The Thinking Poet


Object of Enquiry

"The gestalts in our brain acquire the potential to become progressively larger around the epicentres that correspond to objects populating the external world".

Susan Greenfield; "Journey to the centres of the Mind"


That's one way of putting it;

And Susan Greenfield should know.

Her's is a dedicated search with scans,

And probes sharpened by tools of intellect.

Strange, the fascination this scoop of "porridge" has.

But then, if there's "no place for soul"

One delves within these labyrinthine cells for something else,

Focusing on cranial stuff that guards its secret well

As it dances to the ceaseless tune of thought.

Strange, brain thinks itself a pond,

Its surface ruffled by a tossed stone;

Concentric waves expanding from a point

Somehow owe allegiance to a thing

Whose is-ness springs from cells.

The brain, then, is self-mirrored.

It sees itself as frenzy of gestalt,

And murmurs: "I'm a strangely conscious thing,

An object in an outer world that makes enquiries ring".

Now, as an autumn day wanes,

And lost light ignites the russet leaf,

I search within a convoluted self

For words to praise the lovely outer world

In which this soul, far hurled, finds home.