Drenched… (revisited)

 

in lost.

 

Willing sacrifice

to the haunting of nature’s

ephemeral linguistics,

so lovingly stripping

mind’s creases,

ribboned into staff –

the soft landing place for notes

beloved by two

abstractly wooded dreams.

Spring shoes of eucalypt scent

skipping through snow

and leaving imprints

I don’t want to follow home…

(PS. this video is mesmerising in full screen)

anti-bio resistance

 

“Your iron is low, oh so low,

just take this supplement, it will help the tempo

because you’re not losing weight as your thyroid is slow,

so if you just lose some weight, you’ll help yourself glow

with vitality, and something else French sounding…”

no, wait, that was my mind screeching

to a day dreaming side step

and I have a few questions now, about the sound of us pretending
we have the time matching
this fee that you’re charging
to “bedazzle” me with reasoning
cyclical
while just reading something
from the back

of a sample drug pack

 

“why is my iron low?

Is it because of my liver, that it just doesn’t know

that my thyroid is struggling

with what doesn’t grow

our minds and our spirits,

and I would go on

 

but I’m tired”

 

 

it’s time to sleep

the reckoning and the reasoning and the ripening and then the sneezing

the forces unmeasured in the revolt and then the squeezing

of the music into lifelines that drip with hoped unheeding

and she’s covering her ears so no one sees the internal bleeding

with the streams of the thoughts she cannot appropriate

and the dreams and the oughts that she cannot estimate

within her fevered running soul that’s forgotten where it’s been

the itching of the scratch is not at all what they said it’d seem

and she holds the words in front of her in hands that shake with dread

they’re in her own heart language but unrecognized instead

in their current configuration that has come from somewhere other

and if only she could sleep now…

 

 

 

He was on his knees

rowing around her,

tears pleading silently

she floating, her lips silently moving

composing her symphony and compiling literary

moments he was desperate to understand

the ache to the point of unbearing

but she knew he just needed help hearing/hearting/breathing

she ever so gently

throws the life ring

 

 

ABOUT A WOMAN

This is so very beautiful. If you have the time, watch the gorgeously crafted video.

VOICES OF A HIDDEN SELF

Introduction

The following poem is about true love, a love that is both complete and all consuming, a love that those who know of it must surely be blessed. It is therefore not about a specific woman but is from my own experience, the words are how I describe this wonder.

The first verse is I feel self-explanatory. The following two verses I would like to explain for anyone who may be interested. The second verse is about how lovers become totally absorbed by the emotional, psychological and physical union they find themselves in, to the point that the rest of the world is superfluous. It is a solitude of utter peace and contentment, a comfort, a completeness that comes from knowing all about a person and accepting them in their entirety.

The second verse conveys the randomness, the chance, the confluence of paths and that sudden moment that all…

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(How perfect you are, o purveyor of artist’s soundless voice
to express my utter bewilderment at humans’ flailing choice-
s…)

grey metal hammer
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

 

No, you are not a divinely appointed player

to use and discard “toys” as you see fit

the creative souls in cyber land

to pluck as you cry, “I quit”

while winking at another

fingers crossed behind your back

be creative with your score card –

notches? or marks scrawled in black?

 

O precious souls so broken,

your self worth is left in tatters

I know you crave deep healing

but this is not what matters –

 

to be “chosen” by a phantom

when your worth is beyond their sight

you matter just in being,

their attention – darkest night.

 

Take the hands of those who care now

the lifelines that they offer

protecting pride is useless

when it’s safety that they proffer.

 

Humans, look what we do

when we confuse the tools we need

 

to really see each other…

 

 

skein

And while she was

clawing out

the sub conscious ponderings

on definition a, b or c

(in the smallest font in the quietest corner)

of her defeated-ness,

she saw their labyrinthine thread

had finally severed.

 

Her heart stilled,

begging for calibration,

a gentle reworking –

the intricate cut-outs of their pain

into simple shapes.

 

(this beautiful song, and video of estranged brothers reunited)

Scrambling…

say no to clowns

through her mind’s thesaurus

she searched for other words for her wrists, singed

her edges smouldering, smoke fringed

internal edges, that is.

Scrambling through the messages in his eyes

he finds the one he wants to send her, hopefully

she’ll read it without doubt, earnestly

not doubting him, that is.

The other he, she should be doubting

he holds that glass, sun’s rays re routing

to warm her, that is

what he’s always told her…

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pexels-photo-415371.jpeg
WP synchronicities…I was feeling an overwhelming desire to play the piano, which I haven’t done in a very long time, then this was one of the first posts I saw just a little while ago when I got onto WordPress. What a beautiful song, thank you for sharing it Stephen!
And it sounds just as out of tune as our piano. Perfect.
(and this, not my own photo, is also kinda perfect)


 

(no one knows me) like the piano in my mother’s home

 

 

Oh burdens,

I see you looking at me, wondering what I will do with thee you

getting back to the start of see

and the art that shrunk inside of we 

the dancing child on a whirl of glee

escaping truths that stifled three

layers of self, intrinsically

defensive, now the wired psyche

is unravelling

ever so peacefully

 

 

POETRY FROM THE LADIES

So Nigel, has done a lovely thing of reading a few poems, including a couple of mine, to honour the contribution to the poetry world by women poets. I love how he does his readings, and feel moved to be a part of this beautiful post (with a dignified giggle at the end 🙂 )

VOICES OF A HIDDEN SELF

My dear friends, I have today for your delectation something rather special. It struck me how many wonderful, famous and celebrated poets are women compared to say artists in the world of painting.

This is something I’ve also noticed within our own circle, and so I feel both honoured & privileged to have been given permission by the following poets to recite their work. Below is just a small sample of the amazing art to be found and enjoyed.

If you’ve a favourite piece you’d like read I’m always looking to expand my ‘Alchemists of word’ section. Don’t be shy or humble for I’m not a critic or academic, just someone who loves the written word.

VIKTORIA AT    MY BLEEDING WORDS

Ashes Ashes – by Viktoria

The dimming cinders of my spirit

Lay glowing feebly in the night

The smoke escaped my every merit

The arsonist: life’s pain and…

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Tootsies and anti tribalism

I’m sorry, I can’t read

your long soliloquy

And I know this wants to rhyme

 

But it shouldn’t.
Maybe sometimes.

 

Because now my mind is

going through the racks

of the vintage store I loved, years ago.

Sparkly and kitsch

eclipsed by the pitch

black of memories in coat pockets

and the spark in eye sockets

as they held my joyous orbs

of sight.

 

(It took time and care

to find the gems there.)

 

There are many ‘clever’ souls

refining our fright,

our ear muffs on tight

as we step back in night

with our swords drawn.

 

But in this tiny blog space

there can be only one

tribe, that is.

If any at all.

 

And in case you were wondering,

it’s the human one.

I wish Tootsies still existed.
The craftsmanship was something to behold, and enjoy, and get lost in
(of varied conversations, I mean.
The clothes were rather beautiful, too).