‘Even the birds are chained to the sky’

If you want to know how the universe is, watch a starling murmuration.


Watching unique parts arrange,

presiding back, where beauty’s from.

And knowing nothing, quite the same,

from unique parts, is chaos born.


Undisturbed; appreciation.


Observing this, one could relate

one’s own experience.

Unique part, myself creates,

yet still I see the us.


And seeing we, and knowing that

to move is not unique.

Unique disturbed, from part to part,

chaotic beauty, lays in between.


Religion has no Slaves

Us people, we bear the cross.

A weight, ourselves have caused.

Seek relief, and suffer loss,

what use, to stop and pause?


No use at all, as we endure

and ponder life unbound.

Endure we must, to be secure

so follow those, claim to be found.


One trait exists, it weaves within,

reveals itself as pure.

Security, in love or sin,

wins both by peace and war.


Peace, hard thing to define;

war is much the same.

Choose, cross carried by Devine,

or freedom’s fight, ourselves to blame.

Sun’s Seasons

Age is something plants don’t die of. Continuously reproducing bodies. Back to nothing, a pollinated seedling. Spring green, starts poking out of dead things.

Not dead, but Green’s experience.

Green, seeing death, where it came from, foreseeing his life is succumbing, back to its arrival…and dying.

And Green as we return to, and constantly reminded, it’s possible, by living, We’re dying.

But each Green returning, from more Greens before him, starts seeing, it’s more Greens ahead.

So those that are dead, saw those Greens ahead. Are you dead, seeing the Green that’s beyond, or Green, seeing death, where you’re from?

The Caterpillar

My present contribution lurks,

all knowing, sat beneath myself.

My-self thought known, itself converts

to fleeting truth by stealth.

That truth appearing, itself a thing

dictated by its finite time.

Ripples caused by fragile wing,

rising, seeking to recline.

Defying life, I strive to fly,

to higher realms, I’m drawn.

Myself beneath it seeks to die,

and memory’s fear, translates to scorn.

But through time’s revelations;

fragmentations of the truth;

the body’s inclinations;

the brief hallucinations;

appears myself a truce.

The grace to know that being free,

depends not on escaping.

Freedom seen occasionally

endures because it’s saving.

Saving precious memories

my present self the killer.

Bodies are like falling leaves,

Life’s elixir, poor caterpillar.


My mind wonders

away from me

so frequently

I rarely see.

But when I glimpse                                        

my wondering mind

it’s then I find

the cogs at grind.

Fleeting revelation
Enduring correlation 

dualist idolisation

My mind a separation.
A fools idol, that mind, a’wondering,

to freedoms call, it goes a’blundering,

as I recall, and I’m surrendering 

my freedoms lost, to idle rendering. 

To know this creeping paradox,

is to sever clinks, disguised as cogs. 

The minds’ defiance, it unlocks

unveiling pebbles, from the rocks.