[The following stroll through the thought forest was kindly shared with us by Happy Cow's good friend Simon Drew. When he is not busy biting off more than he can chew, Simon can be found counting up to sixteen, doing the fandango dressed as Scaramouche, explaining oligarchy to ill-informed tea cups and running the online groups English Stuff and International Monthly Hatstand Day. When you have taken that final step, why not leave a comment at the bottom of this page. You can sign in to the comments widget using your Facebook or Google accounts, or just leave a message without signing in. Or if you have temporarily lost your train of thought, just click on the 'Like' button instead. Enjoy!]
Again,
fishing in the river
and how do I know which fish are mine?
if it's not mine, it's mine
some hear a laugh but I know the river is always smiling
what a great joke, the vanity of the flower petal
drifting downstream
the river and I share a secret
that all the angels have been listening to
for eternity
we share the same name
this is not water but a field of grass
and dancing
the wind is making waves
stretching out the hand to grasp
the grains
upon the head of a needle
countless lungs are
saying, saying, saying
the frogs know how to speak correctly
their ettiquette is in time with the water breaking on the banks
their audience is a bleeding moon,
it lays its silver across the water
and hides its head among the clouds
river banks, river banks
how long will you last?
how long until you join the river bed?
how long until your secrets are
falling, falling, falling?
and one grain looks like another
until you look closely
and then all the kingdoms erupt
all at once
a thousand knights take the field
in splendid heraldry
of the unfolding of catepillars wanderings
on a half eaten leaf
in the canopy
of a day half over
and half begun
water, water rise
rise to my feet and pull me under
I know this was a dream
the water on my toes
a dream, an echo, a whisper
a roar!
you are not cold nor warm
you were always waiting
sweet river,
darling river
bitter dark and twisting river
thick medicine on the boil
in deep cauldron, in deep forest, in deep night
a footfall
all at once
the trees hear it
and crowds of butterflies
flock to the midnight scamper
hidden footfalls in the dark with no name
nothing to chase
pearl lying gently on the pillow
waiting
ah, there it is,
the sun
river,
never silent
never speaking
I can see eternity in those duck eyes
I can see a shower falling out all these buzzings mouths
how not forever did they wait?
how did they not find the end of coil?
ah, dreams on dreams
as thin as an eyelid
but never sleeping
ah, your gentle face
I lay my hand on your skin
soft and warm
you welcome me
always waiting
never waiting
"A myriad bubbles were floating on the surface of a stream. 'What are you?' I cried to them as they drifted by. 'I am a bubble, of course' nearly a myriad bubbles answered, and there was surprise and indignation in their voices as they passed. But, here and there, a lonely bubble answered, 'We are this stream', and there was neither surprise nor indignation in their voices, but just a quiet certitude." Wei Wu Wei
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