25 September 2013

The tree of karma


Do not talk to me of suffering the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.
My will has loosed all trouble direct upon this mark.
I am the fatemaker that throbs within the heart.
Mind the toy of fortitude's lesson.
Life is all the stark puppet of perfection hark!

Poems for people who stay up late


Weather report

It has been a while, so let us talk about the weather. However, be warned this small talk prefaces large things.

The first ecstasy of spring has been and gone. There is nothing like the days when she first unfurls her sails and all nature sets her breath to filling them. Then the rain returned with vigour. The bedraggled magpie pictured below is ample evidence of that. However, today was the lovliest day imaginable and at such times, one is tempted to believe the season of forever ecstasy is fast approaching.



The leaves all bravely burst forth will not now forget their purpose.
If the bud is not broken, the spirit of the bud is true.
For all the supposed inclemency of the rain, the green will unfurl the mightier.
Such is the way of the trials of the spirit.
Past all slumber, the only certainty is growth.
It is a tale of renewal.
These old forms sustain the new and I am unrecognisable,
but for the beauty of the myriad, that,
forever seeking new definitions,
finds it is indefinable.

Prognosticators predict it will rain on the morrow.

This too shall pass.