Collide

In some moments

all the universes collide

and everything

seems to make sense.

Goodnight

‘Goodnight’

is like a poem;

a play;

a symphony.

Coming and Going

In all things

there is coming and

going.

Like the sea,

we are

ebbing and flowing.

We move

forward and back;

we are lost.

We break mountains;

sink ships

– at what cost?

In all things

there is going and

coming;

but none can tell

just where

we are running.

Crescent Moon

Thankfully,

just a verse of your song

is enough to play out

the longest day

with a smile,

shining like the curve

of a bright crescent moon.

Take a Single Step

Take a single step;

count to five,

not to five hundred.

Look first.

Stretch out one hand –

keep the other close for now.

Take a single step;

count to five.

Either way,

you are still moving forward.

Let the Rocks Go

If you carry too many rocks,

when climbing

to the top

of the mountain,

they will roll their way down

and you will

fall

even quicker;

it is best

to let some go.

Trust the River

Trust the river;

she knows where she is going,

and has been out there,

flowing,

for far longer than you.

In the Distance, the Dancers – A Short Story

When the evening came, they curled up together. With days between, their sacred time parted like the sea, there was little else to do; few better choices than this. Somewhere in the distance, the dancers could be heard; puppets of the world danced too. Laughter and joy – even to them, though they hardly needed it.

Hour upon hour raced by in a breath, quicker than the journeys at either end, and yet sustaining like an endless banquet. But, of course, eventually the sun comes up and the night forfeits her space for other adventures, less welcome.

Soon, they will come back together and, this time, they might dance; if only their arms and the tips of their fingers can stand to unfurl for even a heartbeat. Perhaps not – it would seem a waste of moments that ought be spent holding tight.

Some Gifts – A Haiku

Some gifts are not things,

but fleeting morning visits,

that shine through windows.

Three Doors

At the top

of

the

stairs

stand three doors,

closed

though perhaps not locked;

but remember,

the exit at your back

is not

a ghostly commiseration

simply because it waits

quietly

behind you.

Decision

You are

the only plan left to make;

the one decision

which

cannot be begrudged.

Like a Fire

If it looks like a fire,

it probably is;

if it smells like a fire,

that is likely;

if it sounds like a fire,

you are hearing it right;

if it feels like a fire,

leaving’s timely.

Free – A Haiku

Best not to store up

your feelings until you are

allowed to be free.

The Ship

If there is water in the hold,

and the wood is creaking,

if the footing feels unsteady

underneath,

you should believe that the ship

is sinking;

trust your instincts,

run and jump,

sigh relief.

Later Overjoy

Part of the joy

of having

is missing;

for being together

holds as much wonder

as standing apart;

it may wear a different name,

but it feels quite familiar.

We should be grateful,

you see,

in those moments,

for we yearn

so that we might later

overjoy.

We At Last Reunite

What a joy it would be

to hold

those precious people;

to laugh and indulge

and share stories

like before.

What a gift it would be

to return to a time

when we could be together,

or to

leap forward,

on a springboard of hope,

to the moment

we at last reunite.

At Last, The Sun – A Haiku

At last, the sun breaks,

light streaming through the windows;

warmth, come to see us.

Remember The Stars

For a moment

I remembered

that in that night

we sought the stars.

It is comforting to know

they won’t forget us.

Coming Home

Coming home

is finding things

exactly

where you expect them –

sitting at desks or brewing tea,

or waiting for your sound.

It is curling up and

falling

into what we call

the usual.

Coming home is knowing

what is waiting

behind

the door,

and being unable to wait

another second

to know it,

just once more.

Five Hundred

The luxury

of art

is that it

lets out

five hundred paintings,

five hundred songs,

five hundred poems

that you had

no idea

were

inside you.

Don’t Believe the Grey Days

Don’t believe

the grey days

when they tell you

the sun is gone:

he is only

taking some time

to cast his light

for someone else

who needs it.

Mountains and Wolves

You have more

in common

with mountains

and wolves

than with the person

you see in the

mirror.

So howl at the moon,

and stand tall;

break the looking glass.

Just this once,

it won’t be bad luck.

Stories

Stories are beautiful;

they are rivers of gold.

Some are for all;

others,

only for the chosen few.

And some stories are told

in whispers,

in the dark,

to ones –

and only one –

who we dare speak it to.

Every pause

is a

drop;

every word is it’s ripple.

Let them flow,

let them wear the rocks

away,

let them journey on:

they have

something to say.

Even The Breeze

Everything changes;

even the mountains.

Everything changes;

even the seas.

Everything changes;

even the seasons.

Everything changes;

even the breeze.

All the Time You Need

Take all

the time you need;

take all the energy

and all the space.

You are a universe

in human form:

ever-expanding;

filled with innumerable stars

and end-

-less

possibilities.

She Knows

She is a lost soul,

only now and in this moment;

in this place.

Really,

she has already found her

path;

really,

she knows where she is going.

Spare Moments

What are evenings for,

if not for this?

What are spare moments,

without it?

Lock Fingers – A Haiku

Meet. Hold. Walk. Eat. Rest.

Drift off. Lock fingers. Touch lips.

Talk. Smile. Breathe. Laugh. Kiss.

Between Your Ears

That sound is in the world

which lives between

your ears,

but you needn’t listen

just because

she has taken up

this space.

Not everything can be true

all at once

and all the time,

not least

when she is plotting

your demise.

All At Once

They call it

‘sneaking up on you’:

the unassuming way,

that she, and he, and he too,

appear

as if

from nowhere;

simple whispers on the wind.

And with that whisper,

on that wind –

not at all,

then all at once –

there they are,

and

here they come

to take your breath

away.