Centre Sphere

If half a sphere sat on a square

Such that the circle was intersected

Tangentially where it touched

The midpoints of the four sides

And centred then at cardinal points

Of East and North West and South

So that it formed the upper story

Of a constructed cross of tall hallways

Placed upon platforms of many steps

That led to avenues lined with trees

Surrounded by grounds filled with birds

That flew from forests all around

Laced with roads that winding ran

Along the sides of valleys dividing

Rocky promontories facing plains

Reaching out toward the horizon

Then we might wander to that place

And place our feet upon those steps

Pass through hallways rich with arches
Until we came to that central space

And looking up into that dome

Recognise our sacred home

The heart’s interior in blue of mind

The golden dome in the sky a sign

Echoes of angels in the songs of birds

Mosaic paths to gardened earth

Pillars of virtues guiding the living

Fountains of nourishing waters giving

Peace to the air of dappled sunlight

Leafy shade at edges where we might

Circle the circumference with songs that rhyme

Weave body and soul and words and time

Wellspring Parau Retreat

The land with stand of kauri, crown of copper leaves

(That rests on brow of Parau headland), weaves

From understory and undergrowth, a cloak

Of green that drapes on shoulders, gentle slopes

(The cloth of rimu, kahikatea, miro, and ponga grows,

Harakeke flax and grasses fall like fringe below,

Nearly touching where rocky toes reach into the sea,

Mighty Manukau’s tidal waters keep soles of the feet clean).

And in the soft cloak’s embrace is warmed the heart – those

Drawn to take a part in (what the future only knows

Will be achieved) – the path of Wellspring Parau Retreat.

Wanting Words That Touch

Wanting words that touch

That sound hollow when knocked

With your eyes on the page

Wanting to hear emptiness

Like the rush of spider’s web on the face

Crave the internal space

Open up like underwater

Knowing you are there on the mountain

Can’t see, can’t feel, can’t almost breathe

Wanting the heat to pass through

The pain believed relieved aglow

Incandescent even the sunset hue

No you, no me, laugh life let go

No words just touch

But open space an aftershock

A sky below above but touch

Wanting the unmistakeable truth

Arrived like insects homed after dark

Surrendered like light like a symphony played

Discovered like a cat asleep in the shade

But yes, not that, not anything made

Ceremony

Yesterday we sat on cushions

Underneath a tree.

Cake and chocolate muffins we ate

And conversed with cups of tea.

Today I looked at an illustrated book of poems

By the mystic Rumi.

Almost every Islamic image was of figures

Bent at the knee.

In apple orchards or garden courtyards these lovers

Met in beauty.

Adorations in every gesture whether serving

Food or poetry.

Their garments flowed into the earth via

The cloth at their feet.

Bowls and pots and cups and plates were rocks

In an embroidered stream.

In the undergrowth of plants around might crouch

A hare unseen.

Or peer behind a distant bough a deer

As though paying heed.

For still were the minds in such sunlit glades

In such a ceremony.