Summer of Love

Wild flowers out finding

space in cracked concrete,

taken by running

hot then wet torrents

through people so tender

sunned back to life from

winter caked in the heart.

Summer of love

with strangers’ smiles beaming

back

heart’s open feeling

love and desire

out

spilling and healing.


Seeds of wild flowers

the nights dancing sowing

coming to life in intensities filling

breathing life-love

in blood winter still holding

breath in two chests

by wild winds caressing

moving it warm

to hearts that crave pulsing

the flowering hearts of two wild ones so found.

Learning Love

A caged heart once

forgot how to love

loosing its skill under

thought, distance and time.


Who and what deserves love?

The world is hardly the place for a person with principles;

an environment where the ugly proliferates

and acts of kindness and love are treated as risk

but no risk is seen in losing love,

the lifeblood of the world I want to see.


Love lives deep in our being

so deep in fact our surface stiffens

– use it or lose it –

and lost it we have to calculating minds

which sever mind from heart

and elevate mind beyond recognition

in a world that needs heart to survive.


We claim that love comes,

treating it as granted inevitability

when in fact love is a practice;

to be practiced in each gesture,

word and the treatment of others.


We are trapped because our love is trapped

in structures that tell us

how to love one another,

who to love, when to love, for how long

what appropriate love is and what isn’t

and where love belongs.

Everywhere!

At home, in the street, in school and at work

(did you recoil when you read this?)

(did you recoil at my image of love which differs

from the twisted idea of patriarchally sexualised love

which we hold as the only Love?)


We must un-twist love,

reshape and form ourselves to its untwisting

so it may flow through us,

– the great torrent –

which flows through each of us

should we permit it.

The Felt Unseen no Longer Unseen

Deeper still

(snakes shedding their skin)

restricted, no longer

existence through spring

expansion demanding from

(inward to outward)

the self,

my-self,

your-self,

breadth it-self.


Childlike, I fear

the unknown

ubiquitous vastness;

all the knowledge not known

all the prior unfelt

all the felt unseen

no longer unseen.


The arms of my fear cradle me

surrendered

to swelling,

(it all starts from the base)

free in the fire that burns in that base

which life begins and existence contains,

raising the world, vision and might

child to child, the cycle passed through

forces prior unfelt

now felt unseen

no longer unseen.

How may reality turn so palpable?

How may it have been not so before?

How may we live through it all

expanding in spirit,

bathing in light,

like nature in spring

existence by fire so bright

permitting it swell past fear’s shell

wound ’round it so tight?

My heart is not with me

My heart is not with me.

It is out there, somewhere, with you.


It wants to break out, be free but

it stays out there, somewhere, with you.


Ensnared by your eyes,

the smile and glimmer they shine when upon me.


Release me, free me,

return my heart to me.


I cannot continue to live with

a heart that’s not with me.


I need my heart here beside me.

I need it restored, from doubtful thoughts drawn.


My heart is not with me.

It is out there, somewhere, with you.


Release me, free me,

return my heart to me.

Hearts of Love Forgotten

We walk and

we talk and

we cycle and

we flock


after months where we rested and

we waited and

we laid and

we missed.


Suddenly emerge and

we gather and

we bud;

ready to embrace and

to kiss one another and

to dance in the day and

in the night.


Forth with all the color and

the light and

coming thunder as

our hearts of love forgotten

to the early rays besotten

lustily we offer.

The first song of Spring

The first song of Spring 

through drips icy arrives,

a lone bird for one that’s alone in it bringing 

the seed of expansion which stillness so hides. 


Hard is the bud where leaves lie in slumber 

as all of us dwellers still inwardly bide, 

listening, there, the bud in its slumber 

to the first song of spring, expecting its flight. 


“Sing to me, Spring, the seed of expansion, 

for winter in silence must too one day end

and all must emerge from its still sharp embrace

which life doth protect from harshness and death.”

All there is

Drawing within

need not succumb all in shadow,

folding, what’s there,

weaving within one another

and without another.


All is within you

and all that’s within you in all,

it is only acceptance which differs.

Acceptance which comes from yielding, alone,

the stasis you offer yourself, and all.


Do not be afraid of all that’s within,

the dwellers that slowness and silence deliver.

In noise it is easy to drown out their whispers,

yet life without quiet will swallow all whole.


Admit all there is

for life is a flurry

only if stillness is too much to bear.