click photos to enlarge

It’s the winding up
in the magical and the
mysterious places
without quite knowing how

one got there that keeps us
travelling on towards
ever new arriving
and the kind of growing

that relaxes into
the not knowing and just
squeals with delight in the
hurtling down snowy crags

that are as much surprise
as the strategic steps
that brought you here whilst all
unknowing that there was

a strategy or will
be as you turn again
and climb the Crags from the
top of which whilst you

catch your breath and wipe tears
from windswept eyes you look
afresh – spellbound at the
city view – and your own

height and your own depth too


more at gardenstudiogram

Change of mood

Photo Smart Garden Guide

Some poets say they’ll go on strike
and damn it the interest rate
has gone to pot again and it
might rain and that will wreck your now
unaffordable hairdo and
your flimsy blue paper mask too –
what to do Prime Minister – tell
me will you what to bloody do?

This woman looked at oxalis
and picked
up her pencil and began to
draw – for she knows the score that with
breakfast news you can swallow it
and suffer or instead turn to
muse-create and think of a date
for rendez-vous and masked picnic

The news sponge looks grey – past knowing
what to do or say – while pencilled
oxalis triangulates on
paper and her interested
eyes lead the artist to surmise
that attention given to a
fragile leaf must change someone’s mood

For the better


A couple of hours ago
I witnessed a teacher of
art lying upon hard ground
offering water by way
of an eyedropper to a
tiny trembling fledgling and
therein saw the painting of
the vast Universe of Life

A couple of hours ago
I witnessed a teacher of
art seated in a circle
to gift facilitation
by way of meditation
and suggestion to a small
fledgling community and
therein saw grace flow therefrom

Water in the Órgiva Mountains

This quiet house is home
to hearts and souls who will
readily recognise
graced metaphor in a
lesson or two or more
about irrigation

This quiet house affords
shade and warmth and tender
trust and comfort and great
courage and laughter and
depth and healing in her
quiet way of speaking

This quiet house breathes deep
as we dance and sing and
reach with liberated
joy beneath shooting stars
and soft-painted music
and love found here as ours

This quiet house hears the
jasmine in the silent
music who hosts a stave
of notes and scents and the
echoes familiar if
for a space forgotten

This quiet house smiles with
openness and a glad
willingness to be led
by a heart to his heart
where connection is heard
albeit unspoken

This quiet house senses
fragrance in green and in
earthenware and water
and breathes that she and he
are you and me who are
Cortijo Romero


photo at pexels

I am glad to have been described
as ‘always enthusiastic’
by an energetic nine year
old who observes and then reflects
with her keen and critical care –
perhaps she has noticed that I
enthusiastically find
life-enhancing gifts in cupboards
drawers and nooks and crannies and
answers and more questions to my
frequent asking ‘why?’ – and in the
wondering I’m encouraged to
journey into heart and mind where
reminded of countless graces
I touch core spirit and soul in
all of us – infinite and kind


playa butihondo photo at hellocanaryislands

Down the dusty slope to the long sweep of
gold sand and the beach café’s garlic gambas
and Pablo’s distinctively rich dark brown
coffee where the chief scent of the morning

is of suncream and warmed skin and quiet
conversation is accompanied by
out-of-control symphonies of wind-blown
wires thrashing the masts of a rainbow of

sailboards – and yes – we come here every year
to tell again of the turquoise and the
turtles and shyly aware faithfulness
to-a-fault to these times and to these hot

prawns and coffee like this and even to
the same sun oil and quieting stilling
soothing murmur of the ocean of love
and abiding in hearts and souls that know

one another so well that the shoreline
paddling and the holding hands and the light
and the deep and the sad and the funny
conversation and affectionate and

glad recollection will carry us both –
after our falling into the deepest
of deep sleeps – unto shoreline and sunshine
of our universal eternity

Interlude | just for the joy …

remembering summer days

‘Do you ever just close your eyes on winter evenings to remember summer?’ my friend asked me, earlier today, with a wistful look in her eyes. ‘On winter evenings, certainly,’ I replied, ‘and pretty much most mornings, too.’

Sure enough, I’m an advocate of living in the present, but part of the joy of living now is time found here to re-member the past, thereby inspired to breathe deep today, and begin to imagine and to shape the next second or two, as we do.

So here’s a little revisiting Summer ’16. You’re invited to stay here, now, for a little space, and – hopefully – some present grace …


I’ve tried to count
your petals but lose
track each time
around and recall
that numbers never
touched my senses
with clarity of cold
or warmth or taste or
touch or sight or
scent or sound and
after rain this late
summer morning

I note that tall
and elegant you’re
not much of an
accountant either
and for you too
life is celebrated
sometimes by each of
these but in the main
by radically returning
your searching face to
life-raising energy
in sunlight


Love and hope and memory

when you go home tell them
of us and say ‘for your
tomorrows we gave our today’


perhaps you did not
see one hundred years ahead
yet Sir you graced each


thank you for singing
love and hope and memory
as you gave your all


you did not know me
but sacrificed anyway and now
live in Love in all

SRM – MM Haiku 51 Day 81

On the road

How now brown cow newly
before me on the brow of
the hill

For a moment your great
sandy head was that of a
watchful lioness and awed
at forty-five miles an hour
I was suddenly driving red
dust tracks in Africa

Until snapped back to the
morning’s reality on the road
to Mungrisdale

Aye. Red dust gave way
to grey tarmac. Cumberland
bloomed. This was not tundra

For a moment my own great
sandy head is mildly
embarrassed by the watchful
vividness of my colourful
imagination and I concentrate
brake, slow, park, going

And then I find myself again
in a wondrous seat of art and heart
shared creativity and growing

Marvellous. Graced. Extra-ordinary –
a pride of lions and lionesses in a
little village hall. We write, meditate
laugh, cry, articulate, enumerate –
watchful eyes and ears on the brow of
many a glorious hill

and – exactly where we’re
meant to be – thee and me
quiet and still


In the arc of the bay


I tried to paint it
pale particularity
hues colouring faith


I did try to paint it but have
failed to do justice to the pale
particularity of this
panorama’s hue

sunlit mist disperses – yet the
colours remain only just brown
or blue or green – restful upon
the eye and for the

wondering soul too – arrow head
of wild geese honk in-flight above
me while swallows dart low above

mud-flats and the curlews’ cry and
sitting on millennia-old
rock by and by Wisdom’s care and
love attracts my soul’s

eye – pale hues deepen, colouring
rich and bright and in the silence
save for light breeze and birdsong
cheer – looking on Nature’s

beautiful architecture in
the arc of the bay, Wisdom shows
me love’s hope and meditation’s
delight and so faith

is here