SOUL–CLEFT SPRINGS

Settled not are these soul-cleft springs of inner self
Where beauty and barrel-bottom bog hang in uncertain suspension.
Rarely at rest these waters lap long _
Demanding experiences each more special than the last.

Listen, though, as the ebb tide subsides and the lapping lessens.
Look, and see, a rusting old casket slimy and submerged.
Leave it, protected, preserved, and personal.
For this is Inner Mystery, weed-wrapped, encrusted and everlasting.

Like a drunkard who wants more but get less
We exhibitionists show and tell, our stories and secrets_
Unfurled to the world and our last hand played,
There must be something here that will awaken love.

Wave upon wave wash and foam around piers of hope and joy.
Gentleness glimmers and beauty beckons and togetherness makes its play.
But fear and loneliness lie anchored to the deep
Unmoved by all but the Great Spring Tide.

The Gentle Fearless can be found in Inner Sanctuary, leaving illusions outside.
But buoyant you will be with billowed sail
As the gifts-of-others become your horizon.
Settled now are these soul-cleft springs: source of life and beauty.

IN GLORIOUS CROAKING

Fear is the deep down death of all things
Untried, untested, abandoned, like
Frozen fruit trees in perpetual winter, or
Tailor-made garments forgotten on the floor.

Regardless of all, in thrust and in fall,
So says a spirit of identity sought,
“I for myself and He for no other!”
A greed-soaked stain, riven and raw.

An identity sought in the eyes of others, pleading,
Needing to be understood, loved, forgiven.
Yet all for nought if not thyself and
Inner parts are left bleeding.

The tumble-down fits of froth and flow
And eddies silent and circling, mask
The dark down boulders, sentinel smooth,
Steadfast and unyielding.

Yet plumbed mountain pool, surface smooth and turf-bound,
Yields hidden colour, creature, and crevice.
Dragonfly, alder, newt and toad fair fancy in spring-fed waters, where
Undisturbed life in glorious croaking and splash doth dwell.