Pondering in the moments

Some short thoughts for the day, notes, or knots for ideas to start from, except the last, it’s complete.  Coming from various scraps of notes, I’m now pondering if any might make it further than just a few lines.

Veggies, tin and rosewood posts

Gypsy days, the initial moment came from the vast mysteries to life, the questions unanswered, and where they may find a traveler.

Gypsy days

Nomadic girl, vagabond boy,
Distant travelers, vast to life,
Set out here so far from homes,
Feet they touch upon the earth,
Searching for the mysteries in life,

Darkland is written with a heavy hand, and some weighted thought about the moments we sometimes find ourselves.


Come’on come’on
The dark land sounds you hear
Where the shadows wake in silence
While the blood it runs with fear
Your standing on a hewn stone

Reaching for something not quiet there
Once the legend of a faded tale
Passing out across a bridge
To step between the falling sands

A wind gently come now turn within
As the voices of the hundred million
They speak from their molten hearts

Of the times they’ve been forgotten
Of the days they’ve been apart

Just about the morning and the wild moments we wake to from the first sign of light,  Storybook waltzes is about the dance we find ourselves waking too.

Storybook waltzes

So just lost, in this storybook world,
Waltzing through the forest’s tall heart
I have no idea what’s waiting

Out there with every step to make

Through this foggy morning light
I hear your voices out some ways
Making love to the waking day in song

Just wondering what can be thought of as being a sea for part of today, Too the many Seas.

Too the many Seas

The many seas so we see,
Between the seas of earth,
Those seas of fire, the seas of water,
Those seas of wind,

We hear the seas of people,
Searching for all that dwells,
Not within the many answers for a seeker,
Touch beyond ancient forests dwindling,
Mountains of old eroding unnatural,

Still we can wander far,
Beyond the river cuts of valleys deep,
Sadness in love and laughter to the seas.

A true story, back in 2004 I fell down a well in tall grass, and walked away with just a graze under the left arm. In 2005 in a rush, I fell through the back steps at home, it hurt a lot more.

Running late

I was late
The morning was getting on
Bonsai needed a feed
A sprite seven year old brindle pup
In such a rush down the six steps
A single leap to tend my duties
For an awesome friend
Down three steps to the sunken floor his home
His roomy shelter personal space, a bed
With the freedom to come and go as he pleases
A welcome sight we share a quick conversation
Before parting ways for the day,
Back up the three
Take a sharp left
Leap to the fourth of six
The sounds of giving way
My thoughts of no not again
I survived a deep well, I survived finding bottom
Even missed a log of a fence post down there
Down there in the darkness
But no, not this time
Shins cracked hard into the fifth
The body, the head slammed against the wall
As finally I crumpled, sunk beneath the stairs in a heap
To crawl eventually from beneath the deck
A mess, a bloody shattered mess
While the thoughts of rushing to work faded
I staggered
I stumbled
Back to my friend
Where it felt like we just talked for hours
For falling for real
However deep or short the distance
In an unexpected way
Is not quiet the same as falling in a dream…


12 responses to “Pondering in the moments

  1. ‘As the voices of the hundred million. They speak from their molten hearts!!’ Hmmmmn, that’s a line straight from a movie, it would be a block buster! Great job Sean! Have a great week!!;)

  2. Love the idea of the Storybook Waltz.. The living story of the morning, but also, for me, that feeling of the mind waking, being refreshed and immersed in the writing of the story itself. I miss that waltz, of late…

    • Some days I don’t want to write (remain stationary, particularly in the morning), but rather verbalise/vocalise something, a story, poem, song, or something of non fiction, and write it later. But ah, I’ve never got anything to recorded it on at the time… Thanks, Alarna… I wonder how a Storybook Waltz might look as a short film..

  3. Always a place to go, a bridge to cross and a restlessness with it all that. A safe place, a nomad way! All hopes shattered on your, but they exist and that is what is important. Like always the vastness of your Land speaks by you!. Immense is your heart poet!

  4. Pingback: Conversations Wild | A Shade Of Pen | Hey Sweetheart, Get Me Rewrite!·

  5. Well, I’ll have to say Running Late caught my attention first and foremost. You look tall and strong in your photos I couldn’t imagine my favorite poet getting hurt in any way.
    And there had been blood. Oh my poor dear baby…I would have comforted you with my hush words and embraces… 🙂
    Seriously, I appreciate that you’re able to express the experience through a poem. I like it. No, not your pain – the poem, I mean. 🙂
    Have a grand week ahead of you, Sean. Please don’t fall (except in my loving arms). Stay safe.

    • Physical hurt has hit a few times, the scars are all there.
      Cheers, and thanks, Marj. Anything can be expressed through poetry, it is one of the oldest forms to tell a story. Existed in spoken form long before writing came to visit history within communities. 🙂
      No falls this week, so far anyway 🙂 Not sure if you’d be able to catch me with gravity the way it is when falling.
      Hope you managed to get all your work sorted last week.. You have a good week too

  6. Pingback: Conversations Wild | A Shade Of Pen (Catching up with Old Mates) | Hey Sweetheart, Get Me Rewrite!·

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