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New Collection



Not one more moment waste,
If you are here for love and joy
Miss not one drop again.

Hear the sounds of nature`s beauty,
Smell the perfumes from the flowers,
Think no more of anything

Than that.  For thus it is to be in harmony
With creation, to be creative,
Everything can happily flow

Out from that, for if the mind is right
Every action will be bright
And disaster will be replaced

By glowing lights and sweet smiles
Of ecstasy in heaven,
Here upon the earth.  






There is no end
To the disappointments
Life can provide,
Like its unexpected joys
They ambush you, 
Gut you and leave you bemused.
As the mountains are high,
The troughs are deep, 
As the bright sun shines
So the miserable rain soaks
Your soul, and destroys hope,
The moments of jubilation and grace
Are matched by their opposites of grief and chaos,
Whatever qualities of truth or nobility
We possess, are equalled by those of lies
And deceitfulness. Love and hate,
Heaven and hell, joy and despair, 
Would cancel each other out to nil
If life were given a reckoning
By cosmic accountants.
But it is not; instead we suffer,
Or fly in ecstasy; walk on air,
Or crash on rocks and spikes that tear
Body and soul with pain:
The alternations never stop,
There is no peace nor stable plateau
At any stage in life,
No matter what one`s age or state of illness,
Whether deserving fortune or having respected
One`s God.  It is not just,
Nor consistent, coherent, nor making sense;
It is up to you whether you laugh
Or cry.







Cold sky
Peach blossoms
Empty mind
Full of hollowness


Where to next
In this life
Avoiding the hells
Find some paradise






Let Anxiety disperse
For the Self to emerge
Let the sun shine
Inside and out
Let Energy be outward
Creative and flowing 
Redirect destruction
Away from its fear







How barren will winter always seem
Now; jackdaws flying around old trees
In frosty parks, the beautiful sky
Chilled with cold breath, the grass 
Crisp with icycles.






Perhaps I should be like a falling lotus flower
In Lu Ji`s painting, just like that,
Or a sound in the music of John Cage -
A ting on a triangle, or a raindrop`s fall
On a glass roof, falling like an easy dream,
Just letting it all happen, smiling like a 
Fat Chinese Buddha, knowing that the world falls
But not taking it as destruction, tragic or bad,
Not sad or humiliating, simply happening:
Surely that is how I should live these days!






O now
It is no hate for me
No anger any more
Only love
When possible
Or else an empty mind


No bile or spleen
No drowning grief
Remorse or regret
Life can be like water
Running through the fingers
I tried my time
Building planning forging trying
To force things into being
Trying to get from there to here
Trying to hold onto joy as it flew
Trying to construct halos around dreams
Believing in permanent structures
Erected around apparent absolutes
No more that style


Just be
Without ambition
Suck in
Breathe out
The air that is there
Expect nothing in particular
But enjoy what is good
Never mind


I tried
So now I`ll stop trying
I felt terrible emotions
That profited me nothing
So just be
And live
Like water
In water






O how my eyes
Would see your hopes
How the fingers of dawn
Lighten up the sky
With pink and wisps
Of curling cloud
In the glorious morning
Of sun and life






Ah, the beautiful moon tonight
Reminds me of you, and makes me wish
We were sharing it tonight

As it spins its beautiful silk web
In the crisp dark blue sky
On this cold but bright late autumn night

Ah, it is beautiful
As was our love
Once, not so long ago.






Great blooded axe of the sunset!
Grow wild as the pink speech of clouds
Infused with light from the burning sun!
Your music stirs the chaos of timeless hearts,
Swirling the brain as if it were scrambled into sky!






Worshipping the moon, I watch the clouds
Float amid glorious deep night blueness
Like spirits from another universe,-
Excruciatingly beautiful, like women of dreams
They waft out of reach kissing as they fly,
Gorgeous in their indifference and absolute beauty,
Summoning up such sweet perfumed memories
As fools are turned into gods by,
In amazed imagination.


Tim Cloudsley nació Cambridge, Inglaterra. Es sociologo, escritor y poeta. Trabajó como profesor en la Escuela de Idiomas, de la Universidad Industrial de Santander, Bucaramanga en el ámbito de estudios culturales y literatura.

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