Poems … by Gerry Hillier

What Do I Know

What do I know –
all the things I think about;
so much means nothing
and so much enlivens my being.

How many times I feel blessed;
you and I talking in the late afternoon;
people who come to me from different stories
share their lives in pieces –
snapshots in time staining living
with different colours;
aging with someone –
feeling the kindness of acceptance at last
claiming resistence as surrendered;
being quiet while the heart listens
to the world;
watching the world when the heart is quiet.

What do I know?
I have no causes anymore;
only a vocation to lay myself at the feet
of this great mystery;
to touch each exquisite moment
with presence.

I cannot explain how feeble
is this life of habits, perfunctory guises
creative urges, surging hope
and crippling doubt;
it can only be secondary
to loving service;
like laying flowers at your feet.


When you think time has flown away;
the things you so loved have changed;
the ones you love have gone
and that melancholy twist
unsteadies your heart;
breathe deep.

When your thoughts have wandered
into the room of shadows past;
where longing arises to hold, to stroke,
to be who you were – what you were
to someone – to life;
breathe deep.

When your feelings feed this yearning into the body;
when it becomes an ache no salve will ease;
breathe deep; be still; listen.

The little girl singing in the garden
of long ago, still sings
in your heart;
the laughing boy who shared his secret world
still teases the joy of you
to laughter;
the young man who held your eyes
has never left your side;
the woman who, for a time,
held your soul as her own,
still holds you;
breathe deep.

Life’s essence knows no prison –
denying shape, it moves
from form to formless
over and over;
it strews its gatherings to rebirth
 so that it takes nothing –
only gives and gives again;
breathe deep.

All remains
do not resist – be yourself
a denyer of shape
at play among light and shadows;
time has gone nowhere;
it is but the changing form you see before you.