Saturday, 22 July 2017

Sometimes... still

Sometimes
still
I am consumed
by darkness

My heart
remembers
that it is broken
and may never
beat again

I sit
in my
night garden
alive
with the fragrance
of summer
and try to forget
how I once loved
how I thought
I was loved
by a mere
*chimera*

While
the rampantly
blooming
flowers
of my garden
claim me
as theirs

I let myself fall
into
nothing
more substantial
than beauty



18 July 2017
Sussex Coast, England

Tuesday, 30 May 2017

When Night Has Fallen

Night has fallen
on this small island,
too far north
for light
to last long

The gulls
have stopped
their shrieking

Even in this small
country town
I can hear the sound
of cars speeding
down a nearby
highway,
people rushing
to get home,
a siren wailing
far away
somewhere
in the distance

I know
even as
I cannot see
that the ocean
is a mere
fifteen minutes away,
that it continues
to send wave
after wave
over my beach
of pebbles

I know
even as
I cannot see
that just a little further
north is the ridge
of the South Downs
that seem
to go on
forever,
filled with faerie rings
and faerie magic
and mysteries of old

Occasionally
you wander
into an opening
and if you look
out
into the distance
you will see
The English Channel
in all its splendour
and mystery
and bloody history

But it is night
Darkness needs
its time too

So even though
you know
that relentless ocean
and that almost
endless ridge
of ancient hills
is there,
even though
you can feel them
in your heart

What you hear
are sounds
of traffic
on recently
rained on
roads
and the
occasional
moment of
silence
allowing you
to escape
from the now
of living

For a moment
you can let
your mind empty
and your heart
rest
and not need
to be anything
at all

Just here
in this moment

Alive

While a night
filled with stars
is out there
waiting for you

(c) Dreamy
Sunday, 28 May 2017
Sussex Coast, England

Friday, 7 April 2017

Dreaming of New Orleans, Vampires and Other Ghosts




I used to walk
down dark streets
where vampire ghosts
would congregate

just out of of sight
a step or two
away from murky
yellow street lamps

Their presence would leave
a kind of rich, dark
perfume in the air

My heart would beat
just a little bit faster
as I walked by
fingers crossed
against disaster

Until I looked up
into your dark eyes
slowly watching you
slowly watch me

Your spell was always
so much greater
than the rich, dark perfume
of congregating vampire ghosts

You're gone now

But some nights
a yellow street lamp
will make my breath catch
my eyes close

and I can feel your hand
on my throat
Your breath
in my ear

The prelude
to my destruction

Those hellish, fiery,
passionate
divine moments
before my resurrection

I was remembering living in the French Quarter. I used to work the late shift at a book store. My shift ended at midnight. I would walk down Decatur to Esplanade where my boyfriend managed a bar called "Checkpoint Charlie's." A snifter of Gran Marnier was always waiting for me. More than once I thought I sensed a dark, seductive, alien presence. I've been back there so many times since then. I think he's still waiting for me.





Thursday, 6 April 2017

I Was Trying To Remember When You Stopped Being You

It suddenly
dawned on me
the lies
and exaggerations,
the petty jealousies
you attribute to me
aren't worth the hurt
they cause
because
you aren't you,
not anymore.

The fact
that words
like *sex kittens*
and *acolytes*
aren't words
I've ever used
or would ever
even think
of using
doesn't seem
to matter.

(Except the word
*acolyte* does remind me
of a Fantasy Series
by Trudi Canavan
I once fell in love with.)

God knows
you can be
charming,
but I'm afraid
I can't
quite imagine
you with a room
full of acolytes
hanging
on your
every word,
but someone
must think
it possible,
because you
wrote the words
and you would
never write
anything
that wasn't true.

That I haven't
thought about
your c**k
or your head
and whether
they're just fine,
or not
doesn't matter.

Unnamed groups
of followers
that in my
paranoid delusions
I think are
actually attacking me
doesn't matter.

The fact that you
haven't moved on
from what you desired
from what you ended
doesn't matter.

Because you're not you.

And the girl you attribute
all those actions to
is definitely not me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

retaliation

Retaliation is an act of revenge. Before you initiate retaliation on someone who has wronged you, consider whether he or she might have a ninja alter ego and a set of nunchucks stashed away.


The noun retaliation stems from the Latin retaliare, meaning “pay back in kind.” Notice the word kind in that definition. Retaliation used to have both good and evil connotations. Now, though, it’s important to read that kind as synonymous with type or sort because retaliation has since lost its positive sense. Martin Luther King, Jr. once said, “Man must evolve for all human conflict a method which rejects revenge, aggression and retaliation. The foundation of such a method is love.”


#GoogleIsYourFriend

Saturday, 31 December 2016

thoughts on the coming new year

I believe
Life
is always
teaching us
things
miraculous things
about ourselves

always
throwing
opportunities
in our path
for more growth

The Year of 2016
will always be
My Year of Loss

and learning

acceptance
letting go
allowing
myself to grieve
for all
I had been
given
and all
that had been
taken away

discovering
the pain of loss
while accepting
loss and grieving
as an integral
part of life

learning
to resist
to fight
to push
hard
against it

to attempt
to escape
it all

only
prolongs
the pain

I don't know
what this
next year
will bring

I don't make
resolutions
for the new year

I mostly
just hope
I end each year
having learned
the joy in just
being me

Still...

This new year
is different

I can already
feel it's difference
just coming
over the horizon

So
on this
last day
of
My Year of Loss
I find myself
asking
for more courage
more grace
under pressure

And the gift
of healing

for myself

for everyone


Wednesday, 4 May 2016

Silence

I have lost my voice

Oh, I can write about my feelings
Sometimes

But the gift
Of conversation
Seems to have deserted me

I find myself sinking
Into silence
And liking it there

There was a time
When he said
He liked that about us

He liked that we could sit
On the sofa next to each other
In complete silence
For long periods of time
And find comfort in it

And some nights
After long days
His head would fall back
And he would fall asleep
And I found comfort
In that also

But those days are gone
It's just me now
Looking for comfort
In my own silence


Friday, 4 March 2016

On the Season of Lent

Forty days and forty nights.
As I battle my own demons
I wonder,
not for the first time,
how He did it,
how he managed
to crawl out of the desert
with his soul and heart intact.

I've lost track of the days.
I don't where we are
in this dark Lenten season.
I can't remember
when Easter comes.
Rebirth seems too far away,
or maybe it won't even happen.
The days are too dark
and the nights too sleepless.

Someone I love is battling demons
I can't even imagine
while my Dark Night of the Soul
seems endless.

I pray to a God
I could swear 
has stopped listening
and when I can't pray anymore,
I find my lips mouthing
His prayer unconsciously...

Our Father
Who art in Heaven

Deliver me
Deliver us all

4 March 2016, Athens, Georgia


Saturday, 27 February 2016

On Healing

RMy therapist and I concentrate on two things: feelings of failure and responding to what is actually happening now, not what might happen or that catastrophe thinking my mind is so good at generating.

For awhile it seemed as if I was unable to view my life as anything but a series of failures. The thing is, there will always be failures. It's how we learn. Some people refer to it more kindly as *trial and error.* 

However, when every failure gets tied into a chain of failures, it's not long before we find ourselves unable to take any kind of action at all and a kind of mild catatonia coupled with high anxiety sets in. Of course, taking no action at all is a kind of failure in itself, I suppose. But I found myself pulling farther and farther away, inward. In truth, I shut down.

We are working hard to remove the word *failure* from my vocabulary. It's a slow process and, of course, no matter how hard we try, there will be those in our lives only too happy to remind us of our failures. Still, we're attempting to reframe my thinking into something more positive. Slowly. So every action and every non-action and every emotional response is a way of discovering who I really am. It's a starting over process, I suppose, to match the trans-Atlantic move of 8 months ago which was also a starting over process but one I quickly became overwhelmed by. Hence, the therapist.

Because I am an adult woman who was once an abused little girl, I learned early on that hyper vigilance was a survival skill. Unfortunately, as an adult it is not always helpful. Planning for possible catastrophes leaves you in a state of high anxiety and means that ultimately you don't have the energy to respond to what is happening in the present. And, let's face it, sometimes bad things happen: you get sick, you pick the wrong roommate, you lose your job because you're sick for too long, you find that becoming an American after living abroad for thirteen years is not only harder than you thought but also requires much jumping through hoops you were unprepared to jump through, that people you trust will hurt you when you least expect it. All you have is your ability to respond in a cognitive, rational thinking way. I'm still working on that too.

And with that, and maybe the most important part, is acknowledging your successes, even the tiny baby step ones. Also, I am loved by many and emotionally supported by many, so very many people are there to catch me when I start to fall. One friend told me I was a masterpiece being slowly restored. So every little success is one more brush stroke closer to healing and recovery and restoration.

I try to remember that.



Sunday, 14 February 2016

I will die a thousand deaths

I will die a thousand deaths
And then I will die a thousand more

And every little tiny death
I add to my increasing store

And some of the bigger deaths
Turn into tales I lock behind my door



Thursday, 11 February 2016

Remembering Love

His kisses are my sun,
that bright spot 
that hits me hard
and soft and reminds me
sunny days are a kind of love
from God through a
great ball of fire
suspended in infinite space.
He becomes my sun.

And when I am lying
gently in his arms
while his hands soothe
and stroke and calm,
his voice, soft and
filled with wonder,
says my eyes are like stars,

he becomes my moon.