b&w photography

Faith

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buddha statue

Faith
Woulds’t this mercurial stage shake our faith?
Turning all whom we love to ash and dust,
Ready to be blown, blown away on casual breeze.

Ravaged human heart and sweet sacred soul,
How can we imagine joyful dreams?
If life is thus.

What mischievous and pitiable acts and scenes,
How can we love?
If bitter taste is all it leaves.

Had we read the script in advance,
Would we have made our bold entrance?
Alternating cries and smiles, radiating naive hope.

This turning wheel of blood and guts,
It spins, grinds and turns and turns,
Whilst memories of loved ones past haunt our waking dream.

Yet, at the heart of our sensuous storms,
Lie wisdom and compassion no grief can break,
Through death, we find our truest faith.

© David R. Durham, All Rights Reserved.

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Shoreline

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poetry

Shoreline
Relaxing in the sun warmed veranda,
Admiring the grass, growing moment by steady moment,
Abruptly, a chop and a thud sneak round the corner.
Pause. A chop and a thud.
Longer pause. Another chop followed by another thud.
My breathing slows, eye-brow raised, waiting,
Waiting, expectantly, for the next chop,
Will there be a next chop?
What if there’s a chop, but no thud?

What if? What if?
What would a life be like,
Made up of what ifs.

A train leaves a station, who got on?
Who answered their life’s calling?
Rolling fields of rippling greens flow by,
Punctuated with silent passing faces.
A station, a stop, a pause in our life journey,
Some folks get up, gather their stuff and leave,
Some new folks get on and look around,
Muttering softly to themselves,
Pondering where they should sit,
And whom to avoid.

Whom to avoid? Whom to avoid?
What would a life be like,
Made up of whom to avoid.

Snagged, snagged on a half-remembered dream,
Stranded, stranded high and dry,
Tides, tides roll in, roll out,
Bleak, bleak this muddy human shoreline.

© David R. Durham, All Rights Reserved.

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Ghosts

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SpringBlooms_WM

Ghosts
Ghost from the past,
Play and persuade me,
With histories so devious and bad.

Ghost in the machine,
Mystify and manipulate me,
With stories of us and of them.

Ghost of the future,
Flirt and fascinate me,
With fantasies of pleasure and joy.

© David R. Durham

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Ancient Prayers

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Old Church WM

Ancient Prayers
Pungent incense adorns austere vestments,
Aching knees, silent witnesses, testify,
Propitiate holy separation’s torments.

Dust hovers, swirls, dances in sunlit shafts,
Children yawn, babies doze, angel’s smiles,
Pungent incense adorns austere vestments.

Liturgy, elegant life giving river,
Evaporating desires, cleanse souls,
Propitiate holy separation’s torments.

Sacred rite, gifted ancient tradition,
Well loved, humbly tended continuances,
Pungent incense adorns austere vestments.

Compassionate soft voices, mellowed,
By agéd wisdom, prayerful, praised,
Propitiate holy separation’s torments.

Hands lie restless on patient lap, neither,
Content nor uncontent, folded, naked,
Pungent incense adorns austere vestments,
Propitiate holy separation’s torments.

© David R. Durham

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Eden

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CW_RC_WM

Garden Of Eden
Casually draped emotions, barely felt,
Shimmer and ripple with each casual glance,
Faultless ways, cultured mind’s illusion,
Create false regrets, zoo sanctioned chiding.

Sacred mourning over a fallen people,
No going back, the curved archway should have read,
Once picked, fruit starts to rot, no going back,
Joyous lament, sensuous piety, righteous crime.

What bitter playground for swirling dust bowls,
Dancing o’er civilised man’s fields,
Lost, drowned in frost bitten modernity,
Broken skyline, poisoned dreams, black water.

© David R. Durham
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Please do not re-publish without prior permission.
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Dream Time

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poetry blog

Dream Time
Softly chanted incantations in candle lit darkness,
Your compassionate gaze fills our hearts,
Time ticks another round, scribbling another score,
Fond memories arise of love songs we’ve lived,
Whilst the dogs of unsung songs bay our hearts.

Sweet incense swirls, upward and fleeting,
What others’ pleasing stories have our lives told,
What dreams fell by the wayside, too frail to survive,
Paths we take, were led to, followed dutifully,
Innocent anecdotes of mortal games.

Our candles burn slowly down and down,
Unfolding distortions of dream-time myths,
Your timeless wisdom calls us home,
Are we the light in the darkness,
The eternal in the fleeting.

© David R. Durham
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Fallen

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poetry blog

Fallen
O’ beautiful death release me,
From winters so long and so cold.

My skeleton lies naked and fragile.

O’ beautiful decay reinvent me,
So I may live again, bright and bold.

My flesh is a feast soft and vulnerable.

O’ beautiful spirit’s new adventure,
In flowing growth born from the old.

My body arises in blossoming spring time.

© David R. Durham
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