Breathe Again

forget not –
be pleased with all your efforts
if they have been as your honest is
as the day is long
look up to slip and sip
drinking of the sky
look down to peer into the deep
bright blue
stars twinkling in the twilight
at your feet
and when you level your gaze
remember to slip between the seam
of sharp and clear focus
and dream of the colours
that move your soul

©2017 Scribbler’s Dipstick

words for Just Breathe

38th Verse

38th Verse

A truly good man is not aware of his goodness
and is therefore good.
A foolish man tries to be good
and is therefore not good.

The master does nothing,
yet he leaves nothing undone.
The ordinary man is always doing things,
yet many more are left to be done.

The highest virtue is to act without a sense of self.
The highest kindness is to give without condition.
The highest justice is to see without preference.

When the Tao is lost, there is goodness.
When goodness is lost, there is morality.
When morality is lost, there is ritual.
Ritual is the husk of true faith,
the beginning of chaos.

The great master follows his own nature
and not the trappings of life.
It is said:
“He stays with the fruit and not the fluff.”
“He stays with the firm and not the flimsy.”
“He stays with the true and not the false.”

The Tao Te Ching by Lao-tzu

201 files

I am most familiar
in high contrast –
the blindingly brilliant days
when the garbage strewn back alleys
and black metal stairs
case themselves
in an opaque darkness
the details are hardpressed –
etched in asphalt and grey scales

It is here I wait
frame and click –
letting vignettes breathe themselves
into a life –
culled from the trance
you of the ordinary
perform mundane rituals –
recycling binned
re-shift the broken wooden pallet
upon which sit two balding truck tires
a sprocket wrench and a rusting bolt
its nut long lost somewhere
as a cracked wing mirror reflects back –
things are no longer closer than they appear
while a thicket of tomatoes
in 4 gallon pails
full green in leaf and spider-legged yellow blossoms
jungle your path
the red fruit staked and tied up
with flesh coloured panty hose
cut at the crotch
and a juicy beefstake boy is almost full
to bursting
waiting for your loving hand –
the pluck
from stem to plate
in infinite grace
of your tread on the spiral staircase
your escape and launch
from 3rd story back door
to courtyard
where you tend to an oblique slice
of asphalt and concrete life
renting out your dreams
in the day-to-day

©2017 Scribbler’s Dipstick

mlmm prompt: saturday’s mix

Tea for Two


it is an echo
a lingering reflection
waiting with invitation
I try to avoid
until its quiet persistence knocks
one too many times
and I open my soul’s door

I sit within the well
of my loneliness
we are face to face
you and I
I uneasy
you quietly resigned
and the grey silence
lengthens like a thread
until I nervously pull loose
a string
and ask –
would you like tea?
– yes, that would be fine
and I rise
but turn back
we are face to face
ask –
how do you like it?
and honey
or lemon?
perhaps just black?

time stretches the grey gauze
until I am loose and split-cut
my eyes brimming
as you reply
-yes, all of that, is just fine

©2017 Scribbler’s Dipstick

image: Japanese ceramics: sourced without certainty as to the artist – but I would love to know ♠