Seasons Greetings
& A Happy New Year 
poems as prayers, from a non-religious person, yet someone trying to be, a spiritual person Have A Good Holiday Christopher 
without searching i have no desire to know how things got here neither do I seek out intellectual arguments i do hope to be able to become so close that i form temporary or permanent attachments todays blue skies, friendships again reunited tonight’s theatrical performance, with scripts by the lady who wrote Dinner Ladies, based on voltaire’s book Candide; it is for the best; it is
lightness out in the garden, to see grass, to see pebbles to see the breeze wave through the apple tree in the sunlight, on the day of the train’s arrival after the beauty of late morning arising in love 
about doubt i write these words for you, yet i ask myself do i write these words for you alone i raise an image; a thin, merino wool cardigan with its sleeve rolled back to show off your suntanned arm if i give these words and this image to you should i ask myself do i give these gifts for you alone i recover a memory, from many thousands yet i ask myself will i always be able to recover memories for you alone i project a vision, during meditation your face, in bright moonlight and clouds symbolic of the love i am being asked to give out if i offer these memories and visions to you should i ask myself are these recoveries and projections for you alone 
sant salvador my window faces the rising sun this gift of life each day is spun i hear your footsteps in my mind this gift of peace such joy to find silent mornings in my arms this gift of love brings me calm i see you pray you alone this gift of time carved in stone my window faces the setting sun this gift of words unspoken, quietly undone 
last post As long as one is conscious, nothing temporary, no past experience, is ever truly lost Hermann Hesse i will always have the poem of the gentle butterfly floating and fluttering in the garden i can draw on the beauty and emotion of moments and spaces that only ever truly existed within my imagination i will always have the song of a beautiful woman walking strolling through the headland meadow i am taken to summers near and far away both real, and from that immense and infinite land of make believe i will always have the images of spiritual paintings a time, of both then and now, when i may retreat to a peaceful meditative place with time and peace to encourage my practice to flower with the energy and love of my mind 
afterwards the morning through the white clouded blue sky to freedom leave behind the pink and purple grass leave behind the working class leave behind the midnight mass leave behind all that old talk of freedom i thought of you, and smiled as i drove beside the golden orange hedgerow it was a memory; deeper love from my collective unconscious which brought joy into my breath sitting in the warm bright light of freedom leave behind the anger of delusions leave behind the air of confusions leave behind the mindful intrusions leave behind all that old talk of freedom i saw your doppelg채nger in my rear view mirror, as i queued on the motorway it was a memory; a fond journey into my recent consciousness which brought passion to my heart drift into the refreshing silver grey rains of freedom leave behind the mystery of the myth leave behind the waiting for the gift
leave behind all that old talk of freedom i heard your sensational music as a backdrop to a meditation prayer it was a memory; of infinite essence of time in contemplation, with you my inspirational guidance 
teacher in that search for heart and mind and soul i had within me some certainty some doubt some confusion i settled on the heart being where the seed of the poetry rises the mind being where i root to find a context the soul being where lies what i leave behind in this conclusion of heart and mind and soul i have been given the will for absolute life the will for absolute love the will for absolute inspiration 
in place of ether instances, moments, fleeting recollections, welcome feelings, suggestions of empathetic being could I live with you, could I live without you; could i meditate and contemplate, alone by myself, or perhaps together, sometimes with you light, dark, sun, rain, blue skies, cloud filled skies, bare trees, leaf filled trees, footpaths and journeys could I feel you with your body, could I feel you without your body; could i stretch and curl, touch my own extremities, before becoming desperate to visualise your aspect mind, thought, stillness, calm, peace, warmth, sensuality, rapture, urge, ache, desirous longing could i have transference with you, could I have transference without you; could i suggest images, perhaps reach out for déjà vu, could i have lucid dreams and seek out their explanations
remember i choose to search my memory, to name the memories as my own memories, memories that I may call up by design, or solicit to enter my consciousness at random. i am happy to receive or trawl both good and bad memories, both happy and sad memories, I am as happy to bathe in joyful memories as I am to reflect in melancholic memories. i am capable of taking pleasure, and advice, from the reading, and the writing of memories, be they my own memory’s words, or the words of others owned memories. i hear memories when they are spoken, or when joined up with music, to become the memory of song. i myself have no voice for singing, instead i find beauty in the memory of another’s voice. i feel memories when the ambiance of instrumentation alights me, i have no skill or talent for playing instruments, instead i find harmony in the memory’s of many other’s rhythms and arrangements.