Childlike Children

Remembering past times

When our children had childlike

Free flowing bold confidence

Unknowing pure innocence

When no fear could constrain them

From sharing unearned gifts

Unseeing the suffering

Where the self critic lives.


Let us begin to believe how

We were once like this child

Let us reconnect right now

With the ease and the power

Let our life courses choose love

Let our voices ring true

Drain doubt from our sweet Hearts

Flooded completely in You.

My cups running over


‘A person who knows that he does not know and who opens himself to the truth without pride in his own personal capacities and without personal ambition may indeed experience the desire for contemplative freedom arising in himself unobserved.’ T. Merton.

He goes on to ask how can the disposition to contemplative freedom, to openness to natural signs of spirituality, imagination,originality and freshness of response to reality, be grown within the current technological world?

This was written in the late 1950’s America when the main technological interloper was the humble TV. How much harder can it be can it be to find ways to this stillness and peacefulness, reflection and restful spaciousness today. To slow down to allow, enable and encourage floods of freedom to wash freshness into our complicated city lives.



my home town

with your creative verve pulsing

just below the surface

just beyond

the no thanks Big Issues of

metro mayor council cuts  

sofa surf and sleeping rough

to the lying rhythm of

‘affordable living.’

to the laying out of

browned duvets in

darkly disappeared

shop fronts.



to all that’s becoming

encased within the bright

vacant glare of this new

shabby chic, this

industrial avalanche

of coffee chains

swallowing up

our Barista youth, our

shiny spare cash in

flat white swirls

and naked burgers for the waist

sweet potato chilly chips

warming mid-mornings

with fleeting fullness.


And Bristol

what the heck

I’m sure my genes can squeeze to

the double -whip

chocca-mocha caramel slice

displayed haphazardly beneath

your cake laden

cathedral domed glass frontage.


And the smart phone fairy dust still

doesn’t fit the bill.



in the diesel haze

of this sunny September day

you clutter me, you

raise me unknowingly towards 

a caffeine fuelled

hec-tic-tock, an

unreachable sadness of

non-specific anxiety

threatening to

distance me from coming home

to the glory be

enmeshment of dulled throb

simplicity and peacefulness

falling home within

the abundancy of expanding

flesh and thinning aging brittle bone

discovering Mind Kingdom


and on such short wing to

flutter brief and set

contentedly upon

The Silent Heart’s

communal ground.



Searching for real peace

Rilke, Rilke, Rilke,


I call out to you beyond this dark incarceration

I turn and tap-tap

and tap again towards the warming flow of you

and suddenly these damned thoughts break

and freedom floods from sweating pores

reminding me to bathe once more

within your overflowing Brook of Hours.

Refresh my being

so I become awash

and away within your mystical yearnings

your improvised outpourings

escaping this doubt to drown

yes drowning freely within these

watery wonders beyond my dried

and sorrow filled mind

and within this age-old

re moistening of newness

my vision softens

and reflections haze to

the greyness of these half ingested present days.


Breathing beyond this shallow pit

this constricted pleasure chest

I Panther prowl your prose once more;

‘His gaze, going past those bars, has got so misted

with tiredness, it can take in nothing more.

He feels as though a thousand bars existed,

and no more world beyond them than before.’

and smiles rise upon

a frail frame of trembling lips

and eternity missed in this flat packed paced world

of shape shift and guilt

of self-made universes spinning deeper within

the worrisome furrows

of my earth-bound skin.


Rilke Rilke Rilke

you offer the pause

the claw back and break

to my urge to perfect an ever exhausting rake

through the tap-tap trappings

and pressured increase of this current time.

Your fossils of sight

still seeing within those collected

and yellowing paper-back pages

stills my frame

my very being that

I might re-find the realness of ages

and taste once again

a peaceful existence beyond

and within

this word filled mind.