Friday, 5 June 2015

Last Things

I am remembering her
We were saying goodbye again
I have always been leaving
She had always been
The one who stays
Now he is the one who stays

For so many years
I forgot the goodbyes
I remembered the hellos
So very many hellos
So very many first kisses

I can't remember
Any of the last kisses
Even now
I only remember
The catch in my breath
Before that first kiss
The soft whimper
From the back of my throat
As my soft body
Involuntarily sinks into yours
And your arms tighten
Hold me up
Even as my knees buckle

But today
I am thinking of last things
Last meals
Last laughter
Last fights
Our last dance
Your last touch
My final lingering glance your way

I sit at my kitchen table
For hours and hours now
With sweet milky hazelnut coffee
With crisp cold white wine
And look out my French doors
To my neglected garden
Which mirrors my neglected heart

I am thinking of Arthur
And how barren the land grew
In the wake of his desiccated broken heart
Until the Holy Grail was found
I wonder where my Holy Grail is
Are you my Holy Grail?
Is it your magic, your love
That keeps my heart from turning to dust?

And then I watch a black bird drink out of my fish pond
My fish pond, my fat orange gold fish that aren't my fish
And I remember years of loss and grief
And cold forgetfulness that feels like regret
And days and days spent talking to my fish
Who are no longer my fish
More last things

I planted a rose bush when we moved in
Virginia Woolf planted one at Sissinghurst
I was enraptured by her house, her gardens, her
When we got home I immediately ordered one
Dixie promptly dug it up when I planted it
Somehow it survived it's replanting
Will I?
Survive my replanting?

And then Dixie, the dog, learned to love my roses
Will she still love them when I am gone?
It has big fat barely pink blooms on it
More last things.

Soon there will be hellos
But right now my blood pounds
With too, too many goodbyes
I want to think about hellos
But I am lost in goodbyes
And last things

And a deep fear of that in between place
That place that isn't goodbye or hello
That place where so very much can go wrong

But today
I am watching my fish swim
I am listening to birds chirp and warble
I am watching rose petals fall into pots of lavender
While Dixie sleeps in the sun dreaming
I am craving your touch and your words
Even as I sink into my own silence
More last things



Monday, 1 June 2015

There are moments...

There are moments
In my endless days

Filled with the mundane
Worries of surviving life

When my heart
races with fear
My brain
conjures up facts
And terribly
sad probabilities

And yet

In the midst
Of all that
Confusion

I think of
You
Of the
Mere
Existence
Of you

And your love
And my love
Merge into
Our love

And my day
Pivots

From mundane
To extraordinary

From dusty, dry fear

To shimmering starlight


Home

Home

Today
I realised

As my heart
Cracked

And
Shattered
A little bit

That you
Haven't seen

That you
Are

And will
Always be

Home

Let me
Home you, baby


The truth is...

"You gain strength, courage and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You are able to say to yourself, 'I have lived through this horror. I can take the next thing that comes along.' You must do the thing you think you cannot do."
— Eleanor Roosevelt (You Learn by Living: Eleven Keys for a More Fulfilling Life)

"I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain."
— Frank Herbert (Dune (Dune Chronicles, #1))

The truth is
I am paralysed by fear

It is a dark
Horrific monster
Leaning over me
So very close

Sucking my breath
From dry, cracked lips

I wait for my heart to stop
For my sight to darken

For time to still
For my life to end

So I can begin again


Friday, 1 May 2015

Just Keep Walking, Girl


I think a lot
I hurt a lot

I think a lot
About how
Not to think a lot

I plumb my depths
To look for a way
To not hurt so much

I love a lot
I hurt a lot

They whisper
They taunt

I try to love
A lot
I try to forget
A lot

Still...

I'm grace under pressure
Soft elegant movements
When I want to rip the walls
Down with bloody hands

A whirling dervish
Who feels too much
Crazy, manic, fucked up
Silly little gypsy girl

Just stop, girl
And start walking
Feel the earth push
Against your soft soles

Just keep walking, girl
Worship the moon
Fall in love with you
Just keep walking, girl



Saturday, 25 April 2015

Triangles




The truth is
I was terrible at geometry
I was not great 
At math
In general

There are reasons
But they're ugly
And involve 
Cruelty
And abuse
And bad parenting
Let's not go there

But geometry 
Is almost
Conceptual

Which should be good
For someone like me

I prefer to think
It just wasn't
Explained properly

So geometry is still
Such an elusive thing
Something
I can't quite grasp

But triangles
I loved triangles
They made music
Could make music

I thought I had
A secure grasp
On triangles

Until

You
And her
And me

But we made
A clangy sound
It was not pretty

Sometimes
It was ugly

And finally
Silent

I'm not fond
Of triangles now

I wanted to take
My point off to a
Bohemian Street Faire

Find some slow dancing
Languorous 
Brown eyed boy
Who would make me
Forget how to breathe

You could be
Point A
To her Point B

But you said
No one leaves
We love this through

I believe in love

I don't know 
If I believe 

In triangles


when dreams turn to nightmares


When dreams
Turn to nightmares

And navel gazing
Turns to searching

Rifling through
Fears and cracks
In a weakened spirit

It isn't light I see
Trying to break free

But the darkness
Of too many failures


Friday, 24 April 2015

Home Again

Tonight he lays his head
On my naked breast
It has always been a
Place of refuge for him

My need to protect and defend
Is also fed by that simple action
His head on my warm breast
His hand cupping one round globe
Until his breathing matches mine

And I think that for one
Moment of pure magic

We are God and Goddess
Clinging fast to one another

Our breaths creating
The entire Universe

Every falling star,
Every tiny flower
Every hopeful heart
Every child's smile

Into exquisite existence
And this is how

We continue
To love each other

Love each other
Home again

Johnny Cash - Hurt HD 720p

Saturday, 4 April 2015

Running Out

The truth is

I am easily overwhelmed
Easily hurt beyond repair

I carry so many scars
So many bruises
That if you look closely
You will see 
I am merely 
Limping along

Some days 
I just want
To shut it all down

Be that crazy lady
With a hundred cats
Who one day 
Just stopped talking

It takes so much energy
To keep going
When stopping would be
Such a blessed relief

I am told I am loved
Some days
I even feel loved

But most days
It requires faith
To believe in something
I don't actually feel
Faith requires energy

The truth is

I am running out
Of energy
Of faith
Of belief
Of heart




Friday, 27 March 2015

Expectations

I have a best friend. 

She lives across the pond. We have late night conversations via Facebook Private Messenger, which is probably the least private messenging service on the interwebs. Just saying.

The other night she messaged me this: *The most difficult lesson for me is "expect nothing"....does this sound familiar to you???*

Expectations. They'll get you every time.

It reminded me of something my friend Sorsh said: "Let me say this. And it's something I'm working on too. We often have ideas about how things should look and how things should go. And then if it doesn't look that way we feel like its wrong or off. However, when we do that we are getting in the way of the gifts the universe is giving us, as they are given to us."

Expectations. Missed opportunities because we think we know...

The thing is sometimes we just don't know, can't know and probably it's not in our best interest to know.

But still...

When I was a little girl we used to play this game at birthday parties. Probably people still do but I've lived in England for a long time. It was called *Pin the Tail On The Donkey."

You get blindfolded. Fuck. Maybe that's where I discovered my love of being blindfolded.

Anyway.... You're blindfolded, handed a paper *tail* with a pin attached. Someone takes you by the shoulders and spins you 'round and round and gives you a mostly gentle shove.

My last six months has been a consistent metaphorical action of sightless girl being spun round and round and given a shove, followed by more spinning and more shoving.

Maybe just once I would like to see where I'm going and get what I expect...

But that's not what I meant to say at all.

I wanted to say, I'm a Gypsy Girl. I love the sound of my bangles as they jangle while I sway to the sounds of your guitar.

You feed me with your crazy juju magic. My soul lights up and my breath is made of stardust.

But tonight could I just crawl into your lap and let you soothe the hurt away with your hands?

I didn't mean to say that either.

I was going to say something profound about stars and dance and courage and spirit.

But, actually...

Just for tonight could I not be brave and strong and fierce and crawl into your lap instead?



Thursday, 26 March 2015

A Bit Too Much

We had voodoo
God, did we have voodoo

We were an ocean away
And still I could feel him
Deep inside my womb stirring

It used to bring me such joy
And a tiny little giggle at the magic

And how he could make me long
Make me lose myself to want

Until one day it just stopped
No matter how many times 
I stroked our talisman
The magic had just died

I wanted to believe I had 
Failed in some way
I wasn't enough
In some way
But I was too much
Maybe a little too old
Just a tiny bit too dull
Too experienced, too candid

Even in my gypsy dancing splendour
Just not quite what he required
To keep him hard, to keep him lusting
Perhaps he always knew 
I had a creeping expiration date

For me, I just keep dancing
From one campfire to the next
Knowing I was never not enough

But just possibly

A bit too much
 

Wednesday, 25 March 2015

This Is My Goodbye



Some days
I wait for good bye

It never comes

Some blank silences 
Followed by words
Powerful words 
That should obliterate
Those silences

I'm probably too needy
Probably

Some days
*I* say goodbye
I'm rarely heard

Occasionally
I'm asked to stay

Always
I'm told no one leaves

Today
I'm walking away
For just a bit

I want a goodbye
I want peck on the cheek
I want a deep
Soul destroying kiss

But today
It's me saying goodbye
Into a dark night
Filled with silence

And so...

This is my goodbye

Tightrope Dancer



In darkness
And in light
Hushed whispers
In a dark, dark night

In soft murky shadows
Sometimes a faint glow
Is enough, can be
Enough

Uneasy alliances
Precarious and
Out of balance
I feel clumsy
Sure I will falter
Stumble
Fall

A tightrope dancer
With a softly glowing heart
And luminous eyes

Takes one step
Then another
Graceful
Trusting
Believing

I watch
We all watch
Holding our breaths
Just a little
Or a lot

She walks this walk
Dances this dance
Looks me in the eye
Gives me a sly wink

And I know

She dances for me
She dances
In my place, for me

And I know

Because 
She lives in me
Dances in me

I will not fall


Feist and words for my breaking heart

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=I2uVRMBD5RY

Sunday, 22 March 2015

Mermaid Girl


When does safe 
Become not safe

This mermaid girl
Longs for the sea again

She never quite learned
The steps to this dance

The kiss of a man
Is a potent charm

Almost enough
To sustain life

Almost





Sometimes We Choose

And then sometimes 
We just choose badly
Choose pretty shiny, 
Choose a well turned phrase
Over constancy, 
Over depth, 
Over truth

Sometimes 
We are just too easily 
Seduced

I walk away a lot
I walk a lot
My feet have charms
Embedded in their soles

Diamonds sparkle like
Brilliant stars against
A dark black night

Each step I take 
Is an incantation

Sometimes I weave magic 
To bring me closer to you
Sometimes I pray to every 
God and Deity and Demon
I know to please let me go

And them sometimes
I just choose very badly
Choose pretty shiny
Choose a well turned phrase


Saturday, 21 March 2015

Dancing With Death

I have been dancing with Death again
A slow dance, as I am a watcher
I am a mourner, a singer of the dirge
A broken hearted little bird singing off key

I never know why he picks me
To be his dark shadowy companion
To witness the fragility of the human body
Or the sheer magnitude of the human heart

But my heart breaks watching sons shed tears
For a father that was their tower of strength
Now struggling to eat, to sleep, to be
I am helpless, a mere witness to such love
To such suffering, to such enormity of spirit

I can feel the somber presence of Death
Watching, waiting, lurking in the shadows
And even with his hand resting on my shoulder
I speak of mundane things with a watery smile

I don't offer hope to the hopeless, even though
Every breath in my body wants to breathe hope
I say I love you every few minutes like a mantra
I wonder if it is annoying to be given words of love

Can repetition destroy the love you are offering
I can't seem to stop myself so the words continue
I want to lift him up, cradle his sick body against
My warm, alive breast until he is strong again

I want to kiss his brow furrowed with worry
Until it is smooth again, hear his easy laugh again
But Death is asking for another dance, a twirl or two
I'm not ready for another dance, another dirge

I whisper I love you, like a mantra, 
Like the breath of life for the dying
Or perhaps it is my gift of Spirit
Or perhaps it is all I have left to give
Or maybe it is all he is able to receive

I have been dancing with Death again.





Monday, 16 March 2015

Sing Me Home Again

Sing me home again
Breathe me alive again
Kiss me with absolution
Touch me with redemption

These chaotic depths pull
And prod and break
And I am forgotten in this
Fierce cosmic struggle
For light, for love
For goodness

Sing me home again


16 March 2015, 1:00 pm,
West Sussex, England

The Allen Ginsberg Project: Meditation and Poetics - 61 (Whitman - 4)

The Allen Ginsberg Project: Meditation and Poetics - 61 (Whitman - 4):   [ Walt Whitman and Peter Doyle circa 1869 - Photograph by M.P.Rice, Washington DC - via Ohio Wesleyan University, Bayley Collecti...

Friday, 13 March 2015

A State of Grace

Some long sweet days
I'm surprisingly graceful
Most days I merely attempt
That soft state of grace

I often wonder if intent
Is enough or merely
Another excuse for
Another clumsy failure

We stumble along looking
Seeking, searching, 
Even desperately begging
Hands out in supplication

Sometimes we finally fall 
Long and soft and helplessly 
Into strong warm waiting arms 

Sometimes our face smacks hard
Against cold brutal, barren
Unforgiving winter ground

Even then we find ourselves
Gently lifted up by hope, belief

And, yet, still...

When we least expect it
When our gait is filled 
With so much grace it shines
Our heart brimming with love

There is a dip in the road
An unexpected turning 
That must be traversed 
With a careful, strained patience
That stretches our capacity 
For compassion, for understanding

To be a witness is to willingly
Be filled with a fearful watching
Our heart in our hands our offering
For we cannot always fix this hurt

We can only hold a sacred space
For healing, for comfort, for loving
And wait for our heart to beat again
Wait for that feeling of divine wholeness 
To return again, sing us home again

And this is where we will find 
That sacred state of grace 
We were seeking all along

13 March 2015, 7:00 am, 
West Sussex, England





Watcher

I am sitting on a log
I was walking yesterday
I was a sea nymph
Singing my girls home

Today I can't quite
Reach that place of living
That familiar place of singing
Today I am a watcher



Monday, 2 March 2015

Some Days

Some days
No matter
How hard you try
You just aren't able to
Crawl out of the sadness
Find your goodness
Be that radiant light

No matter how hard
You kick your Doc Martens
At life, it just kicks right back
... with steel toed work boots

I believe in cycles
In the ebbing and flowing
Of mystical, magical
Cosmic energies
Of catching that
Perfect wave
And riding it in

But some days
The motion is 
So very slow
And the emotion 
I am trying 
To flow with 
Descends
Heavy and heartless

Like that giant wave 
The one that comes 
Out of nowhere 
Crashing against you
Just As you turn 
Your back on that
Vicious capricious sea
Submerging you
Hurling you 
Through vast
Murky waters
Until it tosses you 
Bruised and shaken
On some sandy beach 
But with less confidence
Less surety of purpose, 
Less  poise

Some days 
There are just too many 
Crashing waves

Some days like today

Sunday, 1 March 2015

Thinking of Ferlinghetti

Because I find myself
Thinking
Of stars
Of night
Of dark nights
Of the soul

And eternity
And struggle
And the embrace
Of life
Of love
Of movements
Not in our control

And San Francisco
And City Lights
And books
And bookstores
And all bookstores 
Everywhere

And Beat Poets
And all Poets
Everywhere
Of you
Of your poet's soul
Of your words
Of your great heart

Of oceans
Of time
Of heartbeats
Of drifting Ley lines
Of your love
Of your desire

And Waiting
And Ferlinghetti

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

The Plough of Time

Night closed my windows and
The sky became a crystal house
The crystal windows glowed
The moon
shown through them
through the whole house of crystal
A single star beamed down
its crystal cable
and drew a plough through the earth
unearthing bodies clasped together
couples embracing
around the earth
They clung together everywhere
emitting small cries
that did not reach the stars
The crystal earth turned
and the bodies with it
And the sky did not turn
nor the stars with it
The stars remained fixed
each with its crystal cable
beamed to earth
each attached to the immense plough
furrowing our lives

by Lawrence Ferlinghetti