DESERT MAN
The Desert Man sits in his arid haze
Staring at the Sun
While dark-lined accusations
Skate across him
Barely scratching
Wounds closing even as he watches
Sealed by the heat of an inner fire
Fuelled by the words of a friendly liar
Whispering like thunder
So no one else can hear
As they drift
Past him, through him
Looking but never seeing
Casting bolts of ignorant assumption
From bows strung with ego
While he waits
On a street lit corner of his mind,
Calling to the masses,
Delivering tracts on Stoicism
With the silent, knowing vigour of the dead.
Dave Hubble
SLIDE
Your tongue drags across my eye
As I force myself to stare,
Then, blinking,
Return the gift
(Better than receiving as they say),
Your weight
Pressing on my chest
Hot, I love it
My breath
Labouring
My limbs
Straining
I lift you
But pull you down.
Dave Hubble
SENSEI
On lotus-petal pathway
In suffusion of white,
Sits a man in pranayama,
Breathing the light.
Surrounded by conch-shells
Making susurrus speech,
Capturing wind sounds,
Their whisperings teach
Of wisdom embedded
In rocks as they breathe
With a wisdom of ages,
Never deceived.
Dave Hubble