When I sit, I do aspire
to rest my flesh as it requires;
One leg up, the other down,
or the other way around,
the chair, a friend, a cherished clown.
When I sit, I don’t aspire
to rest my flesh as it may requires;
but as my mind, attuned to art,
looks at the chair without a heart.
Or as that too compliant clerk
all he thinks of is his work.
My pose, my thoughts, my actions too,
Each glance at things, a little new.
Custom, beliefs, might be the glue,
I didn’t think this fully through.
Not one breath can be the same,
Embrace the change, don’t try to tame.
Knees, hips, and lower back,
please keep me smoothly on my track.
My head, my shoulders, and my neck,
keep on moving, do not crack.
I am grateful for each day,
might just jump up cheer »hooray«,
let me get this off my chest:
When you’re well I feel my best.
speaking and acting as if
they were still
in that classroom
in those schools they were put-in as children
as if their school teachers were still standing next to them
teaching them their place
stuck in the endless illusion
of upcoming final exams
lift one knee
a little bit
your hip joint roll
around its leg
Like a Grey Heron I have a slow flight. My main periods of hunting are around dawn and dusk, but I may also be active at other times of day. I may lie motionless on a soft living room rag, or on my bed, waiting for movement to stir up from the depths of phylogenetic history, to surface to actionable sensation. And when it hits, I swim, I surf, I follow the currents; I move and let me be moved, I feel, I sense, I think; I repeat, I relate, I identify, sort, categorise and file, and after that corner of the great veil has fallen once again I might even scribble down some notes.