Poetry

we all naturally float
it’s a matter of fact
carried over a waterfall
bathing in Shangri-la
we all float with ease
it’s true some float more
than others, not to mention
those who are sinkers

I have learnt to appreciate tea.
It gives a lift, almost sinful,
between the late afternoon,
and the beginning of the dark.

Bonnie woke up to a globe covered in hair.
It wasn’t originally furry, it must have
happened over night, she didn’t remember
it being that way before she went to sleep.
It was a gift from her grandfather
who wanted to encourage an interest
in geography — but it wasn’t covered in fur
when he gave it to her, was this a dream?
It felt real — she stroked it. It purred
and spun. Bonnie sat for a while stroking
and watching her new hairy world spin.

awaken to light on the ceiling
open the curtains, the clouds are gone
the horizon bright warm exciting
the Sun God says hello

Naked under leather
soaked in water
laugh on instinct
see far beyond you
stand on what’s under
start again what’s over
think about what’s forgotten
reach past your grasp

we refine ourselves
add to ourselves
through acts of kindness
help others
share love

define ourselves
through sorrows
our errors
our foolishness

The first dilemma the seeker of truth must face,
how will I know which rock is mine, which is best,
my spirit rock, the one meant to be my guide?

These are legitimate questions, but misleading.
One must ask what will lead me to my rock?

you must be far removed
from the world of life and death
to think about
immortality

I think about suicide daily
Not as an alternative
But part of my human condition
That reflects me as I reflect upon it