A blank page for the Self
‘About the Self, dear seeker,
nothing can be said..’
say the bright-eyed sages with
a chuckle and a wink;
a chuckle and a wink..
granting, later, that if you
can spare the timeless time,
you could start listing (for your self-same self)
that which Self is not..
well I’m not satisfied with that..
I’m going to start a list
for you yourself to add to,
of those times when… so, so nearly…
you almost, almost, saw yourself -
(when of course, not looking for yourself…)
as you passed that mirror in the cloakroom,
the shopwindow that’s been newly washed;
looked into the rockpool,
in your childhood’s waking dream..
when you hear – not the first note,
but the second, of some Mozart piece:
and something tells you that the mind
that knew what chord must follow from the first
has heard, has known, its self;
the moment that the playful wind
makes plastic bag into a jellyfish;
just as you see a kite tail-twisting over the rooftops;
before you wonder whether there’s a string;
just as a taste you never met before
meets several places in your mouth at once;
the moment that the scent of summer field
is sweeter to the nose than any flower;
these, like messages to say,
you’ll never catch me; but you’ll know
that I’m around..
And now I’ll leave the remainder of this page
for you to add to; or to rest blank,
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poem by Michael Shepherd
Added by Poetry Lover
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