Author Archives: 12457adlib

Level Four, State Library of Victoria 02/10//17 I’m sitting, wishing to be home. level four, tourists, families, pass, I sit. What I came for seems so far away now, though only a heart beat distant. I’m sitting, I’m wishing to … Continue reading →

Poem for Leonard, Written in a Note Book, Melbourne 02/10/2017. I read you in Swanston Street as the trams tracked by. I read you feeling jet lagged, though I hadn’t flown except on the wings of Dharma. You shared those … Continue reading →

I am a seeker of words and ways that wind the cord of life to capture time. I am the last lost soul of somethings that never mattered, matted in the cord of life. Do you hear me, not singing … Continue reading →

Morning You caught me in a gentle mood, you caught me in the place where time stands still. You found me – whole. So you hardly had to whisper and your meaning was crystal. you said soft as the gentle … Continue reading →

TO CRY FOR Today a man walked down the street screaming: ‘The Cold War is over.’ The barber from the combination studio/art gallery came out to see what all the yelling was about. It’s OK I told him. ‘The Cold … Continue reading →

Trig Tables Am I invisible, indivisible except by prime numbers? Am I saken, taken to a nowhere land of medium, imperceptible, fully integrated, some suches? Am I fractious as a fractional fitting on a wholly oversized body? Am I Nowhere … Continue reading →

She looks for inspiration in the eye of a needle, barely stopping to glance but dazzled still by the thinnest of points. She takes fuel for thought, holding heart and harps-man as conquest. The thinnest of points she knows holds … Continue reading →

These days, I am taken to hiding in plain sight, deciphering tomes of differential calculus. For balance, Rumi comes from the bookshelf, sagacious. These days are sworn to expose the light that darkens. These days are a menagerie of tamed … Continue reading →

You paid too much, too much of tears, too much of years, too much of you. You paid too much. Too much to be free, too much.

I ask for freedom from this, (this what?) But, I am the maker and made. the freer and freed. There is nothing to be freed of, not even this.