Empty of striving to gain more than I can
while emptying the capacity
to reckon why the moon is full,
I can see the outline of the temple,
the road long yet less travelled
and the window clear,
I shall contemplate air between an eyelid, white
on black, a curved edge, dust with no footprints
and a reflection of the light behind me.


With variation in tempo diminishing the immediate presence
of self to a translucent end,
but wanting to spread its wings
in a lamp on the sideboard,
a moth descends toward my toe
and settles there.


Is it tired,
lonely, injured


does an unseen obstruction
prevent it from following its normal course
or in the confines of an instant
has the echo of a forgotten time
when its legs stuck in honey,
but was picked up and released,
returned to reawaken its vow
to never desert a friend
who in darkness
lost count of the ways it found a path
for another to gain a clearer view
of the inundations perceived in a straight line.


Ascending with care not to overreach distance
before appending an approach that can be breathed in
it’ll allow warmth to mingle
with powder, a glow to penetrate fluid
and the blaze immolating the opposite found
when it supposed the earth was always solid,
a heart the source of truth
and the vast sea a depository for aims
and ambitions leading to wealth
and fortune, draw sustenance from acceptance.


Having no line of enquiry
to contemplate the reason why I act
I shall take up a cudgel
and beat the ground once before I move
and once again
before I take another step


for the sound impels
like a stream finding a river,
intensifies the contrast around each shadow
and dissolves the anticipation reaching the end
satisfied I have accomplished something




for at that moment I reach the end
it is a beginning.

revisited this today and so posting to bring it up again on the forum

This is one that I have been rewriting over the last year- along with a few others I have posted. I guess that change is the nature of the beast, but I'll have to stop sometime or other. Thanks for your interest. Steve

Diminishing the presence
of self
to a translucent end
but wanting to spread its wings
in a lamp on the sideboard
a moth descends toward my toe
and settles.


Is it tired,
lonely, injured?


Does an obstruction prevent it
from following its normal course
or the echo of a time when its legs stuck in honey


(but was picked up and released)


return to reawaken its vow
to never desert a friend
who lost the way to gain a view
of the inundations perceived in a line?


Ascending with care not to overreach
before appending an approach
that can be breathed in
it’ll draw sustenance from acceptance,
allow powder
to mingle with warmth
and the blaze immolate the opposite
when it supposed the earth hardly solid.


Emptying the capacity
to reckon why the moon is full,
the road long yet less travelled
and the window clear
I shall contemplate air between an eyelid,
a reflection
of the light behind
and silent footprints


every pebble reminding me
of the face I met in childhood


a relative moved by a tear
shed a thousand miles away,
who suffered a fall
simply walking alongside the river


edges giving way under his feet,
bruising scarlet flowers and sinking.


Recounting the times
when you gave time to cover old sores
and bind them with rags
I’ll descry another flight
but within
so I can renew the acquaintance,
seek to sustain you and bring forth new life


turn the heartache into a flame,
acid into water
and the bruise on our spines
into a sheen
that accompanies together rising out of the mist.


Sweeping black flakes into a corner
I’ll give up calculating how the frost
could collect around your heart
and clarify the murk before the wrong step
was taken,
relinquish the brilliant moon
as if I could hold it
and caress you into life,
and, with no expectation of touching dead limbs
with the colour in my dreams,
the supposition you could lift from your place
of finality and resume your walk.


Leaving the abundant fruit of millennia
to an immortal clothed in white
I shall take up a cudgel
and beat the ground once before I move
and once again
before I take another step


for the sound intensifies the contrast around each shadow,
fades as soon as expands
and dissolves anticipation reaching the end


for at that moment
I reach the end




it is a beginning.

This is one that I have been rewriting over the last year- along with a few others I have posted. I guess that change is the nature of the beast, but I'll have to stop sometime or other. Thanks for your interest. (smiley face here) Steve

Diminishing the presence
of self
to a translucent end
but wanting to spread its wings
in a lamp on the sideboard
a moth descends toward my toe
and settles.


Is it tired,
lonely, injured?


Does an obstruction prevent it
from following its normal course
or the echo of a time when its legs stuck in honey


(but was picked up and released)


return to reawaken its vow
to never desert a friend
who lost the way to gain a view
of the inundations perceived in a line?


Ascending with care not to overreach
before appending an approach
that can be breathed in
it’ll draw sustenance from acceptance,
allow powder
to mingle with warmth
and the blaze immolate the opposite
when it supposed the earth hardly solid.


Emptying the capacity
to reckon why the moon is full,
the road long yet less travelled
and the window clear
I shall contemplate air between an eyelid,
a reflection
of the light behind
and silent footprints


every pebble reminding me
of the face I met in childhood


a relative moved by a tear
shed a thousand miles away,
who suffered a fall
simply walking alongside the river


edges giving way under his feet,
bruising scarlet flowers and sinking.


Recounting the times
when you gave time to cover old sores
and bind them with rags
I’ll descry another flight
but within
so I can renew the acquaintance,
seek to sustain you and bring forth new life


turn the heartache into a flame,
acid into water
and the bruise on our spines
into a sheen
that accompanies together rising out of the mist.


Sweeping black flakes into a corner
I’ll give up calculating how the frost
could collect around your heart
and clarify the murk before the wrong step
was taken,
relinquish the brilliant moon
as if I could hold it
and caress you into life,
and, with no expectation of touching dead limbs
with the colour in my dreams,
the supposition you could lift from your place
of finality and resume your walk.


Leaving the abundant fruit of millennia
to an immortal clothed in white
I shall take up a cudgel
and beat the ground once before I move
and once again
before I take another step


for the sound intensifies the contrast around each shadow,
fades as soon as expands
and dissolves anticipation reaching the end


for at that moment
I reach the end




it is a beginning.