Extempore poem on seeking and what is found.
It rumbles and it tumbles ..
It whispers and it mumbles ..
It’s doing it all the time ..
It’s what makes this whole thing rhyme ..
Its not yours and its not mine
Though it belongs to us all
It’s really what we are
And even all that is
It hides itself by being everything
and all is what we are ..
I can’t find it by a trip out in the car ..
At the end of the rainbow, it’s the pot of gold ..
Seven for a secret never to be told.
Be still silly mind with all your silly rhymes
And know ..
And Be ..
A green field and you and me
It’s what we are and what we’ll be
The whole wide world and all that’s on it
It’s in a Shakespeare sonnet ..
It’s love and more than that
Buddha nature in a cat ..
A smile .. the eyes of a child ..
A violet growing wild ..
A stormy windy sea ..dark clouds gathering ..
Grey clouds scudding ..
White ones breezing along ..
In a poem in a song ..
Spring or summer winter or fall ..
All & nothing .. nothing and all ..
Success .. failure .. imposters and fakes
The genuine article .. whatever it takes ..
Losing everything .. gaining all ..
“No really maam it’s no trouble at all !”
A selfless action, an unexpected gift ..
Making peace .. healing a rift ..
A beautiful valley .. a summer sky
A vast forest with trees more than high
A majestic mountain .. a humble mouse ..
A wet park bench .. a mansion house ..
Can’t stop it .. can’t judge it .. it cannot be caught ..
No should or shouldn’t , mustn’t or ought ..
A flotilla .. a villa .. a house by the sea ..
An old brown photo, could be you and me ..
A tiny tiny dinghy on an ocean vast and wide ..
A huge ocean liner in a dock full of pride
An annoying phone call with an Indian voice
These things happen, you’ve got no choice ..
It runs by itself and we’re a tiny part ..
The something that is nothing
That’s the seeker’s art ..