The Fool

The FoolI’m ten years old and I’m sliding down this grassy hillside

on a shiny fertiliser sack, hold the edges tight,

don’t let it slip back so you’re off the front, bum bouncing

on hard stony bits. Hold tight!


Shouldn’t be here. Don’t go near the cliffs!

But this is the best hill, just because of that lift

that danger brings. Entices, teases, go on! into the abyss.

Flip over & off before that. Don’t think!


The FoolTwenty-five, alive (despite my best efforts), divining,

shining in new found radiance, grace of the interior space,

Tarot reader says if possible for fool like me, must be

that freedom rules for all. Then draws for me. The Fool !


Stepping forward, off the cliff, eyes

raised upward, to the big blue skies.


The me that is me, is old. Look at me. What do you see? Do you see old?

Old is old. In here there is no old. In here there’s nothing really.

Empty Space. interspersed with thoughts that need dealing with,

The Foolor are there to blind, to bind, to lecture on what is not possible.


I’m old. How did this happen!

On a backdrop of Timeless, time binds me to my own history.


I’m sliding down the grassy hillside on an old fertiliser sack.

Over the edge of the cliff. Looking up to the sky like a Fool.


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