Photo by Dave Robinson on Unsplash

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

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Photo by Benjamin Davies on Unsplash

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

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Photo by Johannes Plenio on Unsplash

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

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Photo by Lucas Ludwig on Unsplash

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…

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Photo by I.am_nah on Unsplash

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

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Photo by Esteban Lopez on Unsplash

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

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Simon Heathcote

Psychotherapist writing on the human journey for some; irreverently for others; and poetry for myself; former newspaper editor. Heathcosim@aol.com