Choice

With thanks to Viktor Emil Frankl              

I read of a man who survived the camps,
those places of deep and monstrous  cruelty
where unspeakable crimes were performed each day
with callous, regimented regularity,

where children were not nurtured but starved,
where the fires burned and showers emitted gas,
where the spirit could so easily be lost
in a deeply incomprehensible, thick morass-

what he said was so extraordinary
it made my heart stir and spirit rejoice.
"There is one thing," he said, "they can never take.
It is yours alone and that is choice."

He said: "There were men who walked through the huts
and gave away their last morsel of bread,
proof sufficient that what cannot be taken
is the choice of which life to lead.

"The last of the human freedoms is
to choose one's attitude for every day.
No matter the given circumstances,
there is the  freedom to choose your way,

"to choose to submit or not to powers
which threaten to rob you of your humanity,
to make  you a mere plaything of circumstance
through your renouncing of freedom and dignity."

I knew then that if this man could so think
in such a scene of unspeakable tragedy,
then in choice there is power or degradation,
base horror or defining beauty

and we make choices about who we are,
to desire beauty, love, joy, kindness
or favour selfish power and desire
above patience, peace and gentleness.

Even then when fools or oppressors rule
we can choose to gaze upon the sky's blue light
or when thick darkness threatens to envelope
there is still velvet wonder in the night

and always the mysterious communion of hand on hand,
always beauty in endurance and  solemnity,
always the awareness of what can never be taken,
the human transcendence of love and dignity.

Still Time.

The day is almost gone.
It is the dying of the light.
Behind the last rays of gold
is the mystery of the night.

Yet amongst these fading fragments,
the remnants of the day,
is still the opportunity
to redirect the feet of clay;

time to walk a better way,
time to be gentle and kind,
time for beauty, love and truth,
time to grow in spirit mind,

and if there is a grand summit
existing beyond the night,
seen only by the eye of faith,
veiled for now from mortal sight,

there is still time to hope in faith,
still time to run the race,
still time to reach out the hand,
still time for God's good grace.

Tree.

Tree.

(for Ikeogu Oke)

Although they spread deep and wide
from before measured history,
these ancient anchoring roots
are still the one great tree.

Although it towers, twists and turns,
is marked and scarred for all to see,
this changing, gnarled and mottled trunk
is still the one great tree.

Although some bend to touch the earth
whilst others soar in elegant beauty,
this vast spreading tangle of branches
is still the one great tree.

Although they blossom, bloom and droop
in cyclical, never-ending creativity,
these flowers, fruit and seed
are still the one great tree.

So too we who dream and love,
who share the common bond of humanity,
who have hearts, minds, hands and voice
are still the one great tree

Some branches may be full of thorns
but others grow in truth and poetry.
They raise their voice to sing
that we are all part of the one great tree

and in singing, rejoice,
in pureness of heart and simplicity,
across the deserts and mountains of this earth
that we are all part of the one great tree.

Earth

Earth.

I sense beneath the skin of ground
a mighty heart in rhythmic beat,
feel its vastness and its strength,
a pulse of life beneath my feet,

Sense an exhalation of breath
scud the clouds and sway the leaves,
form the ponds, rivers and lakes
from deep communion with the seas.

I feel its wind song in my heart,
a slant of light inside my brain,
inhale scents rich like heady wine,
absorb the soak of steady rain.

Know it holds me in its arms,
hear its blended sounds rejoice,
and to the songs of bird and breeze
In simple praise add my small voice.

It holds me, sustains me, gives me life,
richly enfolds me all around
and will still hold me in its arms,
even when I am in the ground.

Yet deep within my heart and mind
I sense a greater, cosmic force
behind and through and in it all,
the one great true eternal source.

This Ocean, So Deep and Vast

This ocean, so deep and vast,
Is rarely calm or quiet.
Rippling wind, zephyr and gale
bring troughs, crests or cliff-pounding roar.
What can we do who are held in its tide
but take courage and surrender to its flow,
knowing that in stillness and storm alike
richness and beauty abounds.
Let then this immensity
take me where it will.

Frog Song Haiku

evening chorus,
ecstatic cacophony
of frogs praising rain.

I Know the Renewal in the East

I see renewal in the east,
the water rising from the sea,
the rain that falls from tumbling cloud,
the bright new flush from seed.

I see the momentary eastern blaze,
the transient dew of dawn,
the setting sun's fading glow
reflected in the morn.

I watch the river's rush and flow,
the rapids running free,
the current and the torpor,
the dispersal into sea.

I feel the dapple and the dark,
the sunshine and the shadow,
slanting columns, backlit clouds,
laughter, love and sorrow.

I sense the weight of night,
its embroidered velvet mystery,
the trek of stars across the sky,
the incomprehensible eternity.