poetry ~ prose ~ reflections ~ dreaming
I’ve been looking
for something
new
I want every day
to be the first day
Beginner’s mind
the zen masters call it
Every breath
a beginning
every exhale
a letting go
I get lost
on the road
beneath my feet
where everything
is teeming with life
while my laboured breaths
reek of death
And still I walk on
Looking for something
that feels like a brightly plumed bird
beating its wings against my heart
Is it you?
16 July 2018
And if
I place my lips
just so
will you sing for me?
25 June 2018
from the English Channel
It is summer
and I am ill
falling
fast
I am listening
to the blues
to Robert Johnson
and wondering
about crossroads
and old roads
and intersecting paths
and the old ways
chants heard
in lush green leaves
prayers
and blessings
witchcraft
It is summer
and I am surrounded
by roses
and lavender
and geraniums
and hanging baskets
with unknown flowers
cascading
over the sides
like a floral invocation
to unnamed goddesses
everywhere
The wind
blows
in the afternoon
It no longer
plays havoc
with my curls
They’re gone away now
wherever it is
illness takes them
At night the air stills
stars sparkle
and glitter
like you once said
my eyes did
It is summer
and I am surviving
loss
and renewal
and relentless sickness
and time
in all its
temporary majesty
20 June 2018
on the Sussex Coast
the fragility of summer
there’s a guitar
standing in the corner
it never makes a sound
days of silence
like a sudden body blow
fill up old world rooms
with memories of blues
haunting dark corners
while a mild case
of decay
covers
the dead
and the living
and
Danny and me
we listen for those notes
that never get played
he drums his fingers
on my thighs
while I
just keep on dreamin’
8 June 2018
Somewhere in the United Kingdom
Watching him is like watching clouds in a blue sky. I never seem to be able to tear my gaze away. He has a hundred different expressions.
These days I mostly see worry, scrutiny. I am a mystery, a problem to solve, a puzzle to work out.
I watch emotions flit across his face like a thousand precious butterflies searching for nectar, for the sweetness life has to offer.
He is so serious now, until I touch him and he stops and his brown eyes soften and a shy smile moves over his face.
This is how he loves me.
she lay
curled in upon herself
more spiral
than fetal
more sudden stillness
than feral beauty
the forest floor
was damp
with decomposing
birth and death
may-shine slipped
through young
summer leaves
danced across her
naked form
adding light
and shadow
to the streaks of dirt
and blood
painted on her skin
as though
she were nothing
more than a canvass
and so she was
a sleeping
summer
art form
waiting
17 May 2018
