R A I N E    G E O G H E G A N

 

 

A daddy long-legs rests on the windowsill, as if contemplating.

Buddhist monks tread softly, mindfully.

They cast their eyes downwards looking for the smallest of creatures;

Anything that moves, is sentient.

Sometimes you will see them bending, brushing, another creature saved from harm.

They are often smiling. They know …

life is an illusion.

What is real, is unreal. What is unreal, is real.

They practise being still …

when the mind is still everything returns to balance.

Still the mind

and it becomes the moon floating

like a silver boat on a calm lake.

Still the mind

and it becomes a mirror that has no blemish.

The daddy-long legs has fallen into the sink.

Its fragile legs quiver as the water washes over it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


Previously published ‘Poetry on Spiders’, ebook by Fair Acre Press, 2017

photo credit: c.pxhere.com

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


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