Joy
gets a bad press
from poets and divines –
it’s fleeting, can’t
be trusted, brings
a downside;
better far they say
is bliss: quiet, indifferent,
that is, beyond all differences
that sadden; divisions
that steal our perfect,
timeless, spaceless I guess
unity
this poem looks
with joyful hope
or hopeful joy
well joy and hope
or would joy or hope be enough,
Paul,
to a future bliss
which when found
has no past or future but
only the perfect present
of the perfect present.
[another one with acknowledgements to Eckhart Tolle and ‘The Power of Now’…]