Portal to Sleep

Go quietly……
with the rhythms of time
into the mystical space
between wakefulness and sleep.
There, in another world,
suspended in the mist,
I am weightless,
a pleasing, matter-free being.
Communion with timeless space
floats the portal ever closer ….
the doorway into dreamy sleep…….
Come meet me there
for we have dancing to sing
and stories to create……
till we
again segue                                                                                                                               into another earth day.

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Full Circle?

cropped-dscn1473.jpgFull Circle?

She said she would never fall in love again.
Her first falling was when she was six…..
her cousin was oh, so handsome.
The last time she fell in love
was when she was sixty……
and she realised,
love had changed.
At sixty-two,
she thought love to be a winged jester,
a poser, a tiresome, cavernous voice
on her aching shoulder……
Now at sixty-three,
she notices the glimmer in her eyes,
as if a lover may appear at any moment.
She wonders if by 66 Love may have come full circle…..
“One never knows”, she whispers to the cat,
“One just never knows anything for sure,
not even about Love’s Messenger.” 

Wild

Seize the day as night comes slowly
to gather and hide the Light.
Be present in your breath for
therein lies the wisdom of your Life.
Crack wide the rigid bones of your ribs
for there, nestled within that cage,
lies the cavern of your wild and glorious Love.

~ The Voice ~
Alan Rickman 1946 – 2016

I feel as if I only had you
for a brief moment,
and now,
you
have
gone.

Somewhere out in
vast mystical wasteland,
there is vibration new ~
a chocolate velvet
clustered sound ~

floating ~
suspended ~
by
light ~

you belong to many
yet to no one at all…..
nothing could be
more right…..
Enjoy the Mystery.

Mercurial World, Wild Life!

Filthy sky scrolling
out from the west.
Light descending is if a
dirge leads its way home.
I look at my unlived self
as my ample, ageing arms
reach in to pull me,
inside out…..

Now, for once,
I swirl like a wave
of lightening rather
than wailing of the
banshee under the tree.
Nothing, in the manmade
world is worth the sacrificing,
of mine or any other
creative soul.

I shall rage till all this threat
to life is whipped by
tongues of flame,
moulded by fingers
of the Alchemist
and I am free to transmute
it into the Light, here now,
in the wild and beautiful
of this mercurial world.

Longing.

Longing

I long to go where the white geese go,
with wings like magnets, drawn outward
and onward by the wild.

I dream to climb the tallest redwood I can find
and scan for miles ‘cross sprawling lands,
pellucid, translucent- rough and sassy seas.

I yearn to see, under my bare, worn feet,
a constant sense of a glorious, Spring,
like the giggling stream over tawny stones
where Celandines shine and mossy banks shall sing.

I ache to hear the Cuckoo call
from distant coppice in rough, raised field,
where Barn Owls too-wit to their other’s too-woo
as sounds of Debussy’s harmonies yield
such light, in the fullness of the orb, for you.

For my desire, shall forever be,
that you alone shall pass, with me.
And there, between our quickened lips
does raise the breath of passion’s warmth,
these timeless, ticking, holy hands,
where life’s encumbrances melt
and Love now, magnificently stands.

Till then, my dreaming shall so deep and languid be,
of Hope for all and all that Life gives back to me.

In – Justice

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Some of you know I like to play around with words and sounds especially on topics of the heart & soul. In light of all that is going on in various countries, especially the UK and USA, I have written this little piece:
 
In – Justice
Here, in a passionate heart,
murmurs of betrayal irk in turning,
so spitting out white coals, must be,
lest my churning guts do rage with sincere burning….
You think to know me
though in truth,
you want to own me…
I have a Voice and with it I,
therefore, responsible must be….
where injustices are vile illusions
made manifest for all with eyes to see.
Leave not your febrile thoughts
at night between the shards of light
around my door, for therein lies the root of all,
a so called, filthy war.
Debunk this fear and stand together
as keepers of the narrow Gate,
where Love does dwell
and Kindness and Compassion wait.
~ words bubble up when governments wield unjust power upon the people.
FC 22/10/2015

Woman

WOMAN

Soft tears fall silently
on cheeks as she sits
without breath, staring.
“She didn’t know what
it was to be a woman
…… neither do I……..
taught by the best, me.”
Palpable grief, greened
by sickness of heart oozed
out of her every pore.
“Sixty two years of not
knowing how to be WOMAN.”

Air felt cool.
Eyes heavy.
Motionless child
buried in pain filled layers
to hide, to scream, to suffocate,
to die to ever being alive……
“I’m in no man’s land….”
she said….
raising one hand to sky
picturing mother’s
worn, rough skin, the razor
she used to shave her chin,
the hands she used to
break the pheasant’s neck….

Mourning the loss
of possibility
turns from one
generation to the next…
till someone realises
they still have time
to become the woman
they never were.
Only then does
something change…
slowly, gently,

no pushing,

no blame.

Pushing

Tears come –
a leak in my
soft, weary eyes
paints the mural
of my life.
Salty stains fall
silently on my
worn out canvas.
Often we push
ourselves beyond
our Soul’s desire
and the body
screams for us to stop.
But I wonder what it takes
to ‘do’ nothing when the
world demands we ‘do’
it all………….

FC 18/9/2015white-poppy-close-up1-212x300

The Flaming Pyre of Shame

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If all we can sound are tears,
then let us weep.
If all we can say is no,
then let us shout it out.
If all we can do is weep and shout
and then walk on the other side of the road,
let us hang our heads in shame
for we are no better than the
traffickers, thieves and jingoists.

If …this ….is …so,
then let us make an altar of bracken,
lay ourselves upon it, offer up
our lives for theirs……
a body,
…. upon a flaming pyre of shame.