Nothing is Written

Let go of time;
how can you travel
with the weight
of such memory?
Night sky opens
to infinite fire,
the sea a depth
beyond measure.
The voice of soul
calls like an owl –
nothing is written!
Sea lion breeches,
drawing cavernous breath
then back to the deep,
below only darkness.




Clouds to the north

Clouds to the north


4 Responses to “Nothing is Written”

  1. Stan Grindstaff says:

    Oh yes! There is infinite fire! The odious tedium of memory past does not cloud my movement forward… I travel with you, Don…

  2. Pat Fitzsimmons says:

    I really enjoy just sitting with the experience of reading this poem. Thank you!

  3. Bev Boon says:

    Your poems arrive and I am transported to a deep place. It take me over.
    There is not really anything to say, as you know the presence in you
    that drew these words together.
    Nothing is written, till now, where you remind me to live without memories; hear the voice of my soul; paraglide from signal hill, of swimming in rushing waves, watching sunsets and relaxing into the graceful darkness.

  4. Pichay says:

    I notice in elder citizens around me, a fretting that they are losing something when they lose track of time. Sad. Time is neither lost nor found. It simply is. I am neither lost nor found. I AM…simply.

    Even so, we agree to a clock system of organizing ourselves, just as we do with walkways and roadways. We may do it all….without fret. It is what it is, and I AM in the midst….mai pen rai (Thai: it really doesn’t matter).

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