Category: Auto-biographical (spiritual quest)

Peak Awareness Standing on this craggy peak, high above the valley floor, alone, buffeted by the wind, I stretch out my arms to you. I strain for you. I reach for you, on tip toes. I ache for you. I know your Love. I feel it. I sense your touch. The sun shines on me.…

I once wrote a story called “The Little Bird off Slea Head “. There is a certain allegory involved, a symbolism, but I’ll let you decide how and where. If you haven’t already read Part 1, I would recommend doing that now, or this second part will not make sense… The Little Bird off Slea…

Liar’s Poker I went for a walk this morning. Through the fields, across the still dew on wild grasses, I stepped out lustily, my heart singing an old Irish ballad. Carefully, I stepped around the dandelions and the daisies, the forget-me-nots and the rag weeds. I clambered over a few old fences, and around the…

The Blade of Damocles Underneath a blade Paused, unnaturally, from beating air into a mostly illusory submission, I gaze in rapture At a thin gaseous layer With which our home Fragile and small Is blessed by Forces slightly understood And by a Great Cosmic Kindness Whom we, noisy and unseeing Barely acknowledge. I watch as…

Oh, how capricious God must be To have made a creature such as me Did he blunder, did he err? Or did he shape this man with care? Could I have been brought forth in jest? Or did he really do his best? I am imperfect this I know But who was it that made…

The Outlaw (I drove my motorbike to the sea) I watched a dreamer by the sea observe me,softly, haltingly, His face was tired but not unkind I sensed a windmill in his mind. Alone upon the beach he stood A member of the brotherhood I saw the biker garb he wore And knew I’d seen…

Sensual Overload, Emotional Push Back. The Snow Storm   I remember it so well, although it was so many years ago. Falling, falling. Alone. Not caring. Floating. Being buffeted. My jump suit rattling. My eyes drinking it all in. My mind, mesmerized, whispering the one word, over and over: “Wow!” It was in France, at…

with thanks to KT Silvershark The Oystercatcher, who silently cried out for help (For Joanne) Back in the early nineties’ I went through one of Life’s rough patches. As happens, often enough, with all rough patches is that you think your world has ended. Finito La Musica. Nothing will ever be right again. It’s all…

Photo: “Rough Sea ” by Michelle1973 The Little Bird off Slea Head (written over a Christmas break in 1982, during a howling gale; I was alone, in an isolated, rain sodden cottage up on a steep cliff of Slea Head, County Kerry, Ireland; reading and writing poetry, and drinking in the timelessness of Old Ireland;…

Photo: Timothy Gray A Quiet Song – Now we are Free After the tumult, peace. After the divisions, caring. To my readers, whoever you are. One day I’ll be gone quietly moving on I’m just riding through enjoying time here with you I’m hoping the reams of my oft scribbled dreams might awaken some stirrings…