Saturday, 22 July 2017

Sometimes... still

I am consumed
by darkness

My heart
that it is broken
and may never
beat again

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

the rampantly
of my garden
claim me
as theirs

I let myself fall
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
people rushing
to get home,
a siren wailing
far away
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
filled with faerie rings
and faerie magic
and mysteries of old

you wander
into an opening
and if you look
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
and the
moment of
allowing you
to escape
from the now
of living

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

Just here
in this moment


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,
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
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
but I'm afraid
I can't
quite imagine
you with a room
full of acolytes
on your
every word,
but someone
must think
it possible,
because you
wrote the words
and you would
never write
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 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.”