poetry ~ prose ~ reflections ~ dreaming
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
and when I reach out
to touch something
that is not me
I feel a kind of
numbness
hear a kind of
dull static
that’s how I know
I’m still waiting
for you
5 May 2018
Sussex Coast, England
There is a baby
blackbird
chirping
just
outside my
bedroom window
It is early
Sunday morning
thin grey light
illuminates
my white curtains
Only The Spaniel
and I are awake
and the baby bird
singing
for breakfast
A hush
settles
over everything
like dust
There is a
quiet
emptiness
about
every
Sunday morning
Sunday Morning Coming Down
which is a song
about hangovers
about living fast
and hard
These days
I’m hungover
on Life
on Death
on the Unknowable
while the quiet
seeps into my heart
filling my chest
and with it
a kind of peace
I wasn’t expecting that
Today is William Shakespeare’s birthday. Actually that’s not entirely true. We don’t know the date of his birth but this is the day we celebrate the birth of the Bard and also the day of his death.
One year I spent an entire day wandering the streets of Stratford-upon-Avon. It was Shakespeare’s birthday. In the afternoon I sat in the garden of his place of birth and reflected on the magic of life and the adventures it affords us. And I took the photograph below.
Here’s a short song from Henry VIII that I like:
