Books George Coombs

Books  George Coombs This page is devoted to my writing and that of others e.g. people in prison who I am in touch with

The page is about what i do as a writer and artist and someone involved with people in prison

28/06/2024
Limbo
30/03/2024

Limbo

07/04/2022

187,581 signatures are still needed! Stop the privatisation of Channel 4

03/09/2020

The Alley

dim illumination of
amber streetlight…
quiet…
window open in
a quiet house…
gentle beckoning
movement of curtains…
silence as time
merges slowly
into infinity…
above the sickle
moon gathers stars…
i, a younger man
visit on memory
vibrations…
here I was young
running, happy as
tremulous leaves…
pausing…
the youngster does not
know me…
cool air
receives my face
gentle as quiet hands
all i love
is a waiting refuge
at my
journey’s
end…

movement,
a sleek
black cat
finds me
with its

wide enquiring
eyes…
i walk slowly
carrying
my
dreams…
flowering in
secret places of
the heart…
petals
are
shed

aware now
of universal
vastness of
the mind
when
all
creation
stands
at
my
door…

George Coombs

27/08/2020

extract from WIP -
Rosalind sat quietly, and alone, in her flat her sister having travelled back to her flat in Croydon. Only occasional traffic outside. It was the early evening of her first day without George in the Church. A feeling of being isolated and alone without him. Rosalind shared George's love of classical music. With closed eyes she listened as gentle pian music glided around her flat.

George visited her mind. Rosalind was concerned that he might be working too hard and tending to make light of his chest complaint. Following Sam's passing she had been so glad of him as a wise spiritual counsellor and also, a very real companion and friend.
George's compassionate wisdom had helped her through the trauma of Sam having passed as she did. Now, a way forward had opened up for her. The meditations of Chien Yo that George had introduced her to had also helped. Rosalind went to a drawer where she took out a couple of them. Their profound insight and compassion touched her deeply. The conclusion of one meditation particularly spoke to her...
“Know dear one, the mystery of holding, for now, as you
seem to journey through the shadow you are by no means
alone. Wise ones, those sent to you are very near, look for
them, you will most assuredly see them as they come to
serve you”

Rosalind paused, there had indeed been wise ones, friends and
helpers from the church and, of course, dear George himself, A man of deep wisdom and learning who had been such a blessing to her. It was good to be his housekeeper and to assist him in any way that she could, for him to know that she was truly there for him, Rosalind read further.
“... consider the now...the present moment. Here there is
safety and peacefound in allowing yourself to be still, in
that stillness of now is wisdom, knowledge and clear
seeing, an understanding of the way things truly are...”
Rosalind turned off the music feeling as she did a need for silence. Sam came to mind. Closing her eyes Rosalind coud see her lovely, light filled, smiling face. Somehow, she seemed close. It was a sensation that she could hold, it brought comfort and healing. Opening her eyes Rosalind returned to the meditation that she had been reading-
“Now, in the now you are held in the loving arms of angels,
You are seen with Angel Eyes and we urge you to allow
allow the light of your true self to glorify your earthly
pilgrimage”
This man had a wonderful, sensitive insight and he used words with carefully. Rosalind felt she understood why George related to
him so well. Chiang Yo was not a Catholic, not even, as far as was known, a Christian. Yet, she could sense truth as one which the wise would call by more than one name. Soon she made herself a hot drink and retired for the night.
As her head rested on the welcoming pillow she spoke into the friendly darkness
“Goodnight George, Goodnight Sam”

22/08/2020

Interrogation

nobody
is safe –
words thrust
like violation
truth is cast out,
truth is not needed

verbal violence,
fluid deprivation,
solicitor there
yet the content
is a sewer
emptied into oblivion

repeated phrases –
denials ignored,
results not truth
ghosts of souls
rendered dead
as inward scream

not heard,
predatory violence
pulsating
in the police state

results not truth

fragile persons
crushed
like dead leaves

all screaming voices
scream alone
George Coombs

20/08/2020
16/08/2020

The Bridge
John slowly returned to the village. The path through the surrounding forest was fresh with recently fallen rain. Leaves wore raindrops like glistening jewels and blades of grass quietly glowed in the early evening light. Mother was nearing the end of her life. The wise one had visited; the broken bridge near the village only seemed broken. In reality there was no seperation.
Mother's illness had been long and difficult. John, guided by the wise one tended her with skill and devotion yet, the time was coming. Mother was resting now, as she often did in the afternoon, John needed time and space.
Slowly and quietly he walked on. Occasionally he glanced up at the clear blue sky. Tall trees arched above him adorning the path with patches of light as the sun shone through their branches. Someone was approaching; it was the wise one.
“Hello dear friend” John called out “I have just come from the bridge; it seemed broken to me with no connection to the other side.”
The wise one smiled; kindness shone through his aged eyes and a breeze passed through his long grey hair. Around him he wore a cloak of deep blue
“That bridge is special my son” the wise one replied
“How's mother?”
They sat down together
“My son, she has passed on”
John burst into tears. The wise one put a comforting arm around him.
“My son, your care has been known by angels in the highest heaven. You have been a shining precious jewel in the village now, we must return to the bridge.”
They arose and walked together. Soon they were near the bridge, John gasped in quiet astonishment. The bridge was whole, not broken anywhere at all. John's mother was there, she was calm and peacefully radiant.
“Yes” said the wise one “The bridge is the bridge to the other side, there is change, there is being alive differently, there is no separation which some call death.”
“That is true” said John's mother “I go now yet will return often, I and all who love you will be near, often and John, when your time comes I will be here waiting for you.
The lady went across the bridge. John could just discern others waiting for you.
“We must go now John” said the wise one “This forst is known as the forest of learning, we both have much to find”
Slowly, they walked away.

George Coombs (420 words)

15/08/2020

Coming Home

coming home
early evening
in spring...cool
air gently touching
my face...no fear
of contact...reverential
acceptance as i am
alive in creation's
newness...greeting
from my quiet cat
leaf soft tread
fur glowing with
a calm joy...
light and dark are
companions in creation
birds sing with joy
no fear...passing
from life to life...

George Coombs

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