Sleeping Out

Lay my bed in soft dry grass,
On the dependable earth.
Make my blankets reassuring lambswool,
And my sheets, sun-kissed cotton.
My bedroom, a hill-top,
And my window the star-filled skies.
Let me hear the sweet music of the breeze,
As it plays 'piano' on the leaves,
With the accompaniment of nocturnal animals,
Rustling about their business unobserved.
Let the fresh wholesome scents of air and earth,
Waft gently into my olfactory recesses,
And lull me into rejuvenating sleep,
'Neath the trustworthy radiance of the moon.
Let me lie unmolested,
By any troubles of mind or spirit,
But go in and out of restful dreams.
Until the coolness of the predawn awakens me,
And I may greet the day.

Leave the Water on - An Ode to the Bathtub

Oh great receptacle of iron cast.
That within its warmed contents,
I enjoy a sweet repast,
Of solitude.

And at the day's end,
Wash away the bitter stresses,
And send,
Them into purgatory.

For who could resist,
The water's sweetest tinkling,
As it kissed,
The enamelled edge.

Or the velvet tenderness,
As it caressed my weary flesh.
For me, such feelings of happiness,
As those,
Are not so often expressed,
in Prose.

Yet my tub and I shall thus sojourn,
Through pleasant evenings of our life.
Once I have left, and clothing donned,
Will yearn,
To be within its soft embrace,
Again. 
  

Sensual

Warm water envelops me,
Swaddled in a womb.
Pressure welcome against my eardrums.
Sounds pleasantly muted.
Floating in a cosseted embrace.
All upsets forgotten.
Just bathing.

Instinct

Today I execute a watercolour.
I don't know how,
Or what Devine intervention,
Causes my brush to mix and choose just the right colours.
Stroke rapidly onto the card with just the right shades and forms.
It is like magic.
How fluidly the process progresses.
I feel free and uninhibited by any potential failure.
My eye captures the form in my mind.
My hand replicates it well enough on my paper.
I love this feeling.
Creating something beautiful.
Perhaps it is a form of arrogance,
This assuredness that all will go well.
Who cares?
I relax and enjoy the journey.

Simple Acts

Mirror polished to perfect reflection,
Wind scented, sun dried sheets.
Favourite cotton shorts, neatly patched,
Weed-free flower bed,
Round bellied, satiated poddy lamb.
Clear kitchen bench,
Full fire-wood basket,
Milky cup of Earl Grey,
Fresh cut narcissus in a jar,
Vacuumed bedroom floor,
Toast with melted butter and Vegemite,
Kids reading or on adventures with soft plush friends,
No appointments,
Just the time to take care.

Sleeping on a Mountain Top

The climb was hard,
Leg numbing, chest burning, hard.
And all the more dangerous,
For being executed in moonlight.
Although like midnight, the top would inevitably arrive,
It was a most longed for object.
The promise of rest was all that guaranteed progress.
The stops became more frequent and the rocky inclines
More treacherous and steep.
At last it was achieved,
And among the rocks, on uneven ground,
The tent was erected.
Sweat soaked body became chilled,
And gratefully accepted the warmth of the sleeping bag.
Despite the chill and the rocky bedfellows,
Sleep was as unpolluted as the fresh crystal air of the clear night.
Unmolested by any discordant cacophony of thoughts.
Perhaps being physically closer to heaven,
Sets the mind above the incessant buzz. 

This Sacred Vessel

Notice.

In each moment,
All that it is.

The great,
Elderflower champagne.

The modest,
A hard boiled egg.

The intrinsic beauty of everyday objects,
My red Fergie tractor.

The joy in the simplicity of activities labelled mundane,
Warm dishwater.

Let all off your senses be attuned,
Eau de cologne of wet dog.

Be truly present.

Then you will appreciate this precious life,
And the sacred vessel in which you travel.