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
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
It was
a simple door
Her hand shook
as she reached for the knob
and slowly turned
It was just a door
On the other side
she was a stranger
unknown
unseen
in a sea
of clinking glasses
and a cacophony
of voices
sounding
like an unkindness
of ravens
calling insistently
to nonexistent heavens
and then a soft murmur
of dawning acquiescence
She went
unnoticed
ordered a gin
from a bartender
who never quite
met her eye
And yet
she found
she was home
again
***
door from Stratford-upon-Avon just across the road from the Royal Shakespeare Company
Cycle 3 of 6 Chemo treatments happened yesterday morning, although, at a reduced dose.
I don’t know but I’m guessing I won’t feel like making words for awhile.
I don’t feel like making words now.
I don’t know if it’s silly and futile to try to maintain a blog while going through cancer treatment but for the moment I’m trying to persist.
On Tuesday I was in the hospital for pre-chemo blood work.
I’ve recently discovered the poet, Alice Oswald.
While I was waiting I read her poem:
DUNT: A POEM FOR A DRIED-UP RIVER
I like this first verse:
Very small and damaged and quite dry,
a Roman water nymph made of bone
tries to summon a river out of limestone
I like the idea of summoning rivers.
Blessings,
8 May 2018
She makes her solitary trek
to the ocean
like she always has
She no longer
conjures miracles
recites complicated
incantations
prays
for another
She merely watches
begins to count
wave after wave
until the numbers blur
and she forgets
how to count
higher than one
She lets the crazy wind
and turbulent sea
wash over her
again and again
knowing one day
one day soon
she will become one
with all that is
for the last time
Today
she lets it whisper
seduce
cajole
while she pretends
to listen
7 May 2018
Sussex Coast, England
