Edward Clapham

My place

There also is my place, where I explore my understanding
Of words that are said and thoughts revealed, interpretations made;
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What is truth

What is truth? asked the patient;
Is it the cold (words of)
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It is as though I had never loved before, loving you;
My heart bound and sealed to your care:
The bright morning wakes me and I think of you,
Nervously, in anticipation of that first hello.
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Move on, they say to me, move on;
But they don't give easy directions and where do I go?
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They say distance lends enchantment and true love
weathers all seasons; but, sometimes I wonder
whether the distance becomes obscured by changing
winds and billowing clouds.
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It’s OK to be sad, for then happiness is given its proper perspective;
although it might not seem that way right now, when up feels only
a bit less down.
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Mindfulness
Mindfulness is being in the moment, with the past
A dim memorial and the future ripe anticipation;
Without investment of self in uncertainty and "when I…",
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We do not choose love, though it may seem that way
in the ceaseless dance of man with woman,
when hot fires urge us to approach and flirt and
hope it leads to more exciting things.
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Where once you stood

I glance across the room to where once you stood,
busy with the evening meal, intent on the rhythms
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If I could suspend time, I would make
My hours with you an eternity, Dear heart,
Though it seem but a fleeting moment.
The drudge of day gives way to night,
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A thousand miles is not as far as these few
inches between us, here as we sit in quiet conversation.
Simple friendship is not enough, though it should be,
when I am endlessly fascinated by your unfolding nature.
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There’s a me and a clone of me and if we meet,
Then how do we know which me is me and which
The other; and if I think I am me then am
I the other me, or is he someone else?
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Where do words come from?
In moments of exhilaration or despair
They come unbidden, sometimes tumbling,
Sometimes meandering, making their uninvited way,
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You are my moon by night: silvering my dreaming sleep,
Limelighting my fond imaginings and phantom hopes.
You are my sun by day: gilding my wakened thoughts,
Burnishing my desires and heartfelt yearnings.
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I learnt from Death something of Life today, thanks to you
though you didn’t know it and never will.
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Blossoms virginal in the evening light;
night moistured air presses heavy against the skin.
Caressing; arousing.
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Assumptions: cunning little devils, always sneaking up and
tripping up the clearest thought or the wisest head;
insinuating themselves into cherished beliefs, firm opinions
and the well worn habits of mind and body.
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In Flanders fields the poppies grow;
Their roots reach down to twine amongst the bones,
The mouldering bones.
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I want you to hear the clarion call,
The watchman heralding the dawn;
A morning prayer to love.
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Damn you Madam

There is a seductiveness to logical thinking, reducing
Emotion to a sideline of existence; leaving
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