Paul Mason

One Poem, One Life

Written 2003 by Paul H. Mason

This Echo Engulfing

completed in the evening of Monday, 6 July 2007

Ode to the Honeybee

completed in 2006

the feeling of you

written in the evening of 31 July 2007

Plunged so deeply

written on the morning of 31 July 2007

The boy with the pluralistic mind

written 30 July 2007

The boy with the pluralistic mind,
frightened by those of the normal kind,
wandered into the land of the wandering free,
and fell through the arms of serendipity.

Guided by coincidence into her smile,
he longed to stay, to stay awhile,
the pluralistic mind of the enraptured boy,
found the happiness of an eternal joy.

Touched by the skin that touched his soul,
touched by the parts that made him whole,
unexpected he fell through the gaze of a wandering host,
slipping through the haze of a memory he’d miss most.

Constricted by the hormone that drove his pulse,
knowing what was and what wasn’t false,
he drenched himself in a memory fading fast,
indulging the emotion so that it would last.

Holding on to a caress that never was,
he became lost in a moment for forever cos,
he dared not lose what he’d already lost,
tried to defy it no matter what the cost.

Was this fiction or was this real?
what was this feeling he did feel?
He built a spirit but broke his heart,
Was he better off where he did start?

But still the corners of her smile still widen his soul,
the clumsiness of her touch still make him whole,
if only to live in a present that is always past,
he’ll hold onto this moment and make it last.

If I were ever ever

If I were ever ever,
lessened by this world,
Softened into the terra,
And in its depth be held.

Then I would want to rise,
With birds cradled in my arms,
Reaching for their open skies,
And decorated in their charms.

Sending my roots deep and wide,
Taking the earth within my stride,
Breathing from my lungs outside,
Being a being that lived and died.

Standing tall in noble glory,
No man need hear my story,
Blessings felt in simple presence,
A love eternal that is my essence.

And, If I were ever ever,
Frightened by the day,
Eroded by the weather,
And faded in dismay.

Then extend my reach,
Beyond my length,
Experience will teach,
Me inner strength.

I cannot give,
What I have not learnt,
And I will not live,
If I have not earnt.

But, if I were ever ever,
To find a humbler path,
Let me search for my surrender,
In the spotlight of my mirth.

The Oystery of Wakafiva

written 28 July 2007

In a mysterious place called wakafiva,
there lived a giant buffalo-beaver,
he liked to dance and he liked to eat,
but his favourite thing was the people he’d meet.

You see, in this mysterious place of mystery,
There was a mysterious oystery,
It attracted all the fishes and the fishermen,
And Mr Buffalo-Beaver adored to entertain them.

And Despite the smell they’d laugh with glee,
for Mr Buffalo-Beaver was a funny man you see,
Oft he’d joke and clown around,
but alas he’d never make a sound.

Mr Buffalo-Beaver, you must understand,
Was friendly but a quiet man,
Of few words but many smiles,
And of gestures which’d reach your inner child.

The fishermen were ever attentive to his gentle ways,
For it was the attentive who enjoyed brighter days,
And in the moonlight of oyster bay,
the oystery of wakafiva was no mystery to those men at play.

On the precipice of the evergreen

written July 2007

If I was a moment,
What moment would I be?
And if I was your atonement,
What forgiveness would you see?

If I was a whisper,
Sailing in a dream,
Would the sunlight quiver,
When dappled on that scene?

Will I find surrender,
In a moment with no name?
Or is the present forever,
Going to leave me just the same?

Can this breathe that shortens,
Ever hope to find release?
And can the depth that broadens,
Ever fold into that crease?

reflective prayers

Written 29, June 2007

Certain Faith

Where the where was,
And how the how wasn’t,
Is it is or is it not?
Can we can, or can we can’t,
Are we are, or are we not?
Why the why we wonder why,
Knowing what wasn’t was,
Were who happy with how,
Or aren’t we, won’t we, what?

Golly Froggle, Twiggy and Me

Written 18 May, 2007

Internal Disharmony

A matter to think

Where is my mind? It’s in my head,
Composed by all things I’ve done and said,
And by context – as the context breathes,
Conferring meaning and function in an intricate weave.

So where is my head? Is it in my mind?
Lost in nature, environment and things of that kind.
Selectively dismantled, overjoyed and dismayed,
The situations handled, the memories just fade.

I am within my memories,
As much as they are in me,
Trapped in the light of time’s ambiguity,
Evolving, living and dying into infinity.

Silent dreams

Silent dreams are like conscious sleep,
Hidden by a fog that clouds the deep,
Like unheard music that only sounds clear,
The closer you are, the more you are near.

Against a blurry thicket of background noise,
Stand the imaginings of all the joys,
Unfolding before you, conspiring the moment,
Releasing behind you and finding atonement.

Lost in worlds of combinatorial possibility,
Defined by patterns of endless creativity.
Experiencing an experience as part and whole,
Accepting the present and the long term goal.

Tormented by structures layered and forced,
Healed by questions revealed and put forth.
Being the process, the product and becoming,
Being still and silent and constantly running.

Stopping to listen and wanting to know,
What spirits emerge and hide below.
Faint murmurs of distant voices within,
Raise their echoes for us to join in.

Published Works

What will we know of man, if only man we know?
Honeybee Experiments
Called into creation by being, the universe breathed her in
Metamers of the mind
Recursive Causality
Mason, P.H. (1994) “I’m listening, watching and talking to my flowers”, The Age.

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Neuroanthropologist

Poetry