Valhöll

I did not say good morning
To a magpie, solitary fellow,
Conspiring with a rooftop
To clag my hindered eyelids.

Nothing changed.
The day stayed the same.
Grey, motionless torpor.

A leaf appeasing gravity
Spiralled to the floor;
Breathing-in is a luxury
I cannot afford.

Under a lantern-clad ladder
Leaning up into Valhalla
I mindlessly walked;
I stamped on cracks,
Send me back,
And smashed a mirror
With my orb.

Nothing changed.
The night stayed the same.
Sirens, waves of woe
And obsolete laws.

That magpie loosened its claws
And disappeared into
All-consuming hours
Which do devour in tides
Both the man and the boy.

Melt Like Butter

Butter on its own
Isn’t much to write home about,
But melted in the middle
Of a croissant, on a
Crescent-shaped plate,
At a hotel morning room
In the early fabled light
Only found in Istanbul,
Is transcendental.

And now I’m writing home,
Meditation on its own
Won’t fill letters from heaven,
But meditation on a lotus
In the eye of the dharma elevates
The breath and the floating moment
Into something translucent
As I meditate, alone,
On a parcel of butter.

A Subtle Shift

A subtle shift unseen,
As my feet’s eyes
Apply pressure
On the pedals

Of my soul, I cannot see
The inner workings, blind
To the ingenuity
Of industries,

A movement of gears,
It has taken years
To reduce these fears
Traducing that same soul,

Ineffable, yet bruising.
I can brew their organs
And bones in a saucepan
With pinches of parsley,

Oregano, and Hope.
Sipping from such knowledge,
This world can slow
Its quiet revolutions.

Slow down, runners,
There’s no need to rush,
As everything unfolds
Now and again, with love.