I recently came across the blog of a long time muse of mine, Labi Siffre. I was once in a second-hand shop in Manchester and the cover of his 1972 album, “Crying, Laughing, Loving, Lying” called out to me to buy it…

I had never heard of him, and the record was a little scratched, but I took it home and haven’t stopped listening to it since. I even hooked up the record player to the computer so I could make mp3s. Some time later, I saw him perform a sublime set of music and poetry - on race, religion, politics and people.

When I came across his blog, Into The Light, I saw a stream of poetry… This one really caught my attention:

as 123 as ABC

“life has no meaning without God” say many
but life has no meaning
full stop. period.

life is the muse, the inspiration
equalled only by existence
and these wonders inspire us
FIRE us to meaning

to not realize that is
profoundly
odd

and the customary way
to flee
responsibility

I lose myself in Your arms and the raindrops that fall onto the still water of Your heart. My fear washed away by the mossy dew of Your smile.
How long have I waited to lose myself? Only You know. And the distant light that glimmers in Your eye shares my secrets.
A river, carrying all water drops to the ocean, breathes a sigh of relief as it opens into the wide expanse of water where the memories of its journey are lost to a new presence. A vastness that envelops all fears and soothes them with soft murmurs like a mother to her child. Read more…

I want to write and write and write.
Unfurl words,
curled like new ferns
inside me.

It is almost painful.
A joyful, beautiful pain
that breathes in
in-formation
through my senses.

Finally.
To pick up a pencil and
release, release.
Into this compact notebook
that promises to carry my dreams
on a sailboat into the night.

Oh, I just want to let them flow out
like rainwaters along the edges
of paved streets.
Flow out and trickle
into ears and eyes
and open like flowers
in moist mouths.

Moist mouths that kiss and whisper,
and relish shapes
of poetry.

how the spiritual folk do condemn
& they blame (or they think it’s a shame)
when my love doesn’t fit in their boxes
and though it may seem such a shame
all the same, it’s a game
i have chosen to play
and my heart’s at the stake
so i’d better keep straight
on the path, on my path
through the trees & the dark
but the dark is my friend
that i want to embrace
and the more i explore
i discover the face of my
Love is the dark as well as the
light is the non-path
as well as the path that delights you
so my path may not look
like the path that you know
it may even be so that it looks
not at all like a path, not to you
but i promise you, darling,
i stick to my path through
& through, true & true
and perhaps even truer

Pi to me a Kingdom is.
Such perfect joy therein I find,
that it excels all other bliss
that world affords or grows by kind.

Though much I think I feel I want,
and still my mind permits to crave,
Infinity goes on and on,
the splendour falling wave on wave.