FRANK WESTCOTT - THE POET*THE SINGER*THE LYRIC MAKER*THE SHORT STORY WRITER

A Poem for Today

FW MR VEGAS LARGE CAR MAGNET, FRANK WESTCOTT, Alliston, ON
 
© Frank Westcott, 2012, 2013, 2014. All rights reserved.


POSTCARD SMALL BACK, FRANK WESTCOTT, Alliston, ON

FINDING ME #40

Finding me is... is...
Finding you, too.
As you find you & I find me
We find each other also
And in this finding
We are ourselves.
This is finding me.
 

FINDING ME #29

Finding me is the moment
Before fullness
That fills the moment
And the heart
With splendor
And I know there is sunshine.

Then there is sun & shine and they are both the same...
The sun
And the shine...
And they are both
Not the same
Too

One is the soul and one is of the sol-ar
It is in thses thoughts
I find myself
Soul
And sol-ar

Both
Giving warmth
Of a kind
Both receiving warmth
Of a kind
From each other

                            Posted November 3, 2014


FINDING ME #18

Finding me is the call
Of the flicker
From a high branch
Spreading its tail.

The bird,
Not the branch.

But, if the Branch had feathers And Looked like a Bird and Sat There
On itself
It, too,
Could spread
Its tail feathers
In salute

To the moment

Maybe the tree
Is a bird
Too
And the flicker is on itself
Spreading its tail feathers
In salute
And I am seeing more
In the seeing
Than I thought possible

And I see in the notpossible
Everything that is possible

And I see in finding me
That it is in the thought to be not possible
That all truly resides
Even me

                                                             Posted October 30, 2014



FINDING ME #17

Finding me is waiting 
For the call
Of the woodpecker
On the roof
Establishing
The rhythm to sing to
Easily    At the right tempo
Leaving no tempo unheard
Unavailable       But...

The right tempo
Emerging
Of its own accord
With the tempo of the breathing of two hearts
When we sing together 
And I find when my heart is beating at its own pace
The pace of my internal woodpecker
Beating its natural rhythm on my soul
I hear myself beginning to speak
And it sounds like singing

                                                             Posted October 24, 2014

FINDING ME #12

Finding me is singing with a friend
And finding harmony
And clarity
And our voices working together
Well
In ways that surprise me... you...
Us... That our voices so different
Could work so well
Together
Naturally
.
I realize that maybe
It is our hearts' voices
That are blending...
Working... well... so well
...Together

Our hearts... What is you...
What is me... What is us...
Blending...

Finding me is like that
Too... 
It is finding that finding me
Is letting my voice
Sing
With another
Truly
With clarity resonance harmony

...truth.

                                   Posted October 16, 2014.


FINDING ME # 27

Finding me is  listening to the cheer
When the game is over
Won   Necessary    Important
To those that   The winning
Is important   And I know
That it is not   Important to me
It is the game   In and of itself
That is important   To me

The do-ing    The is-ing       The moment-ing
The be-ing   The now-ing    The action-ing

And I know there is great act-ion in the
Stillness  Still-ness  Still-ness-ing

And I know I am find-ing myself
Even more   In these thoughts

These thoughts that come unexpectedly
Gold     And I know we find   the gold
Where we least   expect   it

It is in these things I find myself truly
In the quiet    Between
This action    and    that

It    is    in     these    things

                               
          Posted October 12, 2014


FINDING ME # 16

Finding me is hearing you singing
Long afar even the echo has ceased
And in this dynamic, I, me, me singing
Too
Long after the echo has stopped
Even the song has stopped
Even the song is still
No longer singing
But singing too in my heart
There
Long after the singing

I guess it is still singing then
The song
In this way
Maybe this is where
All songs sing in eternity
Where they reside
In truth
IN their Holiness

Posted October 11, 2014
 
FINDING ME # 36

Finding me is flowers blooming
In pots I had long discarded
Retrieving again to pot
And plant
And then seeing the shoots
Come forth out of the ground
Waiting and dancing for Spring

Posted October 10, 2014

FINDING ME #31 

Finding me is listening
To the angel
Who lands on my shoulder
Lightly
When I least expect her to be there

And she comes...
And sometimes she is just there...
An angel on my shoulder...

Posted October 9, 2014


FINDING ME #23

Finding me is also when a raccoon
Wanders up my driveway
Lurks for a minute or two
Then cuts across the lawn
Ambling slowly poking through leaves
Leaving a deposit then turning
Making footprints in the snow
The other way and ambling still
Not as in unmoving but as in moving
And ambling still on the way
Towards the cars parked off to the side
A jeep and a car of my daughter's
Waiting to sell   This is finding me also
In these things...

Posted October 8, 2014 


CHRISTMAS FUN !
 
What did Gabriel
say
when he saw
a bunch
of angels
covered in jewels???
"Hark!
The Herald
Angels
Bling!"
 
Written November  2013
 
FORTUNE TELLER BLUES
 
Went to a fortune teller
to see
what tomorrow
would bring.
"Monday," she said.
"What?" I said.
"Today is Sunday," she said.

Written Sunday, November 8,  2013 
 
WHETHER OR NOT HEAVEN EXISTS
 
Whether or not
heaven exists
may not matter.
Sometimes,
the knowing
of certain people
is enough.
Sometimes,
the having known
certain people
is enough.
 
Written November 2013
 
WHERE TIME MEETS NOTHINGNESS
 
Where time
meets nothingness,
we encounter more
in this stillness
than we could know otherwise. 

Written November 2013
 
A GREAT SONG
 
A great song
is like it always existed,
even if it is the first time
you hear it... or you 
just wrote it.
 
The song stays with you.
Inside you. It lingers.
And brings you to places
you did not know...
before, but did and do,
somehow, 
feeling familiar, known always,
like you have always known
these places and this song.
 
You want to go there again,
to these places the song takes you
to,
and hear the song over & over
again... and again...
 
And you know, beyond doubt
a great song is playing inside you
now... forever  in the moment.
inside you.... because this song
has become part of you.
 
Whether or not YOU wrote it,
it has become
YOURS.
 
This to me, is a great song.
 
Written October, 2013
 
A ONE CHORD SONG
 
Tried to write a one chord song.
 
Couldn't figure out where the changes were.
 
I guess it only matters that you strike the chord
 
of another's heart.
 
Perhaps that is what music truly is,
 
 the striking of resonating chords
 
between people.
 
Maybe it does not get better than that.
 
And that is enough.
 
 
Written October 2013
 
 
I MARRIED A COMMA
 
 
I married a comma once.
 
Traded it in on an exclamation
 
mark. Divorced both.
 
Dated a colon. Semi.
 
Hyphenated a dash and
 
went on in favor of parenthesis
 
and non-possessives.
 
Discovered writing without
 
punctuation. Gave up reading
 
for dreaming over the blank page.
 
Found the best word was
 
none at all and fell in love
 
with Vegas.
 
No commas there... 

 
Written summer 2013
 
 
GONNA GO FAR
 
 
"Gonna go far" the Sage said.
 
"How far can you see?" I asked.
 
 
"Depends how high I climb
 
this tree" the Sage said.
 
 
"You forgot the comma," I said.
 
 
"Don't need 'em where I can see"
 
the Sage said, forgetting the period,
 
too.
 
 
"How far do you see?" I asked
 
not using a comma either.
 
 
"Around the bend" Sage said.
 
 
"What's there?" I asked.
 
 
"Not sure" the Sage said "looks like a comma"
 
 
"What!" I said.
 
 
"The bend " the Sage said " the bend looks like a comma "
 
October 2013
  
 
ZERO OR NOT, THAT IS THE QUESTION
 
The reason we invented 1 and -1
was to have something
to put around zero "0"
in order to give zero “0” existence.
 
But… you cannot give existence
to what does not exist
just by attaching a word to it.
 
All that you create is a word
with a meaning attached
to what does not exist.
 
Nothing or zero is based on the
fallacy we must have non-existence
to have existence, and exist ourselves.
 
We are not an illusion, as numbers are.
 
We…do not need to be adjacent-ed
by +1 or -1  to exist.
 
We…simply are. 
 
Written October 3, 2013  
 
RENWED
 
Renwed ...
No that's "renewed"
my passport, today.
 
   Hope it arrives before
   I have to... want to... need to...
leave the country.  
 
  The nice thing about not
   having a passport is that you
have to be right
where you are. 
 
    I guess that is the epitome
of being in the now, the moment.
 
    Now, where's my suitcase?
 
 Why isn't a woman's suitcase called
 a dresscase?  And why do airports
make cases out of baggage, when
they are not cases but luggage.  
 
   And who invented language anyway?
 
Probably the guy or gal who 'vented
txtg...
 
Written October 2013   
 
IF I WAS AN OCTOPUS
 
If I was an octopus
with only seven arms,
I'd fold one, so it looked
like an " 8 "
'n have 15 
 
Written October 2013 

 
IF I WAS A BIRD & COULDN'T FLY
 
If I was a bird and couldn't fly,
I'd bury me head in the sand
like an ostrich,
'n flap my wings like all get out,
until I did.
 
Written October 2013 
 
SUN IN THE SKY-A DIALOGUE
 
“Sun in the sky
         Lake’s all dry
             I wonder why?”
"We are in a dessert.
         No, desert.
             And that is why.”
“What is for dessert?”
      
           “Cactus.”

 
Written February 2, 2013.
 
 
WENT TO THE MOUNTAIN TOP
 
Went to the mountaintop and found the Guru.
 
Asked, “What is  life?”
 
“The meaning?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said.
 
“Go back to the bottom,” the Guru said.
 
“Of the mountain?” I asked.
 
“Yes,” he said.
 
I went to the bottom. Of the mountain. Felt my question was
still unanswered. Went back to the mountaintop. The guru was drinking
coffee.
 
“Trying to stay awake?” I asked.
 
“No,” he said. “I am awake. Just felt like a cup of coffee.”
 
Was going to touch him to see if he felt like liquid coffee or ground. But asked, “What is the meaning of life? I went to the bottom as you said. I went to the mountaintop before that. Now I am at the mountaintop again. I still don’t know. The meaning of life?”
 
The Guru said, “Go back to the bottom.”
 
He didn’t look all that awake. Thought there was more than coffee in his coffee.
 
“Bin there done that,” I said.
 
“True,” he said. “Go back to the bottom anyway. Or go around the mountain for all I care.”
 
What,” I said, wanting a cup of coffee, feeling unenlightened unawake in deep sleep and lost.
 
Then the Guru smiled warmly, giggling and jiggling all over.
 
The Guru said, “It is all in the journey.”  
 
Written January 14, 2013.
 
Willow Pool  
 
Willow pool dances fragments of time under listening river,
mystic horizons clearing
the dust of sun’s rays glistening orange particles
In sunsets over skies’ morning.
 
Written January 12, 2013.
 
GENTLEMEN START YOUR ENGINES, GENTLEWOMEN TOO
 
Gentlemen start your engines, gentlewomen too.
There is a song to be sung a universe to be found
in the ground and above the ground and with
every sound of hearts calling to you and to me and
all who  hear,  who truly hear.
 
Written January 1, 2013
 
THE POET RESIDES INSIDE
 
The poet resides in the heart of a man
and in the heart of a woman,
even in flowers
whether they be
male or female or both.
 
Written December 16, 2012
 
CHRISTMAS COMES TWICE A YEAR
 
Christmas comes twice a year
where reindeer dance a
bundle of cheer…
where raindrops glisten
all snowy and white
and
kids ‘n adults
play long into the night.
 
There is a Christmas there
in July,
and one in December, too!
 
Don’t you wish
that place could be
a place for me and you,
Too!
 
Written December 5, 2012
 
THE SWING & THE SKY
 
The swing sings songs
of leaves dancing
skies blue before
awakening. 
 
 Written November 17, 2012
 
THE GIFT  
 
The gift
Is the beginning of the present
Open it
And see
 
Yourself
 
Written November 11, 2012
 
*I HAVE EYES  as written, is dedicated to 1BlueString.org
 
I HAVE EYES
 
I have eyes
Now I can see
 
I know I’ve always
had eyes…
 
November 11, 2012
 
BEE-YUTE-A-FULL
 
BEE-YUTE-A-
FULL
IS       LIFE
WHEN
YOU
BE     LIKE-A     BEE
‘N
BUZZ
FROM
YOUR    HEART
STRINGS
 
Written November 11, 2012
 
THE POET SAID  
 
"Welcome to my world," The Poet said.
At least, that's what I thought he said.
 
Then I thought further.
 
And he said, had said,
 
"Well... come to  my world."
 
I did.
 
Nov 4, 2012
 
IN THE POEM TO FOLLOW 
 
     The commas I'm not sure about. I put them where they are for pauses & thot in the reading, especially if read aloud. Yet, am not sure about them. Have had a lifelong tumultuously ambivalent affair with the comma! Anyway, read as you wish or not . Enjoy, if there is some joy in it for you.
 
THE GENIUS, WITHIN YOU, CRIES  
 
The genius within, cries in its soul,
when all is lost. And there, in this finding, 
of its soul, finds, nothing is lost
 
The genius within, sees the little,
in the big, and the big, 
in the little.
  
Actually, it is in the not-big, the genius
within, finds the big. In other words, it is in
what is small, the genius, finds, what is large.
 
There is not bigness, inside the genius, only knowing. 
In the knowing, within, the genius, is in wonder, of  the smallness within, that also becomes, the largeness,
 
within himself, or herself. There, in this small place,
the genius, freely confronts, his, or her, soul, where
a child cries, because, his, or her genius, within,
 
has gone unrecognized. Weep for the genius
within, any child, who has gone unrecognized.
In your weeping, find a connection, to your joy.
 
It is this, the child within, seeks, and why
the child within, is crying. There is recognition,
in joy. And in weeping. Weep well, and be joyful.
 
Weeping geniuses, discover pain, in their joy,
and joy, in their pain, and release both, at once,
in their weeping, be it from, joy, or pain.
 
Geniuses reside fully, in their souls,
when they are geniuses, and not fully in their souls,
when they are not geniuses. This, is the way of genius.
 
A genius’s soul, becomes whole, in a place, called,
soul unity. In this place, called, soul unity, a genius,
connects, with himself, or herself, and is a genius.
 
In this place, called soul unity, a genius is able,
to connect freely, with others, from the source,
of his, or her, genius, where he, or she, is truly, fed.
 
Witness the unity, or disunity, in others,
when they are acting, in accord, with their
own geniuses, within, or not.
 
Thirst after your genius, within. Find, your own soul.
Walk to the brink, of reckoning, in recognizing
your genius, within, then leap.
 
Inspire your genius, within, from the fountain,
of you, your aspirations, your desires, all that is,
truly you, within. Hear, your genius, cry.
 
Love your genius, within. Treasure it. Value it.
Live it. Love it. Be you. And most of all, hear,
the cry, of your genius, crying, for you, when it,
 
goes, unrecognized, and, without feeding. You must,
feed your genius, as a mother, feeds her child, as she,
hears the cry, of her child, in hunger. When your genius,
 
hungers for you, it cries the lonely cries, of a hungry
child, calling its mother. You, are your own genius.
You, are the mother, of your genius. You, must care,
 
for, it, as a good mother, with food, and nourishment,
and warmth, and acceptance, in this way, as a good,
mother, mother your genius, be you man or woman.
 
You are genius,within. Await rainbows, calling you,
to their dance, in the clear, light, before you. Know,
the difference, between genius, and genius personified.
 
The personification of genius, is seen easily, by, the
genius within. Understand, what, inspires you. This,
is your genius, calling. This, is your source.
 
Feed it. Feed your genius. When your genius cries,
from hunger, lack of feeding, or, warmth recognition,
or acceptance, feed it, warm it, accept it, and, above all,
 
recognize it. Hear, your true self, in the cries, of your
genius.You, and your genius, are one, and, the same.
You, and your genius, feed, from the, same, plate
 
In, the, invisible. The Universe beckons, you, and,
your genius. Touch your genius, and know of, yourself.
Stop, your genius from crying, and you will…
 
stop yourself,
from crying,
too.
 
Written as a poem in 2012. Created Easter Weekend 2008.
 
For Evan   THE BOY WHO RUNS WITH THE WIND
 
The boy plays
at times in his own
space,
running freely
with  the wind.
 
The wind
plays there too,
in that space
where the boy knows
the wind.
 
They run & laugh
& giggle with delight.
Sometimes
the boy chases the wind.
Sometimes
the wind
chases the boy.
 
Written January 22, 1997.
Posted here October 14, 2012
 
GEESE FLYING OVERHEAD
 
Geese flying overhead,
beckoning summer into a new year and time,
where destinies mix and mingle with the stars,
radiant in their glory.
 
Written Sept 23, 2012
 
THE BEST LIGHT

The best light I can sit under
is the light of the sky
flying itself home…

Written  May, 2012












mr vegas door mags, FRANK WESTCOTT, Alliston, ON




POSTCARD SMALL BACK, FRANK WESTCOTT, Alliston, ON
































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