Poetry – Just Think

Just Think

If we put aside competition

For collaboration?

If we put aside division

For unity?

If we put aside hatred

For love?

If we put aside violence

For peace?

If we put aside exploitation

For partnership?

If we put aside control

For friendship?

If we put aside destruction

For construction?

If we put aside our fear of nature

For respect?

What a planet we could build!

Opher 2.5.2019

I often think of all the wasted time and energy that goes into policing, military protection, clearing up pollution, dealing with crime, caring for the injured after wars, trying to protect nature against wanton abuse, patching up damaged people and animals, fighting terrorism, fighting poverty.

What a waste.

All because some people want more than their share, some people want to impose their views on others, some people think they want an easy way.

What would the world be like if we all learnt to share, respect and get along?

Wouldn’t it be nice for everyone and everything?

Poetry – Amazing

Amazing

Wonder in the sky,

                In trees,

                                In rocks,

                                                In sunsets.

Feel it.

The soil gives life,

                With rain,

                                With air,

                                                With light.

Respect it.

Living on a rock,

                In space,

                                Spinning,

                                                Careering.

Amazing!

Opher 3.5.2019

Although I am not religious, have no concept of god and no expectation of any existence after death, I still feel a mystical connection with many things; as if we are connected via a vibration that we are attuned to.

I can happily feel the power of rocks, trees, seas, cliffs, mountains and sunsets.

Poetry – Nothing Wasted

Nothing Wasted

Nothing wasted,

                No experience,

                                No loss,

                                                                No gain;

Everything counts.

We have life

                Under the sun,

                                In the rain,

                                                Breathing;

Taking in wonder.

Even in sadness,

                Grieving,

                                Crying,

                                                Lamenting;

We are still alive.

Opher 2.5.2019

It seems to me that something is better than nothing. But I suspect there are times when that is not true.

But most of the time we do not appreciate the wonder of life. We open our eyes on a universe.

One day, forever, we will not.

Do we appreciate it enough? Or do we waste our precious time?

New poetry book – Visions From The Pits of Love and Despair – now available in paperback!

I write words that I loosely describe as poems. I put them out on my blog and occasionally release them as books.

This latest book is an anthology of my latest commentaries on the state of the world in this post-Trump, post-Brexit world.

Some of my ‘poems’ are love odes to beauty and wonder, others are howls of protest in which I vent my anger.

Anything that moves me – from beauty, nature, crisis, social disturbance and politics – can find its way into a burst of words. They all mean something to me. I hope they resonate with you.

If you follow my blog you’ve probably read them already.

Poetry – Time is Limited

Time is Limited

They say time is infinite

But it isn’t.

It starts one day,

Forgotten,

But not long ago –

Out of timelessness

Into life,

With no distinct moment

To mark its birth.

It proceeds

Relentlessly,

Metronomically,

Without end –

Until it stops.

Time ends.

Opher 26.12.2018

It is the sound of one hand clapping. It seems to me that the infinite reaches of the universe and time only exist while there is a consciousness to acknowledge it.

I do not remember the moment of my origination. My consciousness came into being. There were no distinct boundaries, no moment when I came into being.

When I am gone the universe and time will cease to exist.

Poetry – Life’s Lessons

Life’s Lessons

This life provides extraordinary lessons.

We merely need to be open to receive them.

They rain down all around

In an endless stream.

Usually we do not notice.

Even within our own heads

The wonders never cease.

Opher 29.11.2018

We stand before the majestic storm of the universe, surrounded with wonders, bathed in mystery, defiant in the face of eternity.

Every instant is a secular miracle that we take for granted.

The fact that we are able to see it, wonder at it and sense the awe is beyond belief.

Poetry – The Tree

The Tree

Rooted firmly in the ground,

Anchored by a network of great cables

That fan out

Through soil and rock

Clutching,

Wedging,

Holding.

It’s trunk solid, stout and gnarled,

Solid as column of granite

                Resolute,

Strong,

Grand and defiant,

Unbending in the wind,

Stout against the elements;

A pillar of Hercules;

Defiant against the universe,

Thrusting up into the sky.

Its branches radiating

As strong arms

Reaching to the heavens,

Dividing again and again,

Bisecting,

Radiating,

Into a filigree

Of fine twigs,

A delicate latticework,

An umbrella of artwork,

On which the myriad emerald green leaves,

Each one a work of art,

A joy,

Are supported in the air,

Bathing in the sunlight,

Rusting on the breeze.

A noble living giant?

A work of art?

A compendium?

Syncitium?

Mystical – a complex wonder to behold!

A tree.

A leviathan of flora,

                A monster of complexity,

                                Repository of wonder.

A tree.

Opher – 9.8.2021

I find there is something spiritual, divine, magical and resplendent in the majesty of mighty trees.

They transcend.

The Stone And Reality

The Stone And Reality

I picked up a stone,

A lump of flint,

And held it in my hand

That I might judge its reality.

It weighed heavy in my hand,

Solid and brittle.

The outside rounded

With nodules,

All chalky white,

Smooth with small holes

Speckling its surface,

Tiny craters,

Glimpses through the crust

To the darker kernel of its nature.

One side had sheered

Into a glassy sheet,

Alive with brown, grey and black hues,

With depth,

As if my gaze could pierce into its deepness;

As if it were an aqueous liquid,

An undulating vitreous fluid

In which the shapes and colours flowed,

But it was only light playing on its surface.

The stone was impenetrable.

This flint,

This brittle rock,

So easily shattered,

Whose shards

Have served us well in ages past,

As knives, arrow heads or scrapers,

But is this the reality of this stone?

The sum total of its being,

Its aesthetics?

Its uses?

Isn’t there more?

Shouldn’t we not consider its history?

Born from great pressure in chalk,

Silica seeping,

Slowly crystallising within the strata

In the earth’s crust

Over millions of years.

Chemicals fusing to form these nodules.

Should we not go back further –

To the birth of those chemicals in distant stars –

Their formation

In the nuclear holocaust inside a sun;

The Nova that spewed them forth into space;

The condensing into planets?

Or yet further back

To the hydrogen

That fuelled that fusion.

Or beyond that

To the Big Bang itself

When the fundamental particles

From which it was formed

Were created in a flash –

Into existence from nothing.

I held the stone

And slowly turned it in my hand.

Billions of years of change

Manifested itself before my senses.

Yet its reality was still elusive.

Should I not consider its molecular structure?

The atoms that it is made from?

The subatomic particles that lie within?

The network of forces binding it together?

The microcosm of my rock?

Should I not consider the energy it possesses?

The heat it radiates?

The light it reflects off every surface?

Its sound as I tap?

The radiation it emits as its atoms decay?

What was its reality?

I had barely scratched the surface.

I turned it slowly,

Examined it carefully,

Before tossing it away.

Opher – 26.7.2021

We are surrounded by mystery, complexity and wonder which we take for granted.

Everything is so much more complex than the reality we afford it.

Nothing is trivia.

I was thinking of Blake when I wrote this.