirit and matter with which it identifies
So as to evolve or turn-out the potentials of being
At first it's own cell-fish being
And in time the potentialities of all beings
The latter is a reflexive self-conscious process
Driven by the Will, and is called the Act of Love…


if you were to ask...

If you were to ask for
The difference between
Wanting and happiness,

I say they are opposites.
One implying deficiency,
The other, sufficiency.

To want is to define the
Self as lacking something.
Happiness lacks nothing.

Happiness is the Will, to
To posit ones own essence
Any time matter or place.

Wanting, is a search for
That essence in the world
Of time matter and place

Via many presenting fruits


falling man

Within the Self feelings come, and feelings go - ideas, thinking, urges they
all expire, they are not physically there, but leave their print in our crispy
white snow and strangely, we are drawn to know which of these give more
and which give less, so feeding our cleaving mind which divides the whole,
yet cares little for every part that has a part to play, and can't be dispensed
with. By setting his Will for or against with added violence, identified man
has lost his innocence, and now enters ignorance and the long way home.
He says "I am the part, not the whole", yet his conscious knowing Self has
never left him, and mysteriously, that is the whole in which all parts show,
and in Time will accuse him. Not a space we enter... without a little fencing


home again

Ah, never was a rant so sweet
Unto mine sorely bended ear

That was touched with mercy
Or filled with those truths dear

And fetched back home again
All that was lost (we feared)

Which does give permissions
To be honest and to be sincere

So I may speak my truth gently
With no worries and no fears

As in like, I will hear another
Say hers, and let them be there

This blessing may be searched
For but alas, is not always near


the jester

All things are a fiction, said the Jester to the man,
Including our thoughts and emotion, for they have
All been made, and will undo

He paused awhile, the poor man too. Whereas the
Power from whence they sprang, that is your true
Home, the true home of man.

Objects of time are not different, yet Nothing and
Nowhere are of no use unless a limit be drawn, do
You understand?" he laughed.

Then bowing low before the man, he went on, best
Love your self and the things of time, which you my
Friend have made so – tis true

But make you sure of this. That you do make them,
And they not make you. Do you understand? - Else
You will lose your life and fall...

Fall from the Cosmic Horse - which my Lord is You!


dark angel

The dark angel
Breaks the world in two
By liking and disliking,
Then persuades the mind
To follow through
With a divisive act

In the palm of my hand
A coin with opposing faces
Either side of a single body
Both representing a fact.
So what are we to do?
Perhaps -

If the Eye becomes single
The angel might burn with light
And unite the two,
So heal the broken waters
And reveal the beauty,
The freedom and the truth...


inward places

In the still moment when the
ear turns inward
and the eye retains an unbiased stare,

there you catch a fleeting shadow with
a soft echo that rolls away,
leaving us hung now, in the trembling air.

A vertiginous view from inside the great hall
of inward spaces where
neither straight line or curve ascends, nor time,

and there is no place to rest - for all is flowing,
there is no security here
as degree and fact slip away, all things decline,

leaving us naked with nothing, in a land called
Though the eye seeing this remains unimpaired,

and seems to understand...


islands in a stream

A prayer of warm wind
Weaves through the tall trees
Where the Songbird sings
Her lithe music freely given
Floating like islands in a stream

Mystery keeps things apart
Holds a droplet inside its skin
So that a river might wander
A Songbird sing, and leaves
Might dance in the wind

Can we pretend you and I,
To find a life without an edge,
The Sculptor with no stone
Must bind himself instead or
Lose all that he has to infinity


I knew a man

I knew a man
Who harmed nothing and no one

He did not divide
Nor was he divided

He fixed his will in no particular place
Thus he could love all things

And hated he nothing
Being like this he remained free of guilt

And so was a happy man.
The grasses and the flowers of the field

Looking on called him the innocent one
Wise men bowed when he passed

For the simplicity that lay in his hand
And for the powers that he could unmask


the fall

The fish are bound as one in a linking sea, but
what seamless garment links
ideas in a mind, who ties in a tether
these tiny threads of time

once, floating in a breeze, a teasing fragrance
of lime beguiled me, whilst I
resting my mind slipped gently beneath
its spell onto bended knee

the flavour and sharp green tang so entranced,
that down I went, falling into a
vast savage sea, hidden as if by magic
in the round belly of a whale

I the ocean Self rooted in desire for this perfect
siren form - despite her fading
green, now found myself in prison with
my perfect freedom flown…


seam : etymologically a 'joint' made by sewing.
lime : old norse lim - anything which causes adhesion
desire : unknown origin, but before it denoted 'wanting'
it signified 'lack'. Alternatively de - sire 'from the father'
entranced : lat. trans - ire, across over - go, 'to go over'
free : free fr. indo-europ. prijos 'dear, beloved'
dom : lat. domus, 'house'
freedom : the free (love) is domed (housed or contained)



Last night
I had a dream
That floating down a warm river
Under a pale moon
You gave yourself to me
And we were glad



In the flight
Between dynamic light
And dark matter
Lies the tangled knot of man

Anima Mechanica
The consummate divider
Lost inside a pot with a narrow neck
Half filled with ancient water

Into which he peers...
Searching for life under a pallid light
Thrown by a fine shaft
Of the great sun's ray outside

But due to an earthy bias
The yearned for path he does not find
Only the finite forms of time that
Beguile him in his learning

There is Light
Within a Man of Light
And he lights up the whole world
But if he does not shine - he is darkness


Anima mechanica : Lat. 'the soul mechanical'
dynamic : Gk. dunamis strength, 'strength, force, power'
consummate : lat. con - summus, with - highest 'the highest'
bias : lat. bi - facies, two - face 'an incline' (towards this or that)
yearn : Gk. kharis, favour, grace 'to desire earnestly and tenderly'
finite : Lat. finire, fix, determine; set limits to 'subject to limits'
form : Lat. forma, shape contour, 'that which has a boundry'
time : Indo-eur. base -di* cut up divide 'that which is cut up'
beguile : be meaning by + old Fr. guile, deceit 'by trick or deceit'
learn : Indo-eur.*leis- track. 'gaining experience by following a track'
Last verse is from The Gospel of Thomas - Jesus talking to Thomas.


dark jewel

In the dark spaces
Of the places where we go

And in the narrow caverns
Where the walls close in

And where the blood restricted
Pulsing with an echo
Beats a fearful din

There in confinement
When feeling weak and most convicted
In a place we have no wish to be

There we may find it
A dark Jewel
Hidden in the head of a toad

Who squats beneath a slippery stone
In the dank graveyard
Of forgotten woes

There in twilight we shall find the toad
And catch in his damp embrace
Our very Soul


restrict : Lat. re - stringere, again - pull tight 'to tighten, pull tight'
confine : Lat. con - finis, with - end, 'with an end or limit'
convict : Lat. con - vincere defeated. (defeat', dis - facere ' un - do')
toad : a mystery word, but here alludes to German word, tod 'death'
twilight : twi - light, 'two-lights'



Emotion swims out to
Expire on the waves of existence
Whilst feeling is awareness of a power field
Underneath and ever present

Thoughts are like things
That can forge a prison fortress
When our fluid life clings
And makes a home in ten thousand objects

Will is a great Power
That needs no conditions
For who has seen the Father of existence in
The palm of his hand?

Think feel will are severed
Until a unity is found
That binds these three together
And turns a divided man into one who is sound

He of the Undivided declares
On the day when you were one, you became two
But when you become two
What will you do?


unity : lat. unus one 'one'
emotion : lat. ex - movere out - move 'out moving of feeling'
existence : lat. ex - stare out - stand 'that which stands out'
awareness : base. *war-, *wer- 'watching, being on guard'
present : lat. prae - esse before - being 'being there before'
object : lat. ob - jacere towards - throw 'that thrown before us'
will : unconditioned initiative
condition : lat. con - dicere with - say 'with-saying' (or by pointing)



I may not hear
The wounding of a moment
As it unfolds

But in the long night
When the guard is down
The damage is clear

Oh... take me back
To the bend in the river
And show me

For alone I am not aware
That I have the wit
To find a path with heart

And to hear what you have told me


aware : base. *war-, *wer- 'watch, be on guard'


a little dying

Surrender to the pain
Have a care to carry the despair
And not to blame
Rounding up the whole is not an easy task

Disbelieve the divider, so close to home
Who learned his craft
From one small bone of the whole body
And needs relinquish power

To die a little, but
The dead once dead, there's no more dying then
This path we follow
Is not a path and we do not follow

Inside man a river lies, the beginning and the end


surrender : Lat. super – re - dare 'over - again' – give 'to give oneself over'
care : OE. caru fr. Indo-Europ. base *gar – 'heavy hard to bear'
despair : Lat. de - spes 'lack of - hope' or wi. base *dwi-s 'in two ways'
disbelieve : Lat. dis - *laub 'apart - love' or not loving
craft : orig. notion is of 'strength' then 'skill' in good and bad sense



I think there was a wounded king
Who could not find the thing esteemed
Until a dear fool showed it, close beside him
Where he lay – he was astounded!

He had not seen the grail this way.
Now he knew that clay cup was inside him
As a golden Orb of bless-ed innocence,
As a joy reminiscent of his childhood

And there, it laid a balm upon his soul
A calm repose to know that he was guardian
Of this burning coal – a glowing ember
Of Love that drew the way unseen


orb : Lat. orbis 'ring, circle, orb' a sphere, globe
grail : O.Fr. graal 'dish, cup or vessel'
The supposed vessel in which Joseph of Arimathea collected the blood of Jesus : an object of quest for the Knights of the Round Table according to Arthurian Legend.
innocent : lat. in – nocere 'not – harm, injure' not harming
love : working for the development of potentialities of being


it seems to me

It seems to me
There is a moment
Before the movement
From freedom to captivity
So fine as a breath
And less than a sigh
When all roads lie open

It seems to me
In that moment
Before a movement into the
Unbreakable consequence of being
Lies the fate of the whole world
Under a breath so fine
And a sigh just heard

Further it seems
While the Self is watching
No harm is done... but
If she pours herself
Into a Mould
There is a certain course she has to run
And the Light is enfolded


consequence : Lat. con 'with' & sequi 'follow' – with following
Self : non-material, reflexive spiritual intelligence in us all…
innocent : Lat. in 'not' + nocere 'harm' – not harming
mould : fr. old french modle – ‘form (idea), shape, pattern’


down on the river

I was in a small sailboat
Last weekend, near Cambridge
It was a lovely warm afternoon

We threw ourselves in for a swim
Plus happy dog, in amongst the silky weeds
And dragon flies and jumping fish

A memorable experience...
The landscape by the river Cam
Is surprisingly pretty despite it's flatness

Perhaps it was the wine, or company,
Or pleasure at being nine years old again,
But there was a haze of charm about it all


charm : lat. carmen 'song' song, chant or spell that influences



Modern man
Deeply identified with small things
With particulates

Goes with a sigh and his pale light
To dwell in crannies
As does the morning sun

And though lost in a manifold clay
He spies (in searching)
The One Stream of Light

That tells of a Majesty – now fallen
And falling now in him
Towards fissures, dark seams

That slumber in the broody earth
Dormant, dreaming
Of a fiery gaze in his conscious eye

Of the Miracle seed, and a birth …


emissary : lat. ex - mittere out - send 'one sent out'
manifold : many + fold 'many - folded'
majesty : lat. base magnus great 'greatness'
broody : indo europ. *bhre- burn, heat 'warmth that promotes hatching'
conscious : lat con-scire-osus ‘with-know-full-of’
scire fr. base *ski- 'to split' hence... knowing by splitting


strange dream

So much
Stamping and noise
Lies at the place of fixity

Can you feel it?

In the same place
Where intimacy resides

There's a block that's solid thick
With an action band of noise

A three dimensional hum of
Superficial eulogy

With curtains of resentment
Falling like rain


intimacy : lat. intim-us 'inner-most-ness'



In a dream
I saw two figures standing
With a disfigured child between
Facing me
And though not speaking
They seemed to say

Sacrifice is the price you pay
For such a Pearl as this
Look on carefully
And see how the whole is lost
If you reject a part
In a bid to have your way

And what a way it is
That tears the living from the living
And makes it like the dead
As if that could ever be!
Can you take a wave
And toss it from the sea

When it lies inside your head


sacrifice : lat sacer - facere 'holy - make' to make whole
holy : base *hail - 'whole' having the quality of being whole
reject : lat. re - jacere 'back - throw' to throw back
care : base Indo-Euro. *gar - 'heavy, hard to bear'
part - trap



Through the vein,
A river of doubt shakes my heart
And clogs the brain

It's three am.
I fix on the body and block
Emotion thought idea and action

Then reflex again –
Despite a growing storm
Breaking in the mind

To the I AM, who watching the pain
Sees himself, as if for the first time
Peaceful and sound

And quite unharmed.
For this revelation I give thanks
And wonder at the Free

Tying itself to the bound


emotion : lat. ex - movere 'out - move' life-force moving out
reveal : lat re - vellum 'again back - cloth' to turn back the veil
reflex : lat. re - flectere 'back - bend' to bend back
doubt : base dwo- 'two' double (opposing motives, ideas, feelings)


dust of man

A wet breath on a pane of glass
And on the cave wall
The press of a palm

Every light that falls
Will make a mark
And leave a print
In the dust of man

A partial note upon which he calls

And with himself he will fight
As if under a devilish plan
With gossamer threads
Of a seamless robe

That will grow in his mind
And in Time raise up a whole man


devil (diabolos) : gk. dis - ballein 'two ways - throw'
dust : base dhwes - 'breath, spirit, life, vapor’



With a searing brutality, man on man hands
his misery down, in a trickle or in a torrent,
or inside a velvet glove he adds another link
to the iron chain that gathers in his mind –

While in the fires of adversity, the goldsmith
boils his silver brain and skims off the scum,
the impurity and flings aside these idol-finds
to search a freely spinning mirror mind that
rests in Eternity


idol : Gk. eidos 'form, shape, idea'



Let the wild rose grow
In the wild manure

And the tangling
Brambles, let them go

Man throws his weight
And with nimbling finger

Plucks the fruit from its
Resting place

While autumn fires mark
A summer's fall

With a silent turn that
Reveals us all embraced.

The weight is sometimes
More than we can bear


compassion : Lat. com-pati 'with-suffer'
suffer : Lat. sub-ferre 'underneath-carry'


to forgive

I had thought it done, till the words
'To thoroughly-give' rose like a sun

Beam striking home. My dictionary
Saw to that. Go find it said, a stone,

Etched with a mean score, a hidden
Weeping sore, of sour blame. I did.

And was amazed... I'd not forgiven!
Is not a deed and a word the same?

The humble Salmon swims upstream
Against a tide. He sets to with a Will

And does not lie or levy with asides,
Or reason. He gives All for new life,

And then he dies. I think I am a fool.
For seasons, upon the seasons, rise…


To forgive : Lat. per-donare 'thoroughly-give'


the gate keeper

To and fro,
Letting it in

And letting it go.
This is the secret way.

Through a little gate
(The mystics know)

Life flows in, and life flows out
Like a subtle wave,

Never hindered in it's play
Or made to linger,

Never held at bay,
As though we could!

And if I may or might enshroud
Such fleeting magic

In a husky shell or name,
Or could...

I lay gold down,
Her name is Mercy.

The keeper of the gate.
The keeper of our fate.

Mercy : Latin Merces ‘payment’ – holding back on punishment.


the Falcon

A Falcon entered
My workshop today,

On the confident arm
Of a young woman and

I quickly felt the surge of
Raw power in wing and claw,

Gripping leather and very alert.

We gingerly worked to remove
An over-tight tag from his limb,

Talking in hushed murmurings...
So as not to alarm the kingly bird,

Who's piercing eye, once exposed
Seemed to bore clean through me!

And left a feeling that we might be
More connected than I'd thought,

Sharing perhaps the same stream
Or spring of a well hidden source


earth and fire

There are many things…
But only one observer

One is the earth and
One is the Soul

Both essential for
A healthy man to grow

One is active, one is passive
And one has made the other.



The big work
Is to pick up the key
And put it in the door
For someone else, why?

Because the other way
Is a trap in which you stay
Until you pay with your love
And nothing else.



I'm sitting here by my stove before breakfast,
Pondering the apple of promise, that pulls the
Wool over the eye of consciousness, and leads
It to identify with any circumscribing force or
Form that's presenting

And how quickly these encounters fascinate a
Soul – and lead it like a dog down a blind alley
To capture, with loss of an amazing light found
In the living present. So much for a pondering
My stomach is rumbling

I'll go and have the breakfast. There see! How
Easy it is to fall and bind what is living, to that
Which is dead. Which is which, I hear you call,
But hold steady – for inside one is Life, whilst
Inside the other is a wall!



Imagine a fine light in outer space
Falling on a form and
Feeling constrained by that shape,
– Should the light wish to manifest.

Imagine a tangle of hollow threads
Down which I had
To pass and the misery of that fate
– Says my Soul trying to propagate

Perhaps, you have imagined Force
Trapped in a frame,
Sentiency coalescing with an idea,
And then forgetting to let go again

Is this the source of our complaint?

In reply, Power gives birth to a Son
Who draws a cross
Where the opposites meet and says
Love both, for surely they are One,

And further, that they can't be split.
Though the form
Via which we express is a personal
Thing & will bring it's own redress,

Depending on the motive we invest.


the hidden fabric

Suppose that in deepest space
Beyond the limit, lies Nothing,
Out of which, all Things have
Come to be, before returning.

Yet... mysteriously, there is no
Coming and there is no going,
As Nothing is a power present
And hidden within each thing

Giving it Life whilst remaining
Unseen – but to the Inner Eye.
Supposing that with the power
Of imagination faith and belief

We assume it's presence, as the
Seamless garment it's said to be
Binding all the patterns, forms
Atoms and molecules together.

Now the glue of the jigsaw is in
Place, where it has always been.
And we can leap a chasm which
Before, we deemed a fantasy...



We are loosing our poise.
Friend... what has passed?
A delicious pool of quiet
Wherein rested our peace
Is turned outward to noise.

The hall of shade and still
Reflection, like the dew in
A morning light slips away
And leaves us bereft – with
The brittle, overbright day,

Whilst the pure leaf under
These leady words is still, it
Has no bias towards all that
Sway from above, and even
More, it gives them their fill.

Was there ever such a jewel?


a meditation

To free the Subject,
From the object that
Lies within it, such as
A grain might lie in
A great all seeing eye,

– is to free the Self,
From it's hungry seed,
So to nurse that with
Warmth and moisture
– Yet remain outside,

In a field, which links
All forms and which is
Lost in the gaining of
The so called prize, a
Temporary satisfaction

Of things born in time
(That can trap a mind)
To do this, is to fight
The battle of battles, to
Make the gain of gains,

And to know subject and
Object are not the same.


the Self and the stone

To see...

Now that's not easy
When a foggy way
Shutters the eye and
Steals away the understanding.

Though we could say,
It's a foggy eye - that
Shutters the way and
Steals away the understanding.

Which is it I ask you.
If a fog sits inside an I,
Like a stone in a pond,
Then the I must be the greater.

But if I goes into a fog,
Like a pond into a stone,
It's definitely the foggy eye
That destroys the understanding.

Does a sea go into a wave?
Alas, a map isn't a territory,
And even though I see a logic,
My eye throws itself into a stone

And away steals my under-standing.



Meet at the crossing
Where the
Present centre stands
In the stream
Of form, and look on.
Feel the
Gravity pull you into
Yet knowing what it’s
Like to
Be thrown beneath the
Hold the centre for it's
Freedom, a
Space of no dimension,
And suffer
The buildings collapse,
Likely which
Was laid upon the sand.



I should have caught that dream of
Clear and sharp direction, for alas...
This was no spinning compass wheel
Or misty vague intention but urgent
Insistent calling from a far off place

Instead of turning over with promise
To remember I should have trapped
That dying glow, and fanning gently,
Raised that secret ember, and then I
Might have seen, what I need know...



I am just the feeling
In this flesh and bone,
Boxed in
Alas, though not alone,
Entombed painfully with
This awful drone prods me
To move…

So very slowly stepping back
Uncoupling I slip away off and
I disassociate and leave without
Become a passer-by, disidentify
I Vaporise...

For how can a sunbeam become a
Or a Self, the Object, upon which it
Become that Alone. Am I that drone
Or a beam of Light who knows the din


mud walls

How strange,
Mud walls
In a heavy downpour,
To join the earth again
And the berry ripened
Goes over…
The babbling brook
And the gurgling rain
Make their way
To the sea.



The Stillness

The silent emptiness

The nothing and the nowhere

These precious pearls of the deep

Below this twinkle of sleep

That we call our life

That we call our fare


we must let loose our life

We must let loose our life from its iron grip
And fling it to the night and seek a new way

With this our fine shaft of searching light...
And though we shy from this daunting task

For our puny reason may exceed our grasp, yet
Go we must beyond our self to find a new day.


weary with sigh

Weary with sigh
My lonely bark
Pitches and rolls
Pitches and rolls

Whisper breezes
The unquiet sea
Why me like this
I sigh. Why me,
Like this, at Sea?


I sit inside...

I sit inside
My stillness. 

A tented space
On stony ground.

A burning place
Of high gravity

Sucking down,
Listening to a

Tearing wind
And dry thunder

(A silent sound)
In this hot place.

This empty space.
This hollow ground.



The shock

You've gone.
A stream of clear water
Moved on,

Leaving us lonely,
With your bright life,
An echo in the mind,

As when a fine musician
Might step outside for a while
And leave her song behind…


the little flame

The little flame of knowing dims.
My purpose slips. A sluggish heart
And disabled mind rasping like a
Bottled fly, tumbles. We fall back

Into a simple silent nothing I am
Placed... whilst just outside many
Faulty objects hurl and race, with
My own name, carved upon them

And a voice that says, will you put
Your powers in those things that
Are-not or choose this silent space
Filled with a beating Angel-wing...


identification of a centre

Identification of a centre
With periphery. That is it.

There is truly nothing else.
All rivers flow from this.

You are Nothing to me -
The most precious of all.

Why would I draw you out,
If not for my own purpose

Therefore I will not do so,
Lest we both fall and die.


a being with alzheimer

A being with Alzheimer
Is a person as you or I.
He too has his way,
Even though he may
Wander through the day
Like the fly who has just
Strayed through our room.


fire and earth

Out of the fire and earth,
Tell me which ascends, for

It seems that a fixed frame
Is stretched by hidden force,

Whilst that, is constrained.
Each goes toward the other

And appears to be at odds.
Like a Christ hanging dying

Nailed to a wooden cross,
Where both fire and earth

Contend, a burning contest
From which we all flee, but

To which Himself did send.


the fox

Beautiful creature shaking my heart
With your stride,
Raising a moment,
Lifting our pride in late December

With such grey slumbering of green
Like my own senses,
Half asleep,
Yet just, I spied your loping beauty

And the keen life within me rose,
For your
Autumn colours
And sheen, in full arching splendour.



By reflecting the Sun
In a stepped down way,
To give us the measure,
She’s a calculus moon.

With soft glowing bone
Of urges and promise,
Weaving silvery snares,
She’s an enticing moon.

Of her radiant sphere,
With every difference,
And all contradiction,
She’s a wisdom moon.

As quiescent receiver,
Of our sun-fire desire,
Yet patient  kind  cool,
A Hand Maiden moon.


pebble and the Pond

Pebble and the Pond
So different, one small hard,
The other, voluminous round.
He the donor, she receiving,
(Though somewhat unmoved)
Yet, marks honestly his passing
With an exact ripple or two -
A sincere reflection of his efforts
For a little stirring of her deep waters
Whilst he, thrusting himself at her,
Is disappointed with the effect...
And further, at how quickly she forgets,
As she waits for the next little plonk,
That makes another grand entry
And which she happily receives,
(As she did all the others)...
That vainly came her way and
Thought to make a difference.


hares in the mist

Two warm solid creatures, unmoving,
partly cloaked in a translucent mist.
Quivering with life. Standing together.
Me, rooted in cold air, watching,
Breath held in joy at the sight.

We gazed for a moment
One on the other, enthralled,
Across a chasm that has no bridge.
Yet my heart leaped for these my brothers
(and I would have given them my all).

How long we communed, I don’t know.
They seeming to sense this our breach,
Turned, and without hurry departed
Into the fog, that gently gathered them
Up and thus so to speak, the vision faded.


the blue jug

Cool container
Of big fire burning,
Perfect shape
For infinite knowing,
Secret love
For small flower yearning,
To grow.


snow on a branch

I see snow on a branch,
White on black, a little wall
Piled just high, tentative shy
Companions lying there
Testing the ground. One
Light-airy the other sound.
I feel their peace and soft
Embrace unperturbed by
My invading eye. Who would
Think their secret love lay
Where, all around there’s so
Much sound and smiley stare?



He surfs the slipstream
Of a moment now gone,

Using that picky finger
Sticky with old entrails,

Making sly calculations,
And such a sad carcass,

Of the Living Unicorn…
Whom he can never see,

Couldn’t possibly know,
Then the drawing you in

And his scorn, his din if
You do dare refuse him.


you let go and fall

You let go and fall,
The fever rises.

You fall into days
That have no name,

No surprises, hazy,
Just a little pain.

Outside the river
Of people passes.

Inside you dance,
You softly strain, to

A wild new drum of
High desert places.


to strip a thing bare

To strip a thing bare,
And to feel the loss

Of that which was
Most expected there,

Is a chance to live,
And to let that snare

Lift us up and fling
us free, for it comes

To each according
To desire, so that we,

With a full-compass
Eye, will learn to see.


tree in spring

Trickle of juice,
That must arise.

Branching tender wood,
Searching, feeling for life.

This tree unveiled, revealing,
The one and many
Who are the same.

Coursing through our vessel
The same sap flung wide
Again and again

Sweet Mercy fall as gentle dew
Un-strained and dull this
Our aching pain.


fallen angel

I came out of a shop and there he was,
Like a fallen angel blocking the traffic.
A few men stood around trying to help,
Amidst the gathering gloom and lights.

I watched fevered attempts to free his leg,
Held fast by his iron machine, his friend,
His Pegasus rudely snatched from her glide,
Rare creatures of a night sky brought down.

The leathered arms and shoulders struggle,
Frantic to be away, but alas, he was pinned.
The fallen angel, with the failing light, and
The shivers of excitement from passers by


in the quiet time

In the quiet time when nothing happens,
And the silence is like a chopping board
Waiting for the knife - I am happy.
Is this why I chose to live alone?

It is a short time we have, the years
Tumbling down with our ageing bones, thus
It is right and fitting to sit in silence and
Watch whilst we are still strong.

What we may find there, who can tell?
For it is beyond the measure. Yet, let us
Go for a little while each day and drink
From the cool water rising in that spring.