It came again today
the love I have loved you with
for a decade…….
This impossible dream has dreamt me
as the reality of passing years
unhooked my laces of longing
and tied them in figure of eight knots.
Knots which forever remind me
that through you,
I am changed.
Changed like dunes upon the shore
magically morphing and shapeshifting
for time and all eternity.
Nothing can wash this truth away on the tide.
What the Heart Desires – stream of consciousness.
Am I slave or barren witch
upon the tuffets of grass
out there in some secret, isolated nook?
Am I the crashing waves flinging myself
against the frozen, howling rock?
Do I gleam and glare as the curtain falls
with a crash and the audience flees?
No – I am the bronzed, scorching sun
who devours the stars of the night
with its fingertips whitehot.
For I long to be as they are, suspended weightlessly
longing to be plucked from the midnight blue of night
and tucked neatly and gently into a warm, soft paw palm……
I am the Siren who calls into the
shocking sounds of the turbulent sea
” Come home, come come ….. for I dance at your feet
and run away with your mind of dreams….”
I take my ground and I lengthen and widen into
world of the Creative and Creator…..
THIS is where I long to be.
Sometimes there is truth which is so packed with aching pain,
in a split moment we become frozen, silenced, traumatised….
Sometimes, for fifty five years, never realised.
Today, that which was held for all those years
was spoken out for the first time….. a sacred time.
1958, the news on our new telly,
horrific details of a small child abused by its parents.
In that moment, back then,
I stopped breathing,
I saw the presenter speaking on the square screen,
I saw my father, mother
and the blazing fire across our lounge.
The story of vile cruelty towards the child
and the sound of the words about roaring flames
I was truly lost…..
Five and frozen, breathless, internalised trauma..
A tragic photograph captured
in every cell of me, this young, empathic child.
I spoke of it,
I wept for it.
I began the release of it…..
fifty five years of holding it,
finally breaking up and
letting go, letting go, letting go,
The Midnight Train
The wind swings around the corner at me,
taking my shallow breath away.
The ice on my car,
the fog down the Snailwell road,
the headlights so bright
headed straight at me…..
I could be on a mysterious mission
in the deepest of January’s nights……..
yet I have a fever magnifiying the
magnificently, magical, midnight.
Winds, bring me smoothest passage
down these country lanes.
Waning moon dives
in and out the foggy air,
plumped and icy she slides silently
through the secretive skies.
The midnight train comes swiftly now
and with it, the Lover with his curious smile
shuffling along, contentedly,
on the frosted winter platform.
Sleeping with Mr Tumnus
Sharing my expansive, white linened bed
with the colour and silence of the healing night,
all felt calm inside my head and heart.
It was a deep hour when the sun still hid
yet the pure voiced call of the moon
flowed in through the slats of my golden blind.
I noticed furry Mr Tumnus confidently curled
around my own warm paw, beside me.
So sweet the restoring night
when healing comes as a gift
from the purring, snoring, gentle
presence of a loving, cuddlesome creature.
How Could You Do It?!
How could you?
I mean really!….
what have I so cruelly done to you
for you to cause me such knife blade pain?
I flirted joyfully with you a
couple of years back
and even then,
when I thought all would be well…
doubled up was I, in the solar plexus.
Perhaps I should have taken your
pretty shiny coat off and chucked it away….
but no, I didn’t think of that, then.
– however –
after reading about your sort,
I realised maybe that’s why you did it before…..
I left your coat on.
I took the blighter off, I did.
But you…. no sooner were you
inside my poor body…. you creased me with pain, AGAIN!
That’s the last time you seduce me
you Sharon Fruit…. you Persimmon YOU!
Never again shall I eat of YOUR fruits!!!!
The prosaic, man made world
leaves me cold and unnurtured.
I turn to the poetic
where there is beauty, flow
Would that all of life reveal
the poetry and art,
however splendidly dire,
for therein lies
healing and wholeness.
Art work: “Vagina-Vocalis” – Felicity Cook