Pause For Poetry:
Michael Hawkes /23
Airs and Graces
A poem by Michael Hawkes
We leave windows wide open
to let in the air,
the air that connects us
to folks everywhere,
that wraps the whole planet
in one atmosphere;
without which we’d stifle and sink in despair.
Air breathed by the Buddha
disperses in prayer,
though its molecules mix
in the wind through our hair
and nourishes those
who know that they share
the air they consume
with folks everywhere.
So breathe of it deeply,
there’s plenty to spare,
and may every gasp help
you’re becoming aware
that the gas you have gulped,
as though you should care,
has been through the lungs of somebody somewhere.
27/02/21 – Hawkes
Feature image: Jeremy Bishop on Unsplash
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Michael Hawkes is an 80-year-old survivor of all the world’s wars. He learned (and loved to rhyme) by torturing the hymns he had to sing at school. A retired West Coast fisherman living in Montreal since 2013, he is an unschooled Grandpa Moses writing an average of five poems every week.
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