oh how the stars draw us out from the mud of our original homes
tasting fine wine and aged cheese, we lock ourselves in time
we polarise and we jeopardise our innocence for projections of better lives:
a greener garden, a deeper love, a bigger bank of plastic paper and kings and queens and untold horrors, we sacrifice our innocence…
we lock ourselves in time
oh but hollow are thine thoughts
oh but hollow is thine money
oh but empty is thine stomach
after caviar and wine
for no love was made in the future
no baby born in the past
no ecstasy is to be found
in words and drawings
so tell thine favourite stories
draw to thy hearts content
but on thine dying bed
with thine head on thy lovers lap
do not touch a single thought
do not long for thine mind
For thy are here
eternally here
do not miss it…
thine death is ever-present
Reuben, your poetry moved me. I don’t write poetry, but I study consciousness and practice Buddhism. I read your more accessible works and listen to your interviews and discussions. My favorite poets are Basho and Mary Oliver. I’m a retired stone carver of organic natural forms in Marble. My website, shut down for some years, and no longer accessible, was called oroboros gallery.