Scared of success
he tries his best.
The fear of failure
is as a mere trailer
on his life long quest.
To think is to begin.
To sink or to swim.
To swim is to win.
The poet he wrote his rhymes
in sandy climes
where the wash of the words
are blurred by the beach and the birds.
time expanding and shrinking.
autopilot the miles.
travelling time sometimes it seems.
time; she weaves amongst my dreams.
had i stopped walking?
i better start jogging.
jogging in my jeans.
past keep-fitters tight-knit in teams.
jogging in my jeans and two coats.
past Tesco and A to B roads.
lungs warming, time shrinking.
trees appear and flee the scene.
they’ll play no part in my hare-brained schemes.
not too fast not too slow.
where the path parts, the grass will grow.
cars; they pass on down the road…
Cars; they pass on down the road.
as the snow set in with the din of the wind he could hardly hear himself holler;
but he could hear the wolves howling in the hills.
“let’s get this kill to the cave, be brave my brothers.”
“this foal is all snack and no supper.” said one to the other, contemplating their hunger as they trudged through the snow with little to show beside skin sinew and bone.
some grunted, some groaned.
the wolves closing in, collecting their kin, wary of so many men, tasting the blood on the snow as they go.
the cave is in sight, and inside is bright with a smoky glow.
women bandy burning brands of branches aflame to claim the kill for the clan.
once more the wolves are forced to flee into the night under the trees.
i often think;
the rabbits in the field,
the chaffinch in the trees,
the stickleback in the stream,
the goat on the cliff’s edge;
none have ever had hot food.
winter’s kitchen doesn’t contain cookers.
the flowers in the field,
hour by hour they yield
some nectar for the bees
to make honey for you and me.
God is a friend
but He pisses me off.
what does He know of loss?
who am i to to question the cost?
i know the rules, he remains aloft.
the rules are simple, give up the game
of ups and downs and
pleasure and pain.
find the middle path.
it’s easy and hard.
you can’t quit whatever you never start.
we are here because we want to be.
to experience materiality in it’s entirety.
with loss comes learning.
with a lack comes yearning.
with lust there is burning.
Goodness. Passion. Ignorance.
the material modes that we know.
Eating Mating Sleeping Defending
Birth Life Death Rebirth unending.
with release comes peace, after a while at least.
a lust for life is the nature of the beast,
i am no exception, no matter what i preach.
and so, the three modes, they have me high and low.
The middle path, both light and dark but the rules are hard…
No intoxicating substances.
No murder (includes meat eating).
No sex unless we wish to beget God’s bless through holiness.
four little rules for misguided fools like me and you.
don’t worry, rules are made to be broken,
From a lack of Dharma may Kharma be spoken.
has a hold on me.
got a grip you see,
it won’t let me be.
the illusion of life
is rife with strife
but there’s room to choose
whether we win or we lose.
it’s up to me and down to you.