tenderness
for impermenance
Just let the gentle lilac blow…
her own sweet reason to the wind…
and trust to a love that you may know,
for the smallest change
of each small thing…
Is this compassion?
Then come, soft passion, fill me with
your tenderest love,
dance as tenderly with me,
as all below, and inbetween, and all
above…
Such tenderness for change, for love.
I will sing
for you…
who will sing for you then,
when all the summer song birds have
flown…
I will sing
with my small voice,
filling the valley full small with
smallness
all with love for thee…
to share
their robes
Do you hear their song amidst the
quietness…
from the monastries they are coming
from the mountains and the valleys…
to share their robes
with the trees in the forest…
the small of
the rose
My love,
I will offer thee a small soft rose…
small softness amidst our small world
small petals amidst our small world
small colours amidst our small world
small scent amidst our small world
I will offer thee my own small heart
my own small love amidst our small soft
world
thou art small too, my love
inbetween our smallness
the smallest secret trembles
the smallest love song fills the air
as we all
and the small soft rose, and all our
small world,
and thee and I,
in small soft beauty
rest upon the rose.
See how she
reaches
our beautiful earth…
She is the calling of my heart
and she is the answer
Do you bow before her
see how she reaches
see how beautiful she really, truly is
She how she bows
before her own beloved
as humble as
as trusting as
each one small one among
the many here who live…
new morning
The night was dark, but darker than the
night was she
The night was dark, but a light unto
himself was he
and stayed beside her through the night
into new morning
This soft wash of her
gentle rain falling.
Small stream of a gift
soft trembling gift of a word,
of the finest gossamer mist of minute
rainbows
of a word born free to share…
Shy poet weaver of the tenderest thread
of soul.
The sweet free fall
of flow of this small stream,
each jewel, a one small one, among the
many…
When I first saw you
You were standing alone, intimate with
the night.
There at the edge of beloved darkness
speaking only to only…
trembling in the evening air,
with your dark hair falling long and
nonchalant about your shoulders,
and your small whispers, meant for
another,
filling my soul…
how quiet the
yearning
How quiet the forest is today
How quiet the yearning,
How quiet the shyest breath of the
trees
and the turning…
were you waiting beloved,
did the forest fill with your waiting…
touching the earth,
were you surprised to feel her sweetest
response,
‘You are not alone, my love
all the many attend with thee,
we shall surrender together…’
small star
Soft bloomed the jasmine by the eastern
gate,
and soft, the sway
of the dancing frangipani there,
where I would sit to wait…
for that one small star of early
evening blue,
to come so single
and so all alone
into the silent ocean of the sky.
to answer me
to touch her with my eyes
While in my heart, the prayer of the
brothers,
‘what am I?’
And in my soul,
“does the river truly live for thee…”
the smallest
love song without words
Coming in silent, now this wind
this breeze that touches
no other thing
but only lifts me only
so that my heart must sing
the smallest love song without words
Coming in softly, now this spring
of all small things that are loved only
coming in silent now this wind
this breeze that touches no other thing
but only lifts me only
so that my heart must sing
the smallest love song without words...
silent
traveller
Silent traveller, amidst the endless
stars of words
from the furthest star, you turn,
with the smallest turn of thee…
returning home to she, your own beloved
earth.
~~~~~
Empty is the night
No description describes.
No star shines in the evening sky.
“How can I sing of thee, my love?”
But of she, my love, I can sing…
With love for thee, her mountains stand
And her valley grasses dance.
Her rivers flow
Her oceans live.
All with love for thee…
~~~~~
Shy stranger, to enter the garden so
quietly…
In this soft sunset,
the pastel colours of your name
are gently receding…
But your name shall come again.
And there, by the small flowing stream,
the maiden is waiting…
and the softest impression of her most
small desire,
this waiting love song nature of all
the names
of our beloved earth, come small, come
perfect.
~~~~~
‘Oh gentle lady of the snowlands,
when will you sing again, your song to
me?
Soft flight of the northern geese
returning,
and the white swan flies for free…
I wandered amidst
the mountain streams,
gathering in the rainbow names of many…
And all the names are soft become
the smallest water droplets,
returning to their ocean…
And feminine time washing over me.
And all the names are softly come…
to rest upon
the shyest breath of our beloved
earth’s immeasurable trees…
and the dance of tenderness,
of the rainbow plankton, and the coral
reefs in her exquisite seas…
‘Oh gentle lady of the snowlands,
now I share the song,
of this, our company…
Shy poet weavers, each one small one,
sharing to form our life as we…
Soft flight of the northern geese
returning,
and the white swan flies for free…
Soft flight of the northern geese,
And the white swan flies…
the softest
rain to fall…
in the forest today…
the softest rain to fall,
are these tears of my joy…
never again
shall I leave you my beloved,
small wild flower…
your shyness fills my soul…
amidst wild
iris
By desert wells,
the village women laugh and chatter
and draw back in silence from
strangers,
veiling their faces
and hiding her in their midst.
They throw her soft love to each other,
this soft catch of her,
dancing, all the many attend with her
lifting the land with small hands,
singing with joy,
“we hasten to thee, beloved”
As a soft breeze
that no leaf disturbs,
a new stranger approaches…
He hears,
the soft call of their ankle bells,
their small whispers of endearment
amidst wild iris…
Returning home to their village
the women delight to see him…
recognising their friend.
we hasten to
thee
The women are gentle and have care.
Walking with small steps upon the earth
coming together in the dusk,
tired from their work in the fields…
walking the way of the quietest light
of holy day and holy night
The women are gentle…
Coming together, resting to each other
for support
Arms entwined, allowing their hair to
fall free
Freefalling and full soft, with
beautiful reason…
Returning from the fields in dusk,
in Magdalen’s garden,
the women care…
And know their friend,
recognising the stranger as he attends,
singing they all, as answer
to soft desire’s most tender call,
“we hasten to thee, beloved”
and science
shall be beautiful
lady,
this geometry of time and of these
small and perfect even stars of night,
shall share exquisitely with thee,
their small and perfect even secrets of
the light
of reasons, born or tenderness…
the sources shall sing with sweet
delight
of mystery…
and you shall not thirst, or hunger for
their ‘word’,
nor shall you, with mathematics
library, prepare…
but in this quietest garden of the
night
the breath of pure mathematics shall,
in soft surprise,
reveal and share her love with thee…
and science shall be beautiful
And in the softest wilderness of her
most tender care,
shall nature…answering her own,
show thee,
your smallest soul so fair,
this word of thee…
My lady, here amidst wild jasmine
attending,
in this smallest garden of the night,
the soft surprise of your innocence and
delight
is still lingering…
and there within, such small secret to
unfold,
as answer to your whisper…
“how did the stars begin…?”
With sweet coming, lady
each one small one together…
And the mathematics pure, and of so
small a finest line…
full small with all the smallest
wilderness of feminine time,
this joy of a lady…
so sweetly wayward and all of her own
accord
See how she shines, with pure feeling,
as through her garden she runs,
“we hasten to thee beloved…”
Like white
snow gently falling…
Like white snow gently falling
will you come to me without my calling
will you whisper softly: the ships of
the myth collectors
rest becalmed upon the sea.
There is no wind.
The smallest wind, the shyest breath
is now with thee and me…
And with small secret flame between us,
my beloved,
shall we dance our soul of mountains
shall we sing our soul of rivers
shall we love our soul of forests
in our life…
the unique
attraction
So soft surrendered…
your rainbow jewels,
the smallest moments of the river
as she flows for free…
your dress of stars…
Yet still your loyalty shall be, for
she…
for one small star
your soul of earth…
Lady come dance with me into the stars
come dance your Eden, your garden of
Magdalen,
your river that flows to no great sea…
for I am no more the ocean…
and no longer do I own the stars
He is her teacher and she is his
student
Together,
they share, dancing alone,
the unique attraction,
the smallest seeing
the simple desire, that makes no
intention
that causes no distance,
of the smallest turn, returning home…
They sing the smallest love song
to fill each other’s soul,
and their song rests upon
the wings of all small birds, covers
the earth, the seas and the skies
with small love.
Chrysalis flight, soft moving, fragile
verb of day and night.
Softest impression, shyest light
of conscious life…
as newborn word, a smallest wind
a shyest breath of tree, of flower and
of bird
of all her names, of she our earth
come dancing passion rare, of sweetest
time
too rare
too beautiful for words.
a time of
music…
…and as I prayed to all the gentle
night
my head arest upon the breast of she,
our earth,
a sweetness lifted me into unknown sky
and myriad musics gently shared their
way…
My body’s cells were opened and we
merged
no sound was heard, from this
mysterious play,
but only felt…a symphony of small
exquisite love
a universe of stars, of music’s
“time”…
Again I rested to the breast of earth,
and wondered to the beauty of the
night,
‘appearance’ and ‘description’
come from light,
the smallness of an ocean to believe…
this smallest reason to believe in
life.
and closer
still…
My love,
how long it has been…
since I last sang to you
How long have I been silent,
not even I, have heard my own singing…
the sweet prayer I used to offer,
rests somewhere unknown to me
lost amidst green wooded vales,
hidden among the wild valleys of
rhododendron and peonie
And now again, I feel close…
by soft surprise…
and closer still…
do you call to me…
or do I call to you…
my song again sings free,
and lifts our fragile world to the
stars,
and the mountains and the forests cry
such gentle, mysterious tears…
it is a quietest love song
so quiet, of gentle joy
more quiet than before…
and so light
so beautifully light, of no returning…
the
sisterhood of lady poets
these shapes of trust…
come now…
to trust these shapes of time…
and with a listening heart, divine:
‘this tender intimacy’ of a
language born of grace
the smallest rules at the beginning
to believe in this,
the gentlest soul of an individual time
and place…
dear sister, have you also seen
sweet visions…
and then, as if returning from a
rainbow dream
aspired to share as “poetry” your
cause…
don’t call
so loud…
Don’t call so loud
Don’t be so strong, to own the stars.
Calling so earnest, into the stars that
wait beside you.
These waiting stars…
they will hear your smallest whisper,
the whisper no one else hears…
oh such small joy. Smaller than joy.
Lifting names and reasons,
and wearing the waiting love song
nature
of all the stars of names,
come small…
And when you whisper intimately,
you are in time with stars,
and hear their silent answers…
I am me
Light circles
close and far and falling graceful mist
of fine – line light
that fills and feels
and flows
and gently snows in slows of motion
time
of intimate times
that know…
of love
and life, and living verb
born free
and says, in voice unheld by other,
“I am me”
I am alive
And I believe in thee…
touching
stars with my eyes…
‘my love, fill my waiting heart with
all good things…’
this soft surrender of my call for
redemption…
a glass of wine
no more of tempests
only the sunrise of this single star…
in all that I am I give to thee
in all of my loving I give to thee
in all my knowing I give to thee
in all of my living I give to thee
all to thee
all that I am I give to thee…
there is the beautiful river, flowing
in the night
I see moon and stars shine in her
waters…
and in the morning,
a small seal rises, looking with eyes
of love
deep deep into my soul
my intention to surrender melts to the
blue of the sky…
and then she is gone…
‘where is my loved one?’
“it will take you by surprise,” she
whispers…
Smiling to all
a glass of wine in my hand,
‘touching stars with my eyes…’
my love, my
door was open…
My love,
my door was open
and you walked through, with your
smiling eyes…
into the forest we share together.
Love,
my door is open,
and you walk through…
there is a stillness,
and all the songbirds have come to
rest…
…so content am I with you…
a glass of
wine in my hand
My love,
have you led me this way before…
but then,
no wine in my hand,
and through the darkness, we, together,
you and I
approaching…
and with each pristine and exquisite
being moment…
being moment and movement together…
…through the darkness,
and with each turn, a light to light
the way,
sharing with you,
approaching…
and now, the crystal glass, half
filled…
and still
your music lingers…
now came a flute player,
single and plain,
with noble steadiness, and come to
claim
in this sweet gathering…
his rightful place, to share the ‘name’
of his beloved…
soft throw of her love
to share the waiting land…
lifting the spring into a universe of
stars…
How long ago
did the flower leave her hand?
while still the ladies danced
within a veil of gentle evening time…
‘a perfect symmetry of line to share
the garden…’
and earth,
the lover of our ‘love’, danced to
the stars.
The soft throw of her love…
and still,
your music lingers…
about the tips of branches…
and the small feet of garden birds…
as you whisper,
“come closer…”
but have you
really been this way before…
she is barefoot, and come with small
steps
into the gathering…
but have you really been this way
before
and did I banish you,
relating to you as a single one,
and placing you alone, unseen,
and no word for you. And now, do I
dream that word,
which you have only ever known…
And now do you dream of me…
and come into my word.
And did I ever really banish you…
oh small shy one, small one among the
many…
know now, my love…
“a thousand eyes of love are upon
you”
we are
already met, my love
We are already met, my love, you and I…
come small in perfect closeness,
already as one…
in union I am surrendered completely to
thee,
and held towards thee, empty of
strength,
carried by your strength…
encircled by your male power…
bathed and enraptured by your purpose…
…even as you journey towards me
I am already yours
even as you yearn to own me….
I am yours…
…even as you gather the fullness of
your intention…
and direct yourself to me…
I am yours my love, completely yours
I attend with thee in complete
submission,
even as I wait, I attend with thee…
and journey forward exquisitely…
already held by thee,
to myself
a twinkle in
your eyes
you smile
and there’s a twinkle in your eyes
that reminds me of endless stars
up and beyond
beyond and beyond,
the blue, blue, blue, blue
sky…
little sister
how gentle the world is today
inbetween earth and heaven
a spirit is moving…
shy one, please sing me your love song
little brown snake
this closeness is all your shy world…
‘your shyest love song without
words…’
little sister, sweeping through the
grass
and waves upon a waiting shore…
the language
of the dance of hands…
…and as he spoke
there, within a circle, graced by
trees…
‘the dance of hands’…
to open hearts, of sympathy
for beloved lands, across the seas…
to pray for rain…
silent before
the singer
silent before the singer…
I awoke in the night
no star shone in the evening sky
in the stillness
I heard her voice calling,
‘the dancer who’s face I have never
seen’…
and I followed…
empty was the night
and we entered together…
white
butterfly
touching my heart
a white butterfly gently passes…
leading me to you
small brown
duck
maybe 4 times a day
I walk over the bridge
that is over our river
that is under our sky, and flows
through
our town of totnes…
Seng Chou says: the river does not flow
Seng Chou says: the wind does not move
standing on the bridge
five white swans fly overhead
so close I hear the beat of their wings
and there,
by the riverside…
a small brown duck fills my heart with
love.
only in
autumn
only in autumn
small birds, company of many,
come sweet flying
from the fields into trees…
lifting
from falling leaves
what is it?
leaves on the trees dancing,
what is it
what is it that asks what is it…
orange tip butterfly
my head bowed low
humbled by your songs…
I walk with small steps,
‘past the zen garden…’
And through the wooden gate, open and
welcoming…
It comes with a rush…
as with gentle joy,
the trees lift my tears to heaven,
and my heart sings,
‘I take refuge in poets all the days
of my life.’
I sit on a bench, a butterfly passes
and another, and another, and another
and another…
Outside, images made of light
Inside, light
Inside the light…beloved darkness is
hiding…
Inside beloved darkness, it all begins
again.
…descriptions of wonder
What can be more beautiful…
than this orange tip butterfly…
in her heaven of spring blossom…
squirrel
heaven
the garden is dancing…
all the young squirrels have come down
from their trees…
sun dancing early morning time
and they are dancing
and I am dancing
and Awen is a squirrel, dancing with
squirrels
Such joy
such scampering about, all so full of
themselves
its so new
no fear
calling and chuckling, playing hide and
seek
popping up by my elbows
and now, by my feet
‘touching our earth for the first
time…’
its squirrel heaven
And Awen and I
are laughing out loud with glee
and hugging each other
even the trees are smiling…
So happy, just so happy
its so beautiful
they are so happy
just to be alive and free…
the song of the little breeze
within a circle of trees..
beautiful reason..
the song of the little breeze....
