The day is narrow & the street is clean.
I have divested myself of personas
& speak only to the sun.
That’s what awareness means —
to swivel & leave all objects
resting on the fringes, quite at ease.
Pay attention to the one thing
until after many moons & the
ready distilling of concentration
there is nothing left but you two.
Even the moon is in abeyance.
Finally, you see with rabid clarity
perhaps even a little laugh that
accompanies the Eureka! moment
God is no thing and never was.
Copyright Simon Heathcote
My national service is solitude —
I recommend long marches
in regular doses.
Ask the guru how he lives so long.
Stay away from people, he said.
But I already knew — as I know this path
is not for all.
Let others shape
the world & party hard
my work happens in the meadow
away from the hullabaloo
& the tired dog-fight of opinion.
My time is quiet. I observe
what remains unseen by the masses
who make a cult of the fake
become eager believers.
Their recipe is ever unready —
it must be that way as they cannot exist
without argument just
as the USA cannot live without
endless wars —
some fool somewhere
ever opening the oven door.
Copyright Simon Heathcote
Flesh ends in wounding
so go beyond
the body
outside the scourging dream.
‘I Am’ came first
but never looks you
in the eye. A witness
must be found to remove
both blindfold & spin.
We look for ourselves
where we are not.
Go back to inner vision
then take a step further.
Get to know presence
the I Am
first concept that
births both God and world.
Then step outside the dream
& watch
yourself dissolve.
Copyright Simon Heathcote
Join The Power of Poetry
Slender morning, rushed
she opens on the day
like the Mayflower
leaving port.
I like a good funnel
a struggle through
the birth canal
long team walks
to the stadium
(ball in hand)
the little gladiatorial
box in Spartacus
where Kirk Douglas
makes his stand.
Each opens to a vista
vision & expanse
an escape from
claustrophobia &
its breathless prison.
To some, it is like
childhood & marriage —
the hope one will
heal the pain of
the other. But wait a minute.
Step back & ponder — it’s
a question of how much
trouble you want.
Copyright Simon Heathcote
The other poet —
the one over there
sitting on my table —
is to help me get going
rev my engine
against his kerb.
In truth, we do nothing
alone, consciousness
always depends on
something else.
Today, it is Heaney
Lorde & Rilke —
tomorrow who knows…
I don’t consider
this failure for
only awareness
stands alone.
Copyright Simon Heathcote
Where were wings
when you were
young &
demanding to fly
under your own
steam ?
How dare this
body be grounded
flight limited
to imagination?
You raged in disbelief
set off to market
with your mum
a Superman
caped & protected
from the sad
realities of this
earthen rock —
yet you were
not wrong for
memory remains
of another dimension
where you flew with
gods & thought
takes you
any place you want
& parents are left
to devices of their own.
Copyright Simon Heathcote
