Tread Softly Tread softly for the night is but a prelude to the day And all that lives must die For thus it is as we've heard say So many times before. Before? the end of the beginning Which itself is only spinning to Infinity Divinity is but a name for good thought Transferred into deeds Where one man counts the cost The other's praying for his needs Stop!..A thought Listen!...A bird is singing somewhere in the Universe. Poor thoughts, poor empty thoughts. How can I say ' I love you?' What's in a word? Just frailty. One, two ,three, four, five ,six ,seven All good people go to Heaven But I think otherwise and I'd advise that You do too Wouldn't you advise someone that Hell's by far a better place And that a misplaced feeling of disgrace is relatively unimportant Oughtn't one to think so? No I suppose you wouldn't, couldn't I like to think a little differently Not follow in the crowd , eh? Tread softly, you may say, Have it your way. A devil, black and smoky, Breathing fumes of concentrated orange juice through cold-pudding nostrils What's wrong with that? Don't tell me you don't like him None of that! I suppose you'd paint a better? Fetter him in garlic, would you Could you? Tread softly For the night has come and dying is Out of tune And all the people on the earth are Gazing at the moon For soon her light will out And shouts of anguish then will spill the air And everywhere will be a place too small And anywhere will be the devil's fool And stars will burst and thirst for more good deeds to fill up History And soft bright eyes will dim And then the earth will lose its spin And fighting chaos raging for a decade Will streak the skies with noble deeds And stars will burst and thirst for More good deeds to fill up History And then....only Time Not space but Time Running, walking ,speeding Slowing , Straight, bent, Lent. Time without space And nothing more. A drop of sun upon a leaf Warm rays spraying silver on the seas A fan of light beating colours into flowers And hours upon hours upon hours.. Tread softly....tread softly... Flight of the Dove The tree stands in the lonely field. It is raining in sleep- filled rivers. Do not hate, do not love. beyond hope or caring, sleep or sloth Dreams deride the thing which is Whole world's subside and we, Who think we know what suffering is Cannot abide the murmuring of the dove. We who do not hate, we who do not love. For us the barren fields are soaked in blood. Send up the cry! God is dead! Only beware the fleeing of the dove. Have you seen her? Flashing blue across the river? Did you call out to her? Splash of film over the river. Catching sight of her wings of taut gold Did your heart of a sudden grow old? As she sliced the sun into pale- white ivory stalks By the water's edge, disrupting the moor-hen's song, Belong, belong! belong, Belong! But what are you doing here,old man Fouling the greenways? Mouth of pomegranate, stench of tears gone sour, How could you have tasted the Forbidden fruit At this ungodlike hour? You were cast in too strange a mould A million years of shadow have Trespassed behind your eyes How could you taste the light of your eyes? Rains you heed not, nor the wind's outrage, But poach at ease beside the blood-lit streams Not hating, not loving But tell me, what will you do When she comes, robed in mist? At the first hint of dawn, Will you see her, even in dreams? Will you stay silent as she drops To her pale death in the foam Jagged rock of white mist, Plummeting down through the air's crystal streams Lost to the sunrise Staining the day with new gold As the sun's rivers melt her through Will she touch you? You who are so old? Will you reach out to feel that Warm rush of feathers Blue-green-scarlet-gold? Or are you too old, too old? As the waters reflect back her causeless song Will you trace those pyramids of light Treading sapphire rings into the mud? Ode to a Drug Addict The great scape of Heaven Is tortured with images of Death And the night sky. Owls swoop in the twilight world Where Keats went mad For Beauty 's treacherous eye. Ode to a fool Transfixed by the painting Of some great pig of a man Eating a fly. Tempestuous nights and dawns of Eclipses Fighting the otherwhere and the Why. I Screech at you from the rooftops Over the bridge, driven wild Inside my head Hammer the bed into white sheets Grasp cold on Nothing Outstare the stars to white lead. And running, Hand you the piece of dust From which I fled. Evergreen into Ivory white Evergreen into ivory white The curlew calls The morbid manufacturers of day Attend the passing funeral Of those who decay Slowly with time. The bird rustles in the hedgerow Hear its mating call At close of day the flight of swallows return No matter where. The passing shepherd summons the sheepdog The daffodils burst out in gold My lover's out there in the cold The short mist comes The gap between heaven and earth And all obscurity No greater love than this Will You Grant Me A Short Space For Breath The galleon ship enshrouded in mist White walls surround the drowned sailor Shipwrecked In white water On the turf of dreams The bird flying calls The seamen look up It is not a white albatross It is I turning about Into this white pool The shoreline crinkles into powder Tiny and remote Flying high, the day recedes Into this ivory-white
Julia Webster studied English & Drama at Exeter University then later studied Integrated Health Sciences at Westminster. Her first play written in 1972 entitled “The Object of the Game” was performed at The Little Theatre, Barbican , Plymouth and was likened by the well known Harvey Crane critic of the South West to works by Pinter and Ionesco. She began writing puppet plays for children and performed at various Albion fairs throughout the U.K. and was selected to attend The Children’s Festival in Austria by Arabella Churchill. She also wrote poetry since her teens and has composed many songs for voice guitar, violin and piano accompaniment which have been performed in various venues across the U.K. and also in India. In 1979 she met her teacher Chogyal Namkhai Norbu Rimpoche and has been a student of his and Dzogchen teachings since then. She currently lives in West London with her family and teaches piano and also practices cranio sacral therapy.