A Premature Lady

image of desert

an old lady
waiting in this parched bed
for something to happen

which cannot happen.

an old lady
with an impatient
unsated belly

that will not rain.

an old lady
whose slow mind spreads out
so far her eye has
lost sight.

the one
who age must not tame -

May my drying up cause this spark to flame!

My Heart Cries Out

"Woman Reading By A Window" by Carl Holsoe (1863-1935) 
My heart cries out for poetry
it's all I long to read -
perhaps it's age
or wisdom
or perhaps it's more the need
to tend to what grows inside
to feed what's withered thin
and nurse it back to life
once more
before death does steal in.

Sky Burial

Tibetan Sky BurialI look so unremarkable
but then I imagine
so do you.

And the secrets inside
that we like to hide
are probably boring too.

So listen
why don’t we share them?
Cut our guts open
and air them?

We can have a sky burial
and invite birds of carrion
to transform
our dark feelings to food.

A Halloween Poem By Moonlight

The Moon Tarot card from the 1910 Rider-Smith-Waite Tarot Deck.

The Moon tarot card represents unconscious fears, strong dreams, intuition and imagination.

I want my poems
to disturb you
creep up sideways
and unnerve you

Sidle into your
peripheral vision
and slither in through
your too thin skin

I want my poems
to observe you
coolly through
their slitted eyes –

And when you’ve had
enough of them
I’ll call them home
to me again.

A Mother Must

"Diving Down" by Laurie Frank 2008

“Diving Down” by Laurie Frank 2008

I have decided that
is right for me
because I have so little
time to write you see.

A mother must
to brush her teeth
while pondering questions
of life and death.

She must hold in mind
to give birth to later
and incubate them
while cooking the dinner.

She must dive clean
where the stillness lies
while the world unhinges
just outside.

She must swim down
and snatch a gem
and return, reborn,
to the surface again.

Worlds of Words and Meaning

Human Bones from Graveyards of Les Halles in Catacombs, Paris, France

Human Bones from Graveyards of Les Halles in Catacombs, Paris, France, by Alison Wright

Sometimes it’s like working in a graveyard, writing, shuffling dead words like dry bones, grey on white.  Creating pretty shapes and transient meanings –


Beating still time in the hot stale air of my mind.  Every word moving me further away from the target…

(the target?)

Sometimes the page is flat.  Sometimes it’s a tardis.  An outer expression of an inner world, it’s entrance (like me) shopfront unremarkable, it’s objective correlative, the universe, my mind.

Appearing words (worlds?) unconsciously, projecting them onto this portal page, which holds them safe and when time aligns, embeds them in the mind of the other.  The other then living a thousand lies (lives?) in new worlds of their own imagination…

Do I make any enduring meaning, swooning in this play of creation?

What truly matters can’t be expressed in words.  And yet, neither can it be reached without them.

Sometimes it’s like working in a graveyard, writing, but sometimes it’s like dabbling in heaven.

Was T.S Eliot a Buddhist?

tibetan buddhist mandala

And the end of all our exploring

Will be to arrive where we started

And know the place for the first time.

T. S. Eliot – Four Quartets

Several years ago I taught a Buddhist class on the profound subject of emptiness, and I used this quote to illustrate what I felt was our true goal in life  – to consciously return home.

Not home in the sense of an external place, but as an internal place of perfect inner peace and connectedness – a state which Buddhists enticingly call the union of bliss and emptiness.

Bliss refers to our most subtle and clear-seeing level of mind, an intoxicating place existing deep down beneath the turbulence of our conceptions.

Emptiness is a little trickier. Essentially it is the theory of how things don’t exist – that is, they are empty of existing independently, either from all other phenomena, or from the minds that perceive them. Which is not the same as saying that things do not exist at all! Just that they do not exist in the way they appear to.

Of course this may sound rather strange – our world certainly appears to be a very solid and independent place, doesn’t it? It feels very much as if it’s existing ‘out there’, quite separate from our mind, which exists ‘in here’.

But as Buddha, and now quantum physicists have discovered, appearances are nearly always deceptive, and our reality is far from ‘real’. Like a dream, a mirage, a magician’s illusion… while things do exist, it is only just, and not in the solid way they appear to.

With our mind we make the world

 Buddha said, and while this in itself is not a problem (in fact in the end it is the key to the solution) failing to understanding the world’s illusory nature is.

For when we fail to recognize the intimate connection between mind and its projections, we find ourselves searching through all  the world’s places for the answer to our problems.  Not understanding the true internal origination of our pleasure and pain, we expect more from life than it can realistically deliver, and are left constantly, heartbreakingly wanting…

Spiritual paths (of all descriptions) take us in the opposite direction. Buddhist means ‘inner being’ and its practises take you on an internal journey, returning you to your very source, your own true nature, emptiness.

As we meditate we delve deeper and deeper inside our own minds, exploring down through ever more subtle levels and challenging ourselves to redefine who we think we are.

We try to bring our conscious awareness to this process, even during times of sleep and death, for it is at these times of least external distraction that we have the greatest opportunity to access the most clear seeing level of mind – the clear light of  bliss.

When this blissful state is manifest our mind is naturally unclouded by the stories it habitually creates about our world, ourselves and others. During these moments we have a powerful opportunity to understand our own true nature and to reunite with our true ‘home’. Tragically, for most, this opportunity is missed.

Like a tourist lulled into unconsciousness on a train, we sleep through what  passes by outside the window of our perceptions, never fully aware, and therefore never fully able to experience it. Night after night, life after life, our internal explorations naturally take us ‘home’, but time and again we fail to recognize it clearly – for what it is, or for who we are.

Hoodwinked by the dream of our own projections, we grasp instead onto what is not (was never) really there, except in our own minds making…

As Albert Einstein said,

Reality is an illusion, albeit a persistent one.

Our search for happiness (or satisfaction, peace, home, enlightenment) in all its myriad expressions (as urgings for love, sex, drugs, shoes, money, success) is really all about this divine drive for union with our true selves.

As Eliot pointed out in the Four Quartets, this is our real job, our highest purpose – to return to that primordial union of bliss and emptiness (or God, he would call it) and to consciously know that state for the first time.  To recognize ourselves as we really are – free of race, gender, job, social status, ego; what’s left after all these are gone is what there is.

But this is at least a lifetimes work, perhaps many lifetimes…

Was T. S. Eliot a Buddhist?  Being a Christian, I’m sure he would not have said so.  And yet, unsurprisingly, it seems our shared purpose is the same.