I’m gonna write a pome.
God help us!
There’s me spirituality,
and it’s imbued,
Whatever that means?
Maybe, I’ll find out?
Someone may shout out loud
or sing or dance
or sit quietly, eyes gazing forward,
Not behind, not behind.
For there are too many lions and tigers,
too much froth over flavour,
like wriggly lines streaking across a TV screen,
blip, dot, gone.
I think I’ll take a walk.
Small steps, good food and lots of umph.
What time am I?
I’m half-past one.
It’s not too late. I’d like to be a friend.
to start living in the present.
- written in May 2010 at Woodbrooke Quaker Study Centre and revisited in March 2014