Pilgrim

What shrine shall I seek out,
Which pilgrim route pursue,
To find at journey’s end
The Constant and the True?
Which litanies recite,
Which deities invoke
With sacrificial fire
And clouds of incense smoke?
Is there a common point
On which all paths converge,
Or is perspective fake,
A trap where falsehoods merge?
In peering far ahead
Towards some distant goal,
We overlook the steps
Which daily forge the soul.
Today is now in flight,
I reach and touch its stream,
For fear its moments pass
Like some elusive dream.
I am the Here and Now
Through which all meaning flows,
The consecrated land
In which true godhead grows.

5th December 1990

Birthday Flowers

Frangipani by Aidan Smith

Frangipani by Aidan Smith

I have, my Love, no flowers for you today,
Small summer flowers from cool green country lanes,
No lilies of the valley which you love,
Sweet peas and honeysuckle, wild dog rose
And ragged robin tied with buttercups.
These things we love and for a time have left
And know instead the burning tropic sun,
The rains upon the palms and warm salt wind.

Take then these poems, their garden is your love,
Your sweetness gives them life, for you they grow.

Seychelles 4th May 1969

From Scotland’s purple mountains

From Scotland’s purple mountains
Come blessings great and small,
Like whiskey, haggis, porridge,
Dundee cake, shortbread and all.

But of mighty Scotia’s bounty
The best of all to me
Is a wee round Highland oatcake,
Dunked in my English tea!

For Liz and Roddie