often other folks’
journals prompt me to pick up
pen and brush againSRM – MM Haiku 162 Day 192
Prompts
meditation
Great fullness
awareness gives pause
for conscious gratitude for
oft-unnoticed giftsSRM – MM Haiku 144 Day 174
The architecture of life
photo by picjumbo.com on pexels.com
one soul gazes and
wonders about the lives of
millions of othersSRM – MM Haiku 135 Day 165
A good intention
opportunity
to breathe peace into daily
encounters is oursSRM – MM Haiku 109 Day 139
Interlude | just for the joy …
‘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 morningI 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 sunlightSRM
Walking with Haiku
i
wide eyed owl sits light
on an ancient platform of
oak and sometimes hootsii
foal looks into the
blind eye of an old mare and
thereby knows her depthsiii
blackbird sings for to
call his love who will bring to
birth his future songsiv
bluebells about the
skirt of the hill invite quiet
delight and picnicv
dappled sunlight golden
gladdens the heart of one who
came to it downcastvi
forget-me-not’s call
to minds fractured by life’s cares
is soul’s light withinvii
silk eared labrador
bounds ahead as though present
she already lives thereviii
haughty cat sits on
warmed stone garden wall and is
secretly smilingix
timid orb eyed – tail
quivering beneath beech leaves
slowly awakeningx
man beckoned forth to
nature encounters deep joy
amongst earth’s gloriesSRM
Memories of chewing the cud
Pipe in hand
There was once an old man lived on Martyrs
Bay who, pipe in hand, told of a foot tall
soul whose hair was green, and – many a long
year since – skittering about the Old Nunnery
garden, he had seenquiet as a mouse and quite inoffensive, she
whispered in human ears: ‘I’m come from a
schlemaig just West of the highest mountain on
Mars by way of light years, aeons, suns and moons
and starsand I whisper a missive from Mother
who sent me: though legend and myth
may sometimes purport otherwise, nothing
in the Universe is ever wholly ruined – for
every atom retainspotential, giftedness and grace, ever cheered
anew by Wisdom’s breeze across its face: so on this
rock though your roof be blown off and you’ve
neither window pane nor door, allow the little
one from a Martian schlemaig a paean to more –for you came here to learn that not only is She
our family name, but Wisdom, dear taller siblings,
is eternally ours, and Her Source, the Same.’And I honour the old man on Martyrs Bay sand, who
content with tobacco and pipe in his hand, speaks
gently even now of a skittering he had seen, and of
whispers shared with a delightful pint-sized sprite
with hair of Iona greenSRM
