"Spin" in aviation training: a "stall" or loss of lift, a subsequent nose-down spin, the specific actions required for recovery, and the feeling, after recovery, that you could tackle absolutely anything!

Thursday, 29 September 2011


Fog hovers in like a thought,
Quieter than quiet;
The other side of sound,
And waits to envelope you.
It holds a finger to its lips, reminding all others of their
Stations, to wait, hushed in the thickets
While you stand out in the meadow
Surrounded by beads of dew and the
Fanciest, most elaborate webs in the taller grass.
These webs won't catch prey done up so,
But that's not their task this morning.
They are part of this easy cushion of
Cool, settled calm, drawing you back to yourself.

Fog waits; gives you all the time you need.
It makes even your own limbs seem alien as you
Feel the deepness of you inside your chest.
Hear your breath, and note the shape of its journey in,
And out of your tireless lungs; 
Rich and full and easy; privy to all of your 
Glide and climb, absolutely loyal.
And with the study of your breath comes the 
Tremendousness of the beating of your heart;
Here, in fog, in this cushion,  in this meadow,
With shoulders dropped back you can open and 
Tether the beats together with your utter amazement;
One giant beat follows another, and you're sure the
Whole world can hear it,
But fog keeps the sound near, just for you;
A gift.

You are the centre,
Completely protected.
Governed by none here in this meadow,
But softly moved to realize the intensity and loft of yourself,
Surrounded as you are by this floating margin in time.
You can feel, I know you can feel, that it loves you,
In its quiet and measure,
It loves you so dearly.
How could it not?

Sunday, 25 September 2011


That's it.
That's the thing that's beginning to writhe there under
Your skin ...
You can only hold it off,
Ignore it for so long and then,
And then it begins to make its own way out.
You, my friend, have no choice;
A person such as you.

I am surprised that you can't see it;
'Don't feel it.
It is clear to me, even in your shadow,
In the pauses between your words,
In the margins between your 
Breath in and breath out;
I can hear it screaming.

Your magnificence is surfacing,
'Nothing you can do.
This is too big, my friend,
Too big for you to keep hidden.
All at once,  you will raise your head,
In the middle of the green peppers and the celery,
Under the fluorescent lighting,
As you try to summon enthusiasm for the 
Small, new potatoes you have in your cart,
Up it will come;
Cracking your ribcage wide open,
Breaking through your skin in a 
Roiling twister of fire and pure heart;
Up, like a geyser and then right back down to you;
Never to stray from its root.

There it is.

Your magnificence.

Now, it's all about the hard questions, and the
Intensity, the
And the fuel to keep it all stoked.
Life will be different now.
Life will be ... Life, as it was meant to be;
For you


Wednesday, 21 September 2011


There is a graciousness about you that has taken me;
It moves like an aura,
Like a flock of gentle thought and consideration,
Curling around you as you ease and manage through your day;
Delighting even the air.
Struggle and emergency relent to a moment of perusal and then,
As if ashamed,
Remand themselves to introspection and contemplation;
A more mannered effort.

This graciousness; 
Derived from remarkable endurance, and a
Heartfelt ability to live in balance with the 
Extremes and the tipping of the day,
Folds even among the notes of your voice as you
Softly dispel any myth of unavoidable surrender to fate.

Make no mistake;
Such graciousness is not a niche for meekness.
But neither does it come from the repeated flailing of a
Torch dizzy with flame.
It is, instead, a product of the measured, confident maneuvering of
The good coals,
Live and intense;
Effective without needing the juggler's spectacle.

You are rare;
And as you stand back, the marching throngs take note,
Re-forming their forward, mindless momentum into more
Intentional progress,
Dispersing and making their own way as individuals instead of just
Monotonous ripples in a seething sea.

Graciousness indeed.
With no effort,
Gently glowing.

Saturday, 17 September 2011

Your Charge.

When you awake, scorched and drawn,
Still with the taste of time in your teeth;
And a trident, wrenched from another,
Leaning against your door,
Beckoning back to the battle.

Look around.
Look around.
Is there anyone who knows that your core is on fire?
Do you have eyes to look into,
Brave enough for this intensity that unsettles even you?
Though you didn't ask for this,
This wouldn't have been bestowed weaker.

Up with you.
Up with you.
Conquer the steps ahead;
Charged with this roiling, shudder of 
Gasping thought and inspiration;
Left on its own, with timid fences, would
Wind and distort to oblivion.

Set your feet.
Set your feet my friend.
'Nothing harder than to 
Tell truth to behave, and to 
Wait to some kind of order.
In time;
Yes, the same time you battle,
You will learn to mold and govern
This Charge,
This Fire,
Into the pulsing artery of the
And reap the most profound connection with
Any heart big enough to
See you.

Tuesday, 13 September 2011


Moonglow drips from the shadows tonight,
Like satin frosting,
Settling in drawn layers on the trees and rooftops;
Melting across the lake;
Exposing its nighttime watery secrets.
This light has a mysteriousness about it;
A sense of romance that the sun lacks,
And yet it is, really nothing more than
The sun bounced off of a rock;
The same sun...
But for some reason, this
Moonglow makes us slow to stop, and then
Look and whisper,
As a tourist in a shrine.
What is it that the moon does with this light
Before it sends it on?
It moves in the window with thoughtful care instead of
The usual bluster and entitlement of the daytime sun.
It finds your shoulder and hesitates, then
Drapes so carefully,
So gently,
So as not to wake you;
As if it just came to be with you, and
At how beautiful you are;
Receding as quietly and carefully as it came,
Though it stretches a bit.
Longing to stay...
Marveling in you.

Saturday, 10 September 2011


Scuttle your worries.
Pay no heed to strife.
They fuss and wail above the 
All that matters.
The very nature of it
Quiets the chatter from the pitfalls of
It manifests deep down,
Roaring with an almost unbearable intensity,

And yet can soften;

Draw back;

...curves moving like tides...

And trigger a breath;
The kind of breath that, all at once,
Replaces any gasping indifference to moments in time
With an unavoidable searing need to wrap around this
Vital Plume
That fills you, fills each and every cell and the 
Spaces in between,
And to nourish it.
Never let it diminish.
This is a life's work.
We are wired for this,
And though we may become distracted with 
Outrageous tariffs of concern or misery littering our years,
It is the 
That draws us through.

Tuesday, 6 September 2011

A Nod.

Look closer, and fill yourself with the whole story;
There is richness in considering the subtleties that
Tweak and twine
Such graces granted you;

That door that opened, just there, to
Heavy with dimensions of grandeur and significance,
'Seems the master of such meaning,
Yet, it is the 
That allow it to swing so.
Tucked deeply into the frame, they are
Bettered only by the lock
Sitting at half, across the way.
So when you pass through,
A nod to all.
The door is easy.
But it is the hardware that makes it so.

That bridge you cross;
Ornate and clever,
Bearing the history of toil and effort
Sweated deep into its mortar,
Stands puff-chested over the water,
When it is the two shores on either side that 
Keep it steady.
Any apron of sand or indecision;
A shaky footing or landing diminishes any
Sure crossing to a challenge in itself,
Instead of a welcomed and deserved
Short cut.
So when you pass over,
A nod to all.
The bridge is magnificent,
But it is the shores that fulfill its integrity.

Those tools you use,
To dig your garden and raise your roof;
Blades, head, and teeth of utmost
But all competence and endurance rests slightly 
Farther from the action;
In the handles and grips, and the 
Ladder that gets you to the peak, and a
View of your work;
Finely fitted and thoughtful.
So as you harvest and retire in comfort,
A nod to all.
While the strike and cut are important,
A shovel's blade is a scourge with a handle that 
Fights instead of fits.

That person that you adore,
That lights your day and moves you ahead;
So much more than breath and sinew.
That light in her eyes and her gentle touch are
Sifted and simmered from all of the
Footings, and
Navigated and maneuvered to get to you.
So while you love her,
A nod to all.
She is everything;
Absolutely everything up to this very 

Sunday, 4 September 2011


Rip up the perfect lawn and plant
Learn the constellations by crunching each star in your
Feel the wind, and then match it,
Or better it.
And settle to tedium at your peril.

Set fire to the past and your
Thaw your timidness out in the embers.
Stake your claim to the calendar;
Brave days only.
And settle to tedium at your peril.

Plan for your future by having a 
Stand only in lines of latitude and longitude.
Never wait for the sale;
Just sail.
And settle to tedium at your peril.

Ride the catapult to the centre of the 
Take quiet moments only to fill your screaming lungs.
No earthbound retreats or poses;
Fly instead.
And settle to tedium at your peril.

Your happiness waits quivering in the conquering of the
Then walk the high ramparts and bead your next fleeing
Hurl all of your pathetic fear to the wall.
And live.

For you?  Tedium, my friend?
Tedium will kill you.
Have none of it.

Thursday, 1 September 2011


Hold briefly, in this pause between the hours,
Just before the minute-hand finds north yet again.
I am dizzy from this spinning earth and in my 
Wondering about it all, could use a steady hand and
Heart to brace with.

Put down your things and govern this space.
The rush of air from all of above has floored me with 
Notes of triumph and solace and the sweet, sweet
Liquor of life's pageant; all in a breath,
Deep enough, but not deep enough to divine so much.
Your shoulder please.

This bench here, join me.
Just sit here with me between this dusty layer,
Hiding the strain and strength of gravity's curse,
And the delight and spectacle of such blue, and
Such stars; a fickle sky that can't make up its mind
Whether day or night bears more the nod.
Your company comforts me.

Your company...You...

And suddenly I fathom my grip,
And lose the overwhelm of life's scale,
And find my ease in day and night.

Friendship can do that.