End of the Line

Take me out in darkness

Where the only light is black

Like a railway platform leading

To the forms that end the track

⦿

Let endless trains of thinking

Pass, ghostly, through the night

And cease their whistling thunder

In a silence turning bright

⦿

Let what I am-not die there

On the empty, singing rails

As sleepers are run over

As tickets blown in gales

⦿

Within St Stephen’s radiance

Let me feel the tingling dawn

And pay my all to face it

At the station of St John

⦿

©Stephen Tanham

Stephen Tanham is a Director of the Silent Eye School of Consciousness, a not-for-profit teaching school of modern mysticism that helps people find a personal path to a deeper place within their internal and external lives.

The Silent Eye provides home-based, practical courses which are low-cost and personally supervised. The course materials and corresponding supervision are provided month by month without further commitment.

Steve’s personal blog, Sun in Gemini, is at stevetanham.wordpress.com.

Heartfire 4 am

I sometimes wonder if the fire is kin to what I am within

Is skin to what I am within – when darkness lures

A hiss of icy night and eyes too tired to find delight

The swishing of the white tail, paws on icy grass

⦿

The tiny crunch – dark whisper, pulls me there

The velvet black surrounds – foolish!

My skin protests the frozen kiss

With breathing centred in the crackling heartfire’s hiss

⦿

I cling, my life this warmth… I, Eye – against

The icy tip of calling blade that taunts from glittering sky

Its hand so far away, yet present like a god; not yet!

His thin-lipped smile, my heart a stream of icy, chanted breath

⦿

The distant eyes so bright in deepest black

Perhaps… not yet? they feint with deeper cold

I parry – breathing in, retreating – and blood-red heat renews me

The icy point withdraws to star. She-dog finds the closing door

⦿

Frozen out-there glitters on…

Behind us, warm and crackling, the embers of the last log linger

Within reflecting glass we salute implacable fire

And, turning, copy both their smiles.

I sometimes wonder if the fire is kin to what I am within

©Stephen Tanham

Stephen Tanham is a Director of the Silent Eye School of Consciousness, a not-for-profit teaching school of modern mysticism that helps people find a personal path to a deeper place within their internal and external lives.

The Silent Eye provides home-based, practical courses which are low-cost and personally supervised. The course materials and corresponding supervision are provided month by month without further commitment.

Steve’s personal blog, Sun in Gemini, is at stevetanham.wordpress.com.

Out Along the Song

And so we meet again

Bright blaze of flaring life

A green defiant in its going

Ashamed of nothing in its flowing

Up to the crispy end it sings

With melody of screaming joy

So far beyond our space and time

And out along the song

To where there is no right and wrong

And when the crisp is mush

And when the river turns to brown

And when the water has corrupted

The form that was your life erupted

I will wonder at the god of left behind

I will ponder earth that looks like waste

I will listen with my ear into the mud

And taste wet noises under sight

And wonder if I hear the song

From where there is no right or wrong

©Stephen Tanham

Stephen Tanham is a Director of the Silent Eye School of Consciousness, a not-for-profit teaching school of modern mysticism that helps people find a personal path to a deeper place within their internal and external lives.

The Silent Eye provides home-based, practical courses which are low-cost and personally supervised. The course materials and corresponding supervision are provided month by month without further commitment.

Steve’s personal blog, Sun in Gemini, is at stevetanham.wordpress.com.

Somber not Sad

A second on an icy breeze

A chill that fears no coat

A fading colour unafraid

Of its own transition floats

From the order of formed green

To the falling of bronze

The collecting whisper

Is the voice of the colder wind

North of the east and south of the west

Nothing turns bad

Culling life-magic, living no death

Is somber not sad

©Stephen Tanham

Mellow, then Naked

With gentle care, my drunken head

Is upwards tilted, facing Sun

I glimpse pale gold in summer’s field

To trace, already, winter’s dread

As hues of autumn’s failing now revealed

Too soon! Unready heart implores!

But she, intent and moistened scent

Upon the harvest’s fulsome bliss

Inscribes my name on deeper lands-

Baptising wordsmith with her kiss

This is my chosen task–her ask

To face the winds, the rain and snow

To see the bare yet feel the beat

Of life withdrawn to hidden mask

As thickened leather wraps my feet

To dig through darker months the toil

Our hands return to deeper soil

Which, haunted by four faces’ song

Five-finds a singer always whole

And tells her truth; to write the wrong

©Stephen Tanham

Stephen Tanham is a Director of the Silent Eye School of Consciousness, a not-for-profit teaching school of modern mysticism that helps people find a personal path to a deeper place within their internal and external lives.

The Silent Eye provides home-based, practical courses which are low-cost and personally supervised. The course materials and corresponding supervision are provided month by month without further commitment.

Steve’s personal blog, Sun in Gemini, is at stevetanham.wordpress.com.

Half day, half night, half nothing

Along the edge of darkness lives delight

A silver, shining, running stream

A place of soul’s respite

Where questions rise unbidden

And answers tease and tide from hidden

A flow so all-embracing that the third:

Not day, not night, is briefly seen.

©Stephen Tanham

The Blissed Hand

Like a flower the truth is swiftly hurt

Perfection is the gentlest thing

Touched only by inside seeing

Fingers’ secret is caress

Engaging deeper self

A sacrifice to one alone

Blissed hand holds essence of rose

Its fading leaving room for another

Its silence an invitation to a third

©Stephen Tanham

Harlequin Solstice

Harlequin solstice

St John Kin

A picture in the fading sun

A race of fingers, digits

Of solstice long earned

Short departed

How little

How sadly

You are understood

Your music the struggle

Of madness

Made harmony

Until this moment

When kings detach your strings

When single song

Descends

Towards the dark arms

But brighter eyes

Of St Stephen

©Stephen Tanham

An idea whose time has come

An idea: invisibly potent

A watery creek

A new and gentle breeze of ripeness

Felt by few

A red propeller spinning in the soil?

A sail – unfurled and flapping

Held fast with thin steel ropes

which ‘clack’, dull metal, at its imprisonment

Whose time: like the now-revealed spinning toy

Whirring in the wind

Unwraps, revealing shining teeth

Rotating gear, synchro-meshed

Engages, beneath everything, changing all

Has come to this:

The smug steel wires groan taut

And break…

The great mired ship slides free of oily, stinking mud

The jetty, rent like severed, ageing limbs,

Becomes confetti as the wind and sea

Too long unwed

Collide

©Copyright Stephen Tanham