A longtime friend of the Trust shares their poems, inspired by the changing of the seasons. May you find this collection innovative and provide a creative interlude.
The way of love
Who would
walk this way,
the way of love?
The gentle way which asks
you to stop pretending.
If you are wounded
then be wounded,
love has a use for that,
it will make you into a healer.
If you are far from perfect
then live your imperfections,
and love will soften your judgements
with understanding, so you can teach
and share what you have learned with others.
Love isn’t somewhere you reach,
it’s something that accompanies you
whichever path you are walking.
Grace
Pain is a magnet,
and when it’s triggered
it becomes an electro-magnet
that’s powered by adrenaline,
it doesn’t matter if it’s physical,
emotional or mental pain,
when it’s triggered it commands
all of my attention, nothing else exists,
I see myself as a man who is flawed
and has failed, I feel ashamed
and want to hide, I spend my
time rationalizing my feelings
while the people around me
see what they have always seen,
a person who is compassionate,
sensitive, funny and human,
I see the roots, they see the fruits
and nothing they say can move me,
only grace can do that.
Perfection
You don’t understand,
this body, this psyche, this mind is perfect
and not only is it perfect, it’s beautiful too,
every nuanced feeling, every gesture, every word,
all the contradictions, all the ends that won’t tie up,
all of my joys, all my errors and all of my pains are perfect,
each one is here to help me learn and to help me grow.
I don’t accept that there is something wrong with me,
that there’s anything wrong with me for that matter,
if I did that I would be meddling with the perfection
of all the things I have been given to help me deepen my love.
Victory
For a spiritual person victory
is not a fist in the air to the roar of a crowd,
it more often comes as a quiet settling after a difficult life,
one that has been filled with doubts, fears and failings,
a long slow acceptance that they must do what they must,
not what they want, and with it the dawning recognition
that the soul which led them out of the darkness
is the very same soul that led them in,
and all for the benefit of love.
Hypocrisy
I am not a hypocrite because
there’s something wrong with me,
I am a hypocrite because of what’s right with me,
the fact that I have an imagination and I can dream,
know when I have let myself down and do better,
accept that I have both hope and despair
and generosity and selfishness
all in the same package.
Life is so much easier when I can
let myself be just one thing, a human being,
filled with faults and glories and here in this life to learn,
and what would I learn if I had no problems?
Nothing at all.
Colours
When everything is still,
all is peace and just breathing is enough
a rebellious spirit rises within me,
it climbs up my spine and slips into my heart
where it spins and turns, arms outstretched,
craning its neck and thrusting its hips,
possessed by nothing but a desire for chaos
and everything it touches stirs into life,
left and right, above and below
it creates a riot of colour,
great bursts of yellow and gold,
violet and blue, emerald and ruby
that lay my starving hubris to waste
until it falls, exhausted on the ground,
then the colours gently fall and cover it again,
making new patterns and revealing new meanings
spelling out new words and pointing to new ways as they do.
Heroes
To my mind it’s the small gestures
that change things, smiling at a stranger,
sharing a meal, lending a hand,
or thinking of the needs of other people,
these are acts of true and lasting heroism,
picking up a weapon, whether it be fashioned
from words or steel is not just ugly it’s just plain lazy.
Foolishness
I am a fool
and I have been a fool
for most of life,
If there’s a wrong turn,
I have taken it.
A bad idea to follow,
I have embraced it.
An inappropriate word,
I have spoken it.
A third helping on offer,
I have eaten it.
Another bottle to open,
I have opened it.
But what is a fool
if not a wise and humble
being in the making?
Beauty
When I turn my attention
to what is around me
and suspend all judgment,
even avoiding naming things,
my eyes and my heart fill with beauty,
the way that moonlight stills what it touches,
the scorch marks on the pavement where
somebody has set light to s stolen motorcycle
and the way the street lights play with my shadow,
at first in front of me, then beneath me and then behind me,
the things I see cease to be objects and become mirrors for my soul.
A filigree of gold
We were born perfect
but into a corrupt world
which we had to make our home,
our work is to retrieve our perfection
from the very depths of our lives
so it can become infused with
all the wisdom we’ve gained
from our helpless delinquency
and spin it into a filigree of gold
that will soften our perfection
and turn it into love.
He waits for you
He waits for you, He always has,
not in the bright, sharp centre of your eye,
but in the shadows, in the things you can’t understand.
He waits down there, in everything you cannot command.
That is his place and that is where he waits to meet you.
And when some calamity finally causes you to tumble down the stairs,
He watches.
Maybe you are drunk or drugged, bereaved or mortally sick
He makes no distinction.
He watches you flail and scream, your face filled with anger,
with pain or shame or fear.
He watches you tear your clothes and bleed and weep.
Until you are empty.
Then He reaches out,
His touch as tender as the breath of an angel,
and He welcomes you home, in words you cannot hear.
Postscript
Friendship
For fifty years
I thought I had lost you,
for so long an empty space in my heart,
but now I understand, it wasn’t you I lost, it was love,
for some silly arsed-reason I got it into my head
that love had gone somewhere else,
and in the moment I realized this
your lovely presence filled me again,
I’m so sorry it took me such a long time.