Phoebe

You join up the dots of the stars my love

With your patterned impassionate being

Reflecting below what’s mirrored above

Rich-sequined your fabric of feeling

Casually spendthrift the joy that you’ve sewn

Causally spindrift, engagingly freed

Harvesting concepts, organically grown

Wittily warm anthropological creed

The gilded arpeggio of moonlight

Which butterfly soft-wings your thinking

Fritillary froth-daffled the insight

Of your Mesopotamian a-musing

disarmingly charmingly, conspiring

In a furnace of creative inquiring

Being present, in Yorkshire

My daughter gave me a book. “The Power of Now”. Motivation? Uncertain, but does it matter. It’s another jolt forward into a different understanding of the world. Real and vibrant life is in the present. Here, Now.

It reminds me strongly however of a philosophy of my deeply ingrained Yorkshire father. He would say “Open tha’ e’en lad” – as an exhortation to live fully. (Open your eyes, lad).

Don’t these add up to the same philosophy? Open your eyes, live – live now. Live vibrantly and in the present. The past and the future are a chimera and distraction.

A wise daughter and a wise father. Surrounded!

Becoming

As it is with you
presto accelerandissimissimo
Raveling one steppe at a time, our Kensington debussant. Close-coupled at the ice-break prow
from nights on your bare mountain
over through and on
care-bear-share
touch and push, wellington heels in mud
gurgling moonbright splinter
shining, glowing, giggling in a blanket
embracing, holding, sprinting
drawing toward the outline of your own smile