…..and my eyes stood on blood red
stalks once again,
as the tornado of words and emotions
ripped through my heart……
“Now I have MRSA, mum.
I have to wash clothes, bedding and towels
EVERY day until it’s gone.”
Speechless but not tearless I felt
the panic that only a mother knows.
As if she needed yet another trial
to challenge her life and those of
her young, wildly sweet children.
As if Chiari 1 Malfomation weren’t enough,
as if Life couldn’t just sqeeze a break for her
out of the tube we all roll around in……
I wanted to bang my head against the cottage wall.
I wanted…. I still want….. to make it all go away,
as any mother would……
Clock’s ticking now
while in the day the
sounds of life drown
clock’s voice away.
The vibes of things
humming now it’s night.
The cars all gone as
darkness comes winging
its shadowy flight.
While others sleep in
hollows of mysterious lands,
at least one soul is toiling,
thinking, searching while this
revolving world spins
right around its never ceasing span.
Tonight, coming to the brow of the hill
canopied by darkened skies, I gasped.
There, hanging low, like a rich red blood orange
sat the magnificent March Moon, meditating,
as if the song of OM were hers to sing out to the world.
If we who travel along the roads of chaos avoiding
the sink holes, could but lift our wearied eyes,
if we could genuflect with
deep respect to this Queen of the night,
we too would know how to sound the OM.
Now is the time to stop chasing that endless tail,
watch and listen to the Moon in the sky
and the Moon in our Souls
where, burning quietly, Peace does dwell…….
See her there in your third eye……
she glows with the burnished truth of the Earth.
Curled in chair
sleepy with coldness.
Radio Four echoing in my mist filled, dreamy mind ……
Kitchen aching to be cleaned.
Bed ….the actress, subversive, lolling Siren
of the gentle room above my head….
lures me to climb back under her crisp white covers and be lost…..
Oh sleep, only you have that potion
which drags me into the expanded void!
Ineffable, unfurling of Spring;
Today I saw with my own eyes,
absurd, nauseating disgrace of the lopping
of splendidly healthy branches.
So tall, such magnificence of this Silver Birch
at 68 along the street, weeping pools of rising sap.
It is weeping I tell you
and cannot be stopped…
Can we be stopped, we who create carnage?
I weep for Birch and Beasts
and the Waking Up of us all.
Sleep is weighing down on the eyes of the people tonight…..
Feathers fall from the skies like particles of stars
as God’s own passionate ones spoon together
under a mellow duvet of golden beams.
“Good sleeping Love birds” says the Owl of the white barn.
“Fair flying oh watchman of the night…” say the swooning Lovers.
The old school clock stands in silent too,
until the dew filled dawn seeps over the horizon
and far away, in foreign lands, other faces are washed,
bags are filled with weighty books, as a new day
calls the people to add another chapter to their Lifescape.