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A current angle

A selection of
Poems & Wonderings
Andrew P Freemind
The YinYang Writer

You, the reader

My dearest wife, boys & friends for sharing this
life with me
The Julia Camerons in life, for rekindling our
inner ‘artist’s way’

Our Guides and fellow wonderers for inspiring us



© Copyright & distribution rights reserved by the author
Andrew PH is a nom de plume for the author, who currently
wishes for his work to speak for itself

I publish this selective compilation without

It is:
a sharing, not an offering
a reflection, not a teaching
a beginning
what it is
my current angle

Be kind,
“Creativity takes courage” –Henri Matisse
- 1-

I: Something short
- 2-

Now drop!

as you hang
and soft, wet

as you wait
and wait
to drop
you are
glistening, perfect
in your nurturing

you are here

you are

- 3-

Losing and finding the Silent Now

when tension,
or dis-ease

when Bacchus,
or sloth

the storm
the animal

I greet my vices

I see them
in the storm
and from the Now
the blissful Silence
- 4-

I know you
Dark Brother

we danced and
you did not change

keeping ‘the balance’

de-fruiting the mother

make us all

I try to ignore you

but that in my blood
alas, Yin Other
I cannot change
- 5-


and when he’s gone

they will forget and move on
in rationalisation basked
ignoring that he asked

since the benefit

was not theirs
his vision
met with empty glares

his legacy
if at all
soon forgotten
on deaf ears fell
his passionate call

pity never
but, pray, remember
and share
that he really did care
- 6-

Dualism and why

why, this duality

why, such excruciation
in such beauty

why, no balance
or transcendence
in our dis-ease

why, while some ignore

others try to know
in vain

alas, why
is a crooked letter
in the hope
for something better
- 7-

Pain in the neck

came the demon

in it crept
relentlessly sank its teeth
in depth

how they lovingly tried

to ease the bite
not knowing
for this affliction
there’s no respite

there, in red soaked

lies hope
gnawed to the sinew
release came at last
if only they really knew
- 8-

Fickle feel

breaking the fast over

solemn, quite, cup

good news call

rising up, up

midday fear
the bank is clear
a frown besets
and pain begets

evening tire
a soft warm fire
an ominous moon
brings forth the gloom

for now it’s this

and then it’s that

less, more we feel

sometimes high
and then again flat
- 9-


try what you may

it’s not the words
you say

it’s the seed you plant

it’s the love you grant
- 10-


what russle?
who’s blow?

a little hope
lift and lie
ho, ho, ho

now and then

cool warm in my hair
I wonder
are You there
- 11-

Take care

as you take your hand

in the mirror
to tightly hold you

as you find your cloak

for the warm embrace
to fold its grace around you

as you silently listen

to your inner voice
to gently guide you

be aware
and of you
take good care
- 12-

The gamble
‘Remember my boy, we gamble’, Uncle Jo
always said just before I left his modest, yet
voguish cottage. ‘This is what we do in this
existence, every day, we gamble’. And then, like
clockwork, the tones of The Gambler followed
me through his Gauloises-stained, but otherwise
immaculate teeth, down the gravel driveway.
It was a grey summer afternoon, one of those
Uncle Jo didn’t fancy, at least four years since
his inscrutable farewell ritual started, that I
eventually gathered the stomach to ask him
about it. You see, with Uncle Jo, you listened to,
but never questioned his views on life, the
universe and everything. Not because he was
over obstinate, because he always answered with
a question and almost never came to a singular
conclusion to yours. This was as vexing as it
was stimulating. That day, that late afternoon
when all primary colours seem to have played
hide and seek behind the pine needles and the
forest was ominously quiet, almost expecting
what was to unfold in the cottage, Uncle Jo did
something totally unexpected-he answered my
question, directly and deeply.
- 13-

After spilling all my agitation with life, again, on

him, I eventually mustered: ‘What’s up with this
gambling thing each time I leave J?’ We all
called him J, from my irksome four year old
stepsister Sara, to Pastor Black (I always found
it a somewhat ironic surname for a man of the
cloth) and even the always prim Ms Sara at the
library. He insisted we call him that, but never
explained why, just regularly answered, when
asked about this, with a guileful smile, ‘why not’.
The questions seem to have startled him,
unexpectedly. Uncle Jo sighed, almost with a
slight whine, when he gently hurled Napoleon
off and slumped into his special chair. Mother
always said it was, obviously, the best seat in the
house, because Napoleon and Uncle Jo vied
over it constantly and cats, especially haughty
French cats, always pick the best seat in the
house to cuddle on. He peered into the empty
fireplace, then scattered his eyes across the
room, eventually settling on the one and only
photo in the cottage. The one no one ever
talked or asked about.
There was a sudden and unfamiliar gloom about
the room. The cool forest air slinked in and its
sweetness moulded into the walls, with an
ancient, deep, sorrow. Uncle Jo lit another
- 14-

cigarette, stared at it burning for a while,

coughed out what seemed like a painful
obstruction in his throat and uncharacteristically
flicked the half-burned stump into the fireplace,
as though purposefully ignoring the ashtray
beside him.
‘Have you ever played poker my boy?’. ‘Have
you ever wondered what to do with the cards
you hold, with the options you have? Have you
ever been on your last hand, on your last stand,
with nothing more to lose?’ Uncle Jo knew me,
I mean really knew me. He somehow, more than
anything else, had a crisp understanding of the
nature of people. Little wonder with all the
psychology, philosophy and sociology that
almost dominated his extensive library, was it
not for the most substantial collection of poetry
from around the world that often greened Ms
Sara with envy. And thus, he knew that I never
fancied gambling, not since the day dad didn’t
make it home from the horses.
‘Can I tell you a story my boy - a story that will
help you decide what to do when things seems
tough?’, he asked rhetorically, eventually starting
with the most excruciating answer to what at
the time seemed liked a simple question, that
ever besieged me.
- 15-

I missed the familiar whistle of The Gambler

creeping up my spine when I left the cottage
that day. I missed the bliss of the past ignorance
of Uncle Jo’s and my own pain and knew my
future visits would be different. But what I
missed most was being ‘his boy’, even though
the ‘Andrew’ I became that day was said with as
much affection in his voice as before.
Walking down the gravel road back home that
afternoon the mark in the massive oak I so
often passed with reverence but never with such
pain in my heart, seem to be smiling at me as
the eventual glimmers of late afternoon sun
glistened silvery on the exposed wood around it.
Somehow it knew how I felt, although, apart
from remembering a dullness, I did not. Not
until later, when I had time to work through
Uncle Jo’s story that day.
I’m not sure which demon-part bit the deepest.
Was it the fact that Uncle Jo’s cherished son,
James, died in the crash against the big oak on
the late, grey, afternoon of the day of their bitter
spout about his smoking habit, or that he lost
his wife to cancer and only child in one year. Or
that I now knew my dad, Uncle Jo’s closest
friend, was letting the 17-year old James drive
back from the horses because he drank his last
- 16-

few cents out after having lost it all, again. Or

was it Uncle Jo’s bitter inner conflict the
following month, each late afternoon speeding
the truck towards the oak with grievous intent
and pulling out at the last minute, having to
decide in a split second how to play his hand.
Either way, I’m now thankful he eventually
decided to hold the cherished memories, fold
away the pain, walk away from the bitter
resentment and leave behind the judging guilt
that’s sometimes dealt in the hand of this
- 17-

II: A few Wonderings

for wondering’s sake
- 18-

All of what is said echoes what has been conveyed

before, since there is no new truth, only new ways
to access, grasp and convey our subjective
perspective on the eternal Truth
- 19-

So maybe there is no clarity, no certainty, meant

for here. Maybe it’s just to live with and in the
wonder, with the pains and gains. Just to face the
storm and transcend through it and to come back
and try again and again until…..?
- 20-

Irrespective of our circumstance, we all have been

given the free choice of perspective. Our
perspective is more important than the
circumstance itself and after we take control of the
primal (survival) requirements of our lives, we
need to decide on our perspective on the rest: Am
I enjoying this, suffering this, learning from this,
or, just, observing this. That’s about it.
- 21-

Forget fairness. Just keep doing the right thing

(you know what that is), as best you can. Expect
nothing & be grateful for the gifts you have.
- 22-

Pain and loss need not be embraced, but seen and

accepted in its necessary place - as an opportunity
for required change or potential growth
- 23-

Selflessness is the purest key to the Truth

- 24-

Too easy, makes us to easily, weak

- 25-

Power is a convenient illusion, for its consequence

is the same as that which can destroy its origins
- 26-

Fame occurs either by want or by accident.

Why would one want it?
- 27-

Wallowing is no less being, than creating and

contributing. Judge and assume not
- 28-

Your value and worth cannot be measured in

- 29-

the last chance that you
will EVER get
- 30-

Life is a constant unravelling

and the only constant is change
- 31-

We and other matter look and function, to a

certain extent, different, although we and ‘it’ is
intrinsically the same. But why the need for this?
Does it relate to a ‘lesson’ in limitation?
- 32-

In the absence of certainty, we only have a balance

of probability. So, how probable is this
‘coincidence’ that we call life on earth?
- 33-

When it comes to ‘God’ and we are concerned

about what we understand, we’re probably
misunderstanding it. We cannot think ‘God’
- 34-

All I know, is that I really don’t know

and I’m not really sure about that, either
- 35-

It is what it is,

and this it

for now

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