Discovery

Watching day
end,

we spread
under pink
lavender skies,

sunset starfish
taken by clouds

tangling and untangling
in the unknown
lightness of air

until we awaken
to that
element
within and between
and of us.

We drop
into the sea
with the sun

wondering if
we are coloured
pink
lavender

or if we are
even

of the sea
anymore.

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Storm Petrels

Hello readers,

I have a flash fiction story up on Page&Spine magazine this week. ‘The Freedom in Me‘- read it for free.

And tonight’s poem- Storm Petrels. Thanks for reading these and may you be safe through storms.

Black petrels,
knife-winged,
sear through
storm clouds,

breaking the
sky
with flight.

We, softer
must stay,
wrapping our
arms and legs
entwining
into one
starfish.

Great wails
of wind and the
sea overturned
carries unknowns
across our
fragile shelter.

Between tridents
of lightning
and the blackness
of oyster-deep
pearls

we press our
hearts together
creating a moon
between our hands
fingers pointing
north.

Along with
driftwood, kelp
and shells,
the petrels land
in a bright morning.

We, soft, stand
on shore
and begin our
flight

hand entwined
in hand
pointing north.

To a Teacher

I had not
tried to meet him
for I felt too small,

so I was unprepared
when the grace
in his words
met me.

They say a
man can die
and his bones
lay in one place
hidden, underground.

His words
came to me
as I walked
through

golden, red and
brown leaves

unexpected,
and I was only
dressed

in autumn,
heading to
winter.

He turned my
mind to Spring.

They say the touch
of a teacher across
time, space, even death
is a blessing-
Adhisthana.

This is written to Sangharakshita who died in late October. I am in the Triratna Buddhist movement and have learned much from his books and teachings, though I had never met him.

Hills of Pine and Oak

Hills of pine and oak
stretch before you,
dun, golden and green,
the colors of a hillside
in autumn.

A lake is visible
below you,
in the valley.
reflections of clouds
move in its stillness.

There are houses
but not many,
most things here are
trees, water,
blue sky and birdsong.

Sit here
and let the cool,
fresh, pine-scented
air fill your lungs

as the sky
fills your eyes
and the land
fills your heart

and your blood
and the tree sap
and the streams
running through it all

pulse
with the same
bright, simple
joy
of living.

This poem was inspired by the ever-reflective Loch Voil in Scotland.

Savannah

History
comes to me,
a dim and starless
unsky.

The truth
lays in lies
by what they
deny.

The flower
in a name – magnolia
belies

the rain

wet green
bog vines

reach
grasp
smother

the rolling rumble
of the land

and the scent
of southern sweetbay

– Savannah.

I spent some time in the south and felt its heavy, rich presence which led my mind to this poem.

Faith, Moth and the Moon

A story came to me about faith. It might be an essay or a poem. Whatever it is, it told me something helpful so I share it with you:

I sat in an airless room one night thinking about faith and thinking I didn’t have any when a moth flew at the window. He was trying to get out into the night. The moth flew again and again at the glass with his cream-colored wings and wouldn’t stop. I admired his tenacity and faith that he could find the moon if only he kept trying. I opened the window and let him out into the night. I knew he wouldn’t make it to the moon, what a silly idea, though I could not help but admire his bright heart.

Later that night I sat down to meditate. A moth flew in the window and landed on my face. I realised at that moment I was the moon.

And the moth, at that moment, had achieved its goal.