The Wee Hours

I whisper –
“Thanks”.
The spider hears. 
My little voice 
croaks,
shakily.
It’s the tiny hours
here,
in my room
where sleep comes
dripping 
over the edge of the clock….
Coming in and out
of consciousness
like waves of hot flushes,
I struggle to tap 
these wee few words.
If my eyes were even 
a little open
I would see the
Spectre of Sleep
beckoning me into
the echoey chamber….
just …
o v e r ….. 
t h e r e…….

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November ~ The Mighty Closing In

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November ~ The Mighty Closing In

November ~ the Mighty Closing In

The beech lights bright the dulling day
where spacious sun flirted and fanned its rays
across cold morning dews a short few hours past.
This year I see myself through a multi petalled portal
as I count the moments toward winter’s solstice
when, they say, the light returns…
and then my little monkey mind spins thoughts
of dark, dank January and February …..
yada yada yada…..
If I were a were a scholarly Owl
it wouldn’t ruffle my proud posh feathers one little bit…..
yada yada yada……

The Call to Self

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The Call to Self

The Call to Self

Scattering my rough, cold, small stones
around my shilly shallowing feet,
each step placed like a golden egg
upon the cool, greening moss,
I smile at you, seeing you smile at me…
Your small stones jangling in your pocket
are singing,
but you –
you cannot hear them…..
When did you lose your intuitively lucid
beliefs about your voice, when others
with less ancestral vocal bone,
spewed out stories so far less connected to the earth?
Seshat calls you to share your wisdom now……
I need to hear you hearing yourself as you
scatter each glorious stone
according to your quiet wisdom
and engrave each one as it drops around your feet,
dancing, Lightly.

Transmuting

Transmuting 

The skies sit like non risen dough, 
heavy and flat.
Water swims on pavements and roads 
as if oozing from the earth 
and all feels very Novemberly; 
dank, dark, cold as winter earth. 
The darkness of my shelter is heavier than ever.
I, like the skies feel heavy and flat
as my emotions want to ooze from every pore.
I would like to gauge holes in my roof 
to allow the joyous light into every corner, 
so desperate is my longing.
I would like to peel off the layers of a heavy life
and tucking them into an envelope,
I would post them off to the 
“Department for Heavy Lives”…..
Perhaps they have a Joyback scheme.
If they did have such a place, I would peel and pare 
until every joyless thought and action were replaced 
with Autumn’s Acacia golds, Beech rusts 
and the chestnuttiness of the faithful Oak……….
Yet for now, dancing with my thoughts and words 
are enough to heal cold, empty spaces in me.

“Middle Way”

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Sometimes it’s so difficult to find the words for that eternal, bottomless pit of soul screaming that wants to spew out of my weeping mouth and
throw itself against the wall in utter frustration….surely this is the hell we have been led to believe is without ourselves? The little bit of hell I create for myself, I create for you too as you do for me….

Just as joy and laughter are contagious, so are anger, frustration and despair; the Oneness of all things and so it is. Agression, violence, love in abundance, laughter and loving are all parts of the whole and when the balance of these is disturbed then we find discord within the home.

Voices need to blend and balance each other. When one part rises and sings others are stiller, holding the space for the leading sounds….. Cacophony brings suffering…… I see it; I know it.

Unbounded Loving

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Unbounded Loving

Unbounded Loving

My heart is full and on the edge of bursting….
Little souls and smiles cause aching in me
as words come cautiously from their lips….
“can I come live with you in England grandma….?”
A daughter cries out from her hospital bed
“I don’t want you to go home on Friday Mum.”
The landscape too calls out in Massachusetts.
It wraps me in layers of Appalacian mountains,
lake, trees and skies….
houses of timber nestled in magnificent flaming maples
down tracks way off the road…
I feel the Great Mother calling me ……
yet, back in the land of my birth an umbilicical
strand is left which can never be severed…..
My two feet are straddling two contintents, still
and I am learning to expand my heart out across the world…..
Such learning and Loving can have no boundaries.