Mrs Musings' Musings

Cleft

2012-02-05T17:24:00.000Z

My ring finger aches
a throbbing and a tenderness
where it was cleft in two
when I was eight

the faint silver smile
on my pink skin
grinning its tale of splitting
and stitching
and healing

innocently predicting a future
it could not foresee

Passengers

2012-01-28T14:00:00.002Z

he sat down
and simply began
in fact I think he began before
he sat down

he asked question after question after question
swift and invasive
unflinching and unashamed
his sweet easy nature
a precision weapon in a trained hand
he attacked and attacked and attacked

until
her defences
that started high and reinforced
were naught but shredded paper knights

in less than an hour
they were sharing like old friends

then it was his stop
he got up
threw a genial goodbye over his shoulder
and left

and I
from my ring side seat
silently applauded

Crow

2011-12-09T14:33:00.001Z

Enthroned in the bare arms
of my sacred tree
crow shouts
not a song
not a word
but a tearing
a ripping of air
a shriek of life and death
of death and life

The Covered Sky

2011-12-07T13:48:00.001Z

And I hear a voice say
sit peacefully under the covered sky child
wait patiently and all will be revealed

But I want to see the sky, I say
it's been days
and I am sad

Sit peacefully under the covered sky child
wait patiently and all will be revealed

But in the day I yearn for blue, I say
and at night
for the stars gossiping in their constellations

Child, you have not been abandoned
this hidden time is a gift
so sit peacefully under the covered sky
wait patiently and all will be revealed

Bulbs

2011-11-22T16:35:00.002Z

Today we planted bulbs
little capsules of spring
hidden just below the grass

you dug
while I followed behind like a child
full of the wonder of nature
picking up worms
and jumping on earth

Your act
so generous
so simple
and so profound
touched the aching part of me
that cannot believe nearly a year has passed

tears together in the kitchen afterwards
still here
still alive

Mist

2011-11-12T14:05:00.002Z

Mist shrouds the landscape
trees stretch their gnarled limbs
and casting themselves in anthropomorphic roles
speak prophecies with deep voices
and sing songs from the dawn of time

Silver trails

2011-11-03T19:02:00.002Z

O foolish mortal beings
where do they go
those lives you plan to live
those stories you spin and believe
that stretch to tomorrow
and to the end

Maybe the power of your desire
causes them to have their own existence
snaking silver trails of could have been
by your side

Or maybe they are simply air and sugar
sweetening the now
caught by the wind
and gone

Do you know when you utter those candied words
that maybe that's all they are

The Hungry Caterpillar Revisited

2011-10-17T19:26:00.003+01:00

consuming all that there is in sight
not creating holes in pages
but trying to fill the one inside
the caterpillar desires
food and
alcohol and
tears and
fists of anger and
clothes and
chocolate and
memories and
sleep and
television
she is compulsive
she is compelled
she is driven

until she is sated
crawls under a leaf and
moulting for the last time
weaves herself chrysalis

thus cocooned from the world
she waits

then
so the story goes
she does not die
but emerges imgao
delicate
and graceful
stretches her new wings
and conspicuously flutters into flight

Another death

2011-10-17T15:17:00.000+01:00

I had to tell someone today that you were dead
your death
biologically true from whatever private moment you slipped away
was not yet real to this man
for him you were alive and nothing was different
for him not the cold winter of last year
for him no vigil no funeral
for him not the months of absence
for him
this moment
my telling
my words

and for you
another death

The Next Day

2011-10-05T16:28:00.002+01:00

Again I close my eyes
and surround myself with doors

enticed by one
I place my cheek against its smooth plain

I know behind this veil
stretches the first day your death called liar
the day we built with domestic words
and painted a shade of ordinary
the day we believed more than any of the others
was certain to happen
the day we thought would be
the next day

the sound of this tomorrow
so softly near
reminds me
you did not plan to leave
you did not mean to go

thus shrouded in disbelief
cheated from this natural succession
I decide to wait
to not open my eyes
and maybe you will come back

Darkened Glass

2011-09-26T13:57:00.005+01:00

I walk back through the rooms of our memories
to find each of you gone
it seems you have vanished here too
leaving only dust sheets and tea cups

I feel these rooms are a secret
I, the remaining survivor of an ancient order
the only one left who can chant the magic words
and bring this past to life

I fear the power of my forgetfulness
I buckle under the weight of the responsibility
if I do not know the punchline
then no-one does
if I am wrong
then I have changed history
if I do not remember
then it did not happen

You have taken with you to your deaths
the collective truth we once shared
orphaning me in a monologue
asking me to peer at what we created
as if through darkened glass

Embroidered Kisses

2011-09-21T18:56:00.000+01:00

embroidered sunshine flourishes
and plays around the grace of my shadow
flowers of light blooming for a second
they softly kiss my edges

A Mother's Love

2011-09-19T18:40:00.000+01:00

Trees dress bridal
and drop confetti on succulent grass

A mother takes her child
into her bed
and soothes away her night time terror
this too will pass she says
this too will pass

And even though the child is grown
in this moment she knows
it is only her mother's warmth
that could comfort her so

Dark Mood

2011-09-18T18:57:00.000+01:00

Brooding melancholy
deep waters normally so still
stirred suddenly by great
whales of hate and anger
I think maybe I am drowning

the light from the commonly encountered
is distant and dappled
far away
unreachable

I kick my legs
I will fight this
I will swim
I curse
I struggle

then
defeated
I drift
limp

I know
I will reach the surface eventually
I know my body
will break through the film of the gloom
face first
wide mouthed and gasping for air
eventually
eventually

The gift

2011-09-07T16:34:00.000+01:00

For my good friend Dave who died a year ago today

Sitting beside you in that liminal time
I felt you were asking
the deep questions of life for us all
breathing them painfully into your body
and breathing out
fear and wonder and anger

how you cradled humanity in that time
living, so it seemed, on a precipice
peering into unknown darkness

And I
sat like a child by your bed
tried so hard not to make answers
of your silent wide eyed gaze

I wanted to be brave with you, for you
to walk to the edge of the cliff
hold your hand
and look down

but the hardest thing
the very hardest thing
was knowing I could not
and that when the time came
you would leave into that opaque mystery
alone

And so
as gifts are befitting of all anniversaries
today I unwrap that experience you gave me
and try to breathe in
all your breathings out

Autumn

2011-08-31T13:54:00.004+01:00

There has been a shift
maybe it was Sunday

she has stolen her way in
I feel her in the chill
in the sound that shoes make on pavements

She ties the laces on my boots
and calls to my coat
and that blanket she says
you'll need that

She whispers through the leaves
singing to them the tales of winter to come
and they quiver
existence suddenly fragile

Let there be light

2011-08-29T20:08:00.002+01:00

A street light turns on as I look at it
what alchemy
I offered
two gazing eyes
one head of languid thoughts
and received an orb of gold

Underworld

2011-08-23T16:49:00.002+01:00

It is when I descend
to the underworld of sleep and dreams
that I find you

Often in the middle of something
always unaware that where I come from
you are dead and buried

Once I plead with you to ring your mother
another time a ten year old you
teaches me to play cards
and another you cook for me
and another there are two of you
each refusing to play by the rules of my game
and another I am with you as you die
but in this realm I can say goodbye
I can say one last I love you

Then I wake
I always wake
your presence lingers for a moment
then scatters
I cannot bring you back with me

I am Orpheus turning at the last moment
only to see you recede and diminish
I feel panic and loss

And I am left wondering
if I have violated a pact with the gods
and they have taken you
to punish me

Laughter

2011-08-15T14:34:00.002+01:00

Laughter
uncontrollable
almost unbearable
laughter

a laughter whose origin is unclear
but whose roots are deep

a laughter
that dissipates through
the shaking of limbs
the bending of the torso
the holding of sides
and the wide mouthed
gasps for air

laughter that
courses through the blood
and all attempts to stop are
thwarted by sudden eruptions
that ricochet off the walls
and rebound on your belly

you are not in control
but possessed by a wild demon
who will only cease when
every last ounce of bubbling joy
is released

then, then,
the deep sighs of
quiet satisfaction
and the warm glow
that soothes aching muscles

the room gently comes back into focus
and the world
like a patient servant waiting
for his master to finish
begs an audience once more

Bloodletting

2011-08-03T22:58:00.000+01:00

another period
two too many this year already

at first I think it is my ancient DNA
prescribing precision cuts by a medical man
to balance my humours
to bleed me back to health

and then I see it is a period of mourning
that spins and repeats and begins again

as if my grief has reached for the moon and pulled him close
or somehow condensed weeks into days
lusting after cycles
straining for the refrain

like my womb is trying to keep pace
with a heart aged by loss
and eyes that have grown cataracts over the world

another period
two too many this year already

yes, it begins again
and my body
my beautiful body
she knows

Dragon Wings

2011-07-30T10:53:00.001+01:00

Last night I got drunk
and cried myself to sleep
pushed my face hard into the pillow
and begged for release

Hoping to grow dragon wings
and fly high into the air

not thinking of returning
not even looking back

Nothing lasts forever

2011-07-26T00:01:00.002+01:00

Nothing lasts forever
so says the tshirt she is wearing
and to prove it, she is here
and then gone

And I realise
we never did speak about forever
we never did cast ourselves in a sweeping romantic narrative
that beckoned and invited in eternity

But we believed in 'for life'
we believed in death as the point of separation
you even stumbled on those words in our vow
til death us do part
the fun and the laughter as
we spoke of only being married for twenty years
grew from the seed of that surety
til death us do part

Fools
how long twenty years seems to me now
what an eternity
not funny
no hilarity
just searing loss
a thousand mile journey staring me out
absence
could-have-beens

The ghosts of a life only ever conjured
hung up like unworn costumes in a wardrobe, limp
meaningless without the characters to fill them

Nothing lasts forever it says
so why does this feeling of nothing threaten to persist

moth-eaten

2011-07-25T23:42:00.000+01:00

Today I bought moth balls
To stop those tiny holes from spreading
To stop decay
So I will feel less shabby
So I won't be eaten away

Today I bought moth balls
With the belief I can make time slow
Not really thinking those tiny mouths
Might be telling me to let go

Yearning

2011-07-25T10:56:00.000+01:00

How do I live with this yearning
like always being hungry
like guts eaten, grown again, and eaten
like pushing a boulder up a hill
only for it to be at the bottom the next day
like a cavernous hole in my chest
that the wind whistles
and howls through

These moments

2011-06-26T16:46:00.003+01:00

Unlooked for,
and not always remembered
these moments find me.
Soothe and intrigue me.
And when they do
I feel I have been offered something profound
like I am close, so close,
to understanding everything.

A blind man, stick in hand asks
is this the front of the building
I want take a photo
then guided by a stranger, he steps back.

Another says,
it's like that feeling you have in a car sometimes
when you think you're going backwards
but then you realise
it's everybody else going forwards.

And then this week
while the sun was warming my face outside
a drunk man, leaning on his friend,
moving slowly past
says that we are beautiful
you charmer is friend reproofs
no, he says, they just are beautiful
and he stops to take us in, smiling
and drunk as this man is
I feel when someone calls me beautiful
I could almost be an angel
as if the very rhythm of the word has
moved through my body
and breathed sweet summer air through my soul
what quiet bliss. Beautiful.

Co-creation

2011-06-19T16:21:00.001+01:00

A friend and I conspired to create a piece of work together.
The narrative of his lived experience
mingled with my perspective and my words.

If you'd like to see you can find it on his blog:

http://buhmuh.blogspot.com/2011/06/poet-doesnt-invent-she-listens.html

Bookended

2011-06-18T19:58:00.001+01:00

When we were married
the day we took those vows
and then all the days after
we were all adventure
and what next
and journey
with the promise of new things
the promise of learning more
about you
about me
about us
about life
time stretched out before us with possibility

And now, I ache with the finality of death
I weep at all the things I have had to
put into boxes and close the lid on
I'm exhausted with the energy it takes
to withdraw from the fantasy of tomorrow

I feel like the memories of our togetherness
that once pledged a future to the horizon
now sit bookended
begun with a meeting and ended with a death

Mortal Coil

2011-06-14T00:19:00.006+01:00

Time layered all around me
each moment laid on top of the next
as see-through as glass

Here you are coming out of a shop
here you are asleep in our bed
and me waking, delighted to find you there
here you are cycling ahead of me
here you are entering the room bringing me breakfast -
your slender wrists exposed beyond the dressing gown
one thumb posed on top of the mug handle
here you are tucking the shoulders of my top in
here you are pen in hand
filling our calendar with wonderful and mundane things

And I feel that time is not linear
but coiled around itself
coiled around me
like a blanket
like a snake
like a labyrinth
and so you are here and here and here

How soothing this is
how much this allows me to believe you really were here
you really lived and I have not made you up
and how painful this is
for seeing through these layers is to bring you
within a hairs breadth of existence
and yet you do not exist here with me
things play out in those strands of time as they did
again and again and again and again
I cannot step in
I cannot cycle harder and catch you up

And I think of that poem about weaning my eyes from the gap in the air
and how I do not want that to happen
and how I yearn for that to happen

2011-05-29T00:01:00.000+01:00

The Unthinkable

2011-05-22T22:20:00.002+01:00

When the unthinkable first
truly lurches from Pandora's box
arms akimbo and eyes full of fire
when he has taken that long-legged stride
into reality
yours
he does not then return

the shadow of his clammy hands
reaches over artex ceilings
and threatens at any moment
to pierce your life with cold elongated fingers
and snatch something away

and you know that when this happens
you will be bereaved of another treasured belief
wrenching the frail old man from the wizard
leaving you feeling as if all the promises that have ever been made
are in pieces around your feet
and facing you again with a world you had not prepared yourself to see

Not now winter coat

2011-05-15T00:46:00.000+01:00

O not now winter coat
not now when the sun is high and the days are long
not now while my skin glows
and the inside has moved outside

I cannot bear you winter coat
the very thought of being warmer when I am THIS warm
is an anathema to me

You are no more than a husk
your purpose vacated
the life in you gone

No winter coat no
now is the time for sandals and flip flops
for tops with no sleeves
and light shower proof macs
they have patiently waited their turn
they too have been shunned in the season to which they don't belong
they too have suffered the banishment
and the loneliness
and honestly I didn't hear them complaining

Be gone with you
gather up those thick socks
and that dithering pair of gloves
and go sulk in the wardrobe

Be patient winter coat
wait your turn
bide your time
the seasons will shift
and your usefulness will return

2011-05-11T14:29:00.003+01:00

Summer storm

2011-05-09T18:10:00.002+01:00

And you know it is coming
because your mind is full of massing clouds and
your heart feels heavy and
your stomach folds in on itself

And you wait for it
breath
held
it is coming

Then
Then it breaks
and your eyes cry rain
and your heart pounds
and your stomach shouts thunder
and your mind cracks lightening

crying
pounding
shouting
cracking

And perhaps you are this way for minutes
and perhaps longer
and perhaps longer than that
consumed
drenched
deafened

And then it eases
and it softens
and maybe you glimpse a rainbow
and maybe you don't
and then
it is done

The clouds part
and the sun peaks through
and the air is sweeter
and the air is fresher

2011-04-29T20:33:00.001+01:00

pressure here like a hand

With the wind behind them

2011-04-28T15:38:00.002+01:00

We are on our quixotic quest when we pause to unfold the sail of our map. We trail blue and yellow lines with our fingers. A man stops. He says we look lost. And although we think our fingers have the truth beneath their tips he gently shows us we have gone kilometres in the wrong direction. Look there is a sign. He smiles and says children get lost like this, when they have the wind behind them on the beach. He says we have to turn back if we want to find the windmills.

Fear

2011-03-29T18:27:00.002+01:00

A drumming in my head
A vice in my stomach

Drumming so loud
I cannot hear your words of comfort
I can't hear you
I cannot hear you

A vice so tight
that I think I will never eat again
no not eating

And I am consumed
with no breath that does not feed this state
and no thought that has not sprung from its loins
I will never shake it off
I can never shake it off
how will I ever shake it off

I do not feel safe
here in my head
or here in the world

I can't hear you
I cannot hear you

With cruel and terrifying images
my imagination has taken arms against me
and pound pound pounds
the precious sanity I have left

I can't hear you
I cannot hear you

So please
reach out and touch my cheek
wrap me in blankets
and tell me that when the demons come
you will fight with me
for me
with me
but do not tell me they are not coming
because I will not believe you
I do not believe you
this is reality
and in this reality
they will come

Hours go by
maybe days
maybe hours

Then it passes

As if it was never here
as if that fear was never mine
but written down and read about

I can see the drum
and the vice
but I could not tell you
how they worked
or even what they were for

There is peace in my stomach
and clarity in my head
Unlooked for
and not fought for
the fear has simply left
a passing squall
gone

Spring Equinox

2011-03-23T12:07:00.001Z

When winter drips its darkness from the sky
and stretches out supine
in long daytime shadows

When warm sun finds faces to kiss
and trees dress bridal
dropping confetti on succulent grass

When people find themselves outside
emerging as though from a deep slumber
ready for breakfast and ball games and laughter

When the cold and the snow slip into memory
impossible to imagine now
even in the whisper of the breeze
and the clouds that cover the sun

Come, sit by me in the park
and speak to me
of life and love
then we will return home like children
freckled and full of wonder

Searching

2011-03-16T21:21:00.001Z

And once
I searched for you
here
in this house

and when I did not find you
I searched again
and when I did not find you
I searched again

panic rose
like a tide sweeping in
disbelief frothing at the surface
flotsam
jetsam
but you must be here
you must

and eventually
finally
in the end
you were

the tide swept back out to sea
revealing the bare
and beautiful beach
of love and relief

and now
now i yearn for that day
a day when you were lost
and you were found
a day when I thought you were here
and you were

and the self that knows this relief
that has felt the wet sand of that beach
on her bare feet
reaches out
and takes my hand
and says
I will search with you
he is not lost

There is a tree

2011-02-17T14:05:00.000Z

There is a tree
her trunk is narrow
and her branches wide

she reaches heavenward
in praise
and in mercy
fingers stark
against this winter sky

her leaves sloughed and scattered
playmates for the wind
she nurtures deep within
a secret well spring of life
emerging only slowly
and with time

her roots
soaked in rich and sacred soil
she is both here
and dreaming of warm summer sun

2011-02-10T00:57:00.000Z

I stepped outside
and saw that where once my words
No Regrets
stood and stared at me
was now a shear blank face
and the birds were singing like it was dawn
even though it was the middle of the night
and I thought
perhaps it is time for new words
or maybe a spell of no words

Passer-by

2011-02-08T23:47:00.001Z

passer-by
can you tell
when you look at me
can you tell

does it loom large around me
or show here on my face
or here in my eyes

can you see
all that I have come to carry
in boxes with lids
and bags with long straps

can you hear my silent scream
that catches on the wind
then fades to a dull ache

can you place a finger in the crack of my heart
and tracing its length feel an absence

and if I asked you
would you penetrate this darkness with me
sit in the confusion I feel
and wait

then maybe
help me collect up the shells of my life
and put them in jars made of glass

Passed over

2011-02-01T12:16:00.000Z

And so, the angel of death
that snatched my beloved
cruelly passed over his possessions.

They are left
flung from his fingers
in all the places he placed them.
And they taunt me with their normality.
Recalling moments of a life now not lived
and yet achingly near.

The very presence of these objects marks an absence.
Their uselessness draws itself together around the shape
of a body no longer here.
And to catch sight of them is to believe he will
simply stroll back in,
pick them up,
and we will carry on with life as it was,
as if this time of death was not an end
but a pause.

How dare you I shout at that fleeting shadow.
How dare you mock my pain.
If you must have him,
come back and take these dispossessed belongings.

And the songs

2010-11-28T16:28:00.000Z

And the songs and the melodies that sang within me,
sang quietly, barely heard.
Like they were playing in an inner chamber
with the door closed.

And so my mind felt she was standing alone
suddenly unable to speak to her neighbouring parts
but feeling like she was speaking
just that hers was the only voice.
A thin, reedy, voice that speaks to keep itself company.

Remember it is just shreds of paper

2010-11-28T16:23:00.000Z

Beforehand, standing so small in front of it,
it was a dense, thick, stone wall.
It was so tall and wide that to see above or beyond it
was near impossible.

But now it is passed, it doesn't seem this way.
The stone, now tumbled, looks more like shreds of paper,
just shreds of paper.

And I see the monster for what it truly is -
a moment in time,
easily passed through,
harmless.

Post-it note words

2010-11-19T23:51:00.000Z

So much did her words linger
it was as if she wrote everything she was saying on post-it notes
and stuck them to me.

It took me days to find them all
picking each one off and digesting them.

And when I thought I'd done,
I began finding them elsewhere:
round the house
some in the car
one or two at work.

I thought I'd never be rid of them
and then I noticed the handwriting
and saw that it was my own.
Maybe all I have to do is stop writing new ones.

Complicated Hair

2010-11-07T21:08:00.001Z

Sitting in a lecture
listening to interesting, thought provoking words
as if they were simply a delicate breeze caressing my face
I wondered and wondered
how the lady in front of me had managed to tie her hair up.
It seemed impossible to me
that she had achieved something so unfathomable
with hair.

Conveyor belt home

2010-11-02T20:40:00.002Z

Then I stand back and look at everything on the conveyor belt
and I think how familiar these foodstuffs are to me
how frequently chosen over competing provisions
how omnipresent in my cupboards they are
how ubiquitous in my life
how much these things collected together, even in this daunting place,
speak to me of home and comfort and sanctuary
and such is the power of this feeling
that I almost expect to see other parts of my life
my sofa, the book I am reading, my husband
nestled in amongst these objects
and I think about the warm hug of home
and I am grateful

Pillow face

2010-10-21T00:21:00.000+01:00

Having only recently roused his body for the day
face still stamped with the web of sleep and dreams
he address me
and although we are in this public space
I feel his recent touch with slumber makes him vulnerable, like a boy
and knowing I am not his protector
I feel uncomfortable seeing him this way

Your song

2010-10-13T00:21:00.000+01:00

I do not want to miss you
to not see you and your inner life.
I do not want to be so caught up in my own life,
in my own woe and my own narrative,
that I do not hear the story you are telling,
the beautiful song you are singing.
And I hope so loudly
that in remembering to remember,
I do not forget.

Crying

2010-10-10T19:34:00.000+01:00

Crying
like being punched in the face
and exorcising a demon
painful
and soothing

painful
and soothing

Snapped Shut

2010-09-26T12:10:00.000+01:00

er no love I can't she said
but I hadn't made a request
curiosity sewn
I plotted a life for her
with her missing teeth and
unsteady gait as pointers
I conjured an existence
that drew air in
then concertinaed together
in one forceful thrust
and snapped shut
no love I can't

Coffee

2010-09-14T00:55:00.000+01:00

She looked at me
paused
uncertain
I felt she loved it
and also felt its strangeness
and she
with the power
had to decide
if the love outweighed the strange

Then I thought she smiled
a conspirator

I imagined what she
would say to the guy
when he returned
that girl, she paid
and how he would react
maybe he'd insist she
take his money anyway

Then I raced from the shop
to be seen would be to
tip the scales in favour
of the strange
the awkward
and the uncomfortable
and such haste caused the coffee
to scold my hand
and drip knowingly down my coat

Then I reach a step
sit down
heart pumping
exhilarated

The last

2010-09-10T16:07:00.000+01:00

Then I try and remember
the last hug we had
the last mug of tea
the last meal
the last car adventure
the last time I was annoyed at you
and how I wish I had known
these were the last times
how I would have savoured them
held them in my two hands with love
and given thanks for all
the times before

I feel robbed of the opportunity
to crystalize these moments
I now wish so badly to recall

But I do remember the last time we cried together
the time I stopped trying to be
so strong for you
and showed you
how raw I felt
how much your hurting
hurt me
I cried
and you cried
and we comforted each other

'I made you cry'
you said
you thought you'd upset me
and I tried to explain
it wasn't upset
it was love
'I love you'
and I'm not sure you believed me

I do not

2010-09-01T00:24:00.000+01:00

and the words in my head
annunciated again
and again are

I do not

never more
not what
not who
not why

It is like I am practising
rehearsing words not said aloud
tracing their shape with
with a probing inner voice

I do not

and I think of the rage
the fiery tumultuous rage
I have gurgled up
poured into speech bubbles
and left steaming on the side

I think how I want this anger
and how it frightens me

Then the feeling in me rises
I want to hear myself
I want to shout with the air from my lungs
I DO NOT
then pause

and see what comes next

Ego

2010-08-23T00:18:00.000+01:00

I pick my ego up.
I dust it off.
I tell it to be less inflated
and less fragile.
I tell it we're going to be OK.
I take its hand
and with a deep breath

we move away from this place.

Work place boredom

2010-08-15T22:54:00.000+01:00

Why so bored? asks self of self

Why an aching vacuousness that
although empty
cannot be filled

vacant
shallow
hollow

in need of more dimensions
in need of colour
in need of diversity

seeking life
seeking depth
seeking meaning

vacuousness
iron clad
vacuousness

And so it grows
o how it grows
inside my chest
inside my head
like boredom bees inflating balloons
that put pressure on all around
and dare at any moment to explode

The bells

2010-08-15T22:43:00.000+01:00

The bells resounded
and with their echoes
traced a memory in my mind

the memory stirred at the tracing
and with the vibrations grew in clarity
creating for itself a sharper existence

2010-08-05T18:47:00.001+01:00

Or not to Sleep

2010-07-27T16:46:00.001+01:00

Awake
not wide awake
narrow awake

an awake whose
crack in consciousness
feeds in printer paper thoughts
that curl and twist in my mind

scrawled in spidery handwriting
across these impelling braids
are many thoughts
conversations had
witty confrontations imagined
melodies half heard
in half moments through the day
brilliant ideas which only work
in this hypnagogic state
a growing shopping list
an irritating to do list
a poem barely conceived

and then like a tongue
caught in a broken tooth
my mind fixates on the night time
creaking of my body
and lavishly diagnoses the problem
I am ill
o how I am ill

this slit of wakefulness
is too big for the carefree panoply
of dreaming to begin
and too small for me to squeeze even a head out
and read a book
or an arm to make a cup of tea

niggling
hassling
provoking
state of limbo
I twist myself up in the sheets
this way
that way
that way

then without warning or ceremony
it is the morning
and I cannot remember
when the endless state of purgatory
became the blissful land of sleep

2010-07-20T23:33:00.000+01:00

The thoughts where I line myself up
and compare myself with all the other women I know.

The thoughts where, in this line up,
I come off badly
and angry
and jealous
and fat
and and and and any sense of who I am disappears,
the beautiful, creative, vulnerable, loving
woman that I know I am is
shut out and ridiculed
what does she know anyway

and the shame wrought self that emerges
wishes to see those other women in the line
fail
grow old
get fat
get sad
lose hope
because the fragile she
that sits and plays with all those 'ands'
believes she can only find self worth
in the demise of others

and so she builds
her tower of 'ands'
knocks them down and starts again
she is alone
and she hates the world

she has moments
that crack across the sky of her malcontent
where she feels
superior and fabulous
but these flashes of ego are short lived
and ultimately only serve
to gift more 'ands' to the pile
and vain
and narcissistic
and egocentric

Child, I call to myself,
you do not have to sit there.
Release yourself from this
crushing pile of words and
let the other women go home,
they do not belong in your line.
Open the door and let your beautiful,
creative, vulnerable, loving, self return.
You are loved more than you can know.
You serve no-one sat there,
least of all yourself.

Someone else's photo

2010-07-08T23:26:00.001+01:00

Of course I've thought about it before
I've slipped coins into the slot of my mind
and watched it drop thoughts on the whereabouts of my face
this idea is not new
but seeing it, yes seeing it, that was odd
what got me thinking

I saw myself trapped in the corner
looking the other way in someone else's memory
caught, stuck, imprisoned, maybe for forever, looking the other way
such a rare moment of unlooked for feedback
here you are here

I became aware of the multifaceted back drop of my own life
the faces I have captured unintentionally
the faces that were frozen in a moment
then grew arms and legs and walked into the rest of their life
a treasure trove of humanity hanging behind the smiles of my loved ones

stirred up

2010-07-08T23:19:00.000+01:00

blow wind blow through the gaps and the passages
swirl the dust
gut the spiders webs
torment the leaves
breathe life into the rubbish
ruffle the hair do

swirl
gut
torment
breathe
ruffle

blow, unsettle, losen, release, chill, cool, caress, uplift, dance

find your way in
find your way out

seek seek seek

blow wind blow
I offer my ear
now enter my head

2010-07-01T23:45:00.001+01:00

Sat on words

2010-07-01T15:11:00.001+01:00

OK we'll just get coffee, then I'll say it
OK we'll just get through the 'hi how are yous' then I'll say it
this would be an inappropriate moment
this would tangent an interesting conversation
I'll wait for a pause
pause
no, I'm scared
waited too long
lost my nerve
I'll just sit on them
then take them home with me
like library books not returned amassing a fine

Larger self

2010-05-29T00:06:00.000+01:00

Don't know how it starts
but once am in the middle
I feel ill at ease

I feel I don't belong
and feet shackled with
chains of insecurity and lethargy
I don't know how to make this
not so

I don't know what it is
I could do that would make me
me again here with these people

I have shrunk from the edges
of the self that used to reside here
now that self
feels too big
and saggy and wrinkled
and I trip up trying to
walk in her

I think maybe I need to be with other people
I am after all learning that
context can change a man
but are there things I am
not facing and not learning
and by leaving
never will know
never will digest
never will change

Stitches

2010-05-29T00:02:00.000+01:00

Like someone has passed a blade
up behind the stitches
and in one smooth movement
slit them

and my guts drop inside me
and then spill out

the stitches
bound to me still
are useless now
a frayed monument to
something that was once
held together

2010-05-18T02:03:00.001+01:00

I awake ephemeral

2010-05-16T22:14:00.000+01:00

I wake up a single entity
all on my own
and my aura has grown to fill the room around me
the edges of it lapping the walls

and my dreams play
and dance around me
not yet disappeared

I feel alone
an aloneness that is cool
and stilling and beautiful
as if I have woken up in the
middle of a forrest
just after the rain
cooling
stilling
beautiful

maybe I am no longer human
or corporeal
but a light ephemeral creature
not human
not corporeal
ephemeral

I reach out my translucent arm
and turn on the radio

The voices clatter in and burst the spell.
My soul and body reunite.
My aura draws back to gently hug my flesh.

Escape

2010-05-13T21:31:00.000+01:00

On deciding to break free,
swigging back a a potent mix of aching boredom and fierce compulsion,
I throw open the door

and promptly run into a thick, dense, hedge.
Shit.

A way through is theoretically possible
but it's dark, and thorny, and time consuming.

So I push and I shove,
and I shove and I push.

Then, frustrated, and disappointed, and angry,
I walk back inside
and slam the door behind me.
Damn.
Damn.

2010-05-09T16:39:00.001+01:00

Jack is tired of surprising people.
Why do people wish for surprises anyway?

2010-05-09T15:55:00.002+01:00

Cold Patch

2010-05-09T15:09:00.000+01:00

O cold patch on my leg, what do you do?
Why are you cold when the rest of me is warm?
And why are you there sometimes,
vividly and vibrantly declaring your presence beneath my trouser leg,
and not at other times?

When you are there,
you exist as a circle of aquatic blue,
a cylinder of glassy ice,
a dish of cool spring water.
Quietly there, sensitive but not inrusive, discreetly teasing the brain.

Tell me, are you are a metaphor come to live on my leg
biding your time to teach me a chilling truth?
Or, are you perhaps a sneaky stowaway
migrated from elsewhere in my body?
The chilled thoughts banished from my brain
and the tepid feelings too uncomfortable for the heart?

Talk to me, talk to me, talk to me, cold patch,
I am all curiosity!

Dissonance

2010-05-02T22:54:00.000+01:00

Some part of me resonates
and thrilling with the vibration still
finds a mouth and speaks its truth.

But the rest of me sits back, arms folded,
and asks itself 'do I actually mean that?'

So later, the smaller part feels ashamed
and gives back the mouth with which it spoke
and sulkily promises never to borrow it again.

Tears

2010-05-02T22:28:00.000+01:00

The door between me and tears
is not always simply open or simply shut.
It is a throbbing membrane
and sometimes I can feel the tears swell beneath it
and it seems that the smallest pressure,the tiniest pin-prick,
will break the membrane and the tears will come
and they will not leave til the dam has emptied.

And other times,
I know the tears are there,
drops of sadness and beads of painful love,
but I know the membrane is solid and impermeable.
Its strength surprises me and as I test it
I find the courage to haul myself on top of it and stand.
Yes, there are days when the strength I find
is in the foundation of tears beneath me.

2010-04-27T14:07:00.001+01:00

Joke

2010-04-27T13:28:00.000+01:00

A day when life is a mean-spirited joke.
Its purpose, to keep you from sleep and the protection of bed and dvds.
Its punchline, unknown and no-one seems to be laughing.

And the child says rebel, rebel, rebel.
And the adult gently takes the child by the hand and leads her out to work.
The child's voice gets louder and more intense,
then quieter and sadder and lonely.
And the adult feels mean, maybe it is she that is telling the joke.
And then she vaguely remembers the punchline,
it has words in it like, responsibility, and money, and reliable.
And she thinks, no, not a funny joke, not funny at all.

Emotional Landfill

2010-04-20T17:39:00.000+01:00

Have you ever wondered what happens when - after a sudden and remarkable strength of will, or, several thwarted attempts - you are at a point to dispose of an unhealthy thought pattern or a damaging feeling?

Let me tell you.

Huge pits carved out of the earth wait hungrily for the troubled contents of barely visible lorries. As the lorries eject their volatile, spiky, load sometimes a deep rumble is heard as the thoughts and feelings are aroused from their soporific journey, and sometimes sound is too much and only the silent roar of defeat and rejection escapes.

If you were to stand at the edge of one of these pits the stench would claw itself up your nose and down to churn your stomach. And you would see, out of the corner of your eye, curious little creatures that have come to live and feed off the heaving, rotting pile of human debris. And occasionally, you would glimpse a beautiful, crystal like thought, mistakenly chucked and now doomed to live out its days in this gurgling milieu. And you will think to yourself how glad you are these pits exist. And when you leave you will quietly worry about what will happen when these pits are full. Will people actually have to learn to live with their darkest selves?

Can you walk a mile in someone else's head?

2010-04-20T16:33:00.001+01:00

Mutiny in the hierarchy of things

2010-04-17T18:38:00.001+01:00

Why is it that from time to time unimportant, small, worries suddenly leap from their place in the hierarchy of things and take up residence in the very heart of my thinking?

Why does a corroded hob, a flat tyre, chipped paint, a possible wart, a joke gone awry, possible hair loss, weight gain, stained teeth, picture hooks ... become the focus of every thought and every action? Why do these minute laughable dilemas demand, demand, demand attention and churn up the stomach, and force out the more valuable, more pressing, more interesting, more worthy? I cannot function properly.

One part of me seems to enjoy this state of being and with a cackle wields a spoon of immense proportion that stirs and stirs these trivial things round, and round, and round, and round, and round, and round, until the rest of me finally gangs up, dizzy with the anxiety, and votes to oust the little shit (and its stupid spoon).

The hierarchy is temporarily restored.

2010-04-16T15:32:00.001+01:00

2010-04-13T21:24:00.001+01:00

A Pale Misunderstanding

2010-04-13T20:53:00.000+01:00

How sweet it is when a friend surprises you.
When what you thought they were to you stands, brushes off the cake crumbs, and makes an exit. What remains seems fresher, clearer, and more vibrant.
Makes you wonder whether something in you stood and left too.
Perhaps those two pale versions of humanity are moping together somewhere moaning about how misunderstood they are.

Prague

2010-04-13T20:50:00.000+01:00

Reached Mucha Museum – but, of course, nearly everything a print. Why did this not occur to me before?

The famous ubiquitous white rabbit of an image that had lured me to this whole country was both there and not there. The difference between this print and all the others I have seen - including the one salvaged from time and the eaves of an attic – very slight.

What difference does it make to be here?

And at the Kafka museum, all his letters were produced to look authentic but in reality a copy, a copy of the real thing, a copy of the real thing in England. Extra scorn as they had tried to make me believe it was the real thing. D asks, in defence, how do you do an exhibition for the written word anyway? Tis so much easier with art.

What difference does it make to be here?

There’s something about being in the presence of the objects that the person you seek has touched. A voodoo, a magic. Like something of their aura lingers and greets you on arrival. A known fact of feeling that makes presents possessive, makes dead people’s possessions sad and impossible to give away, makes relics out of ordinary, even fake, objects in religion, makes millions of pounds at Christie's.

The people I sought were not in the rooms where I was told they would be. No aura to greet me. No voodoo. No magic.

Spring Forward

2010-03-28T19:39:00.000+01:00

Changing time for a whole nation seems immense, seems ridiculous, seems powerful. And the longer evenings appear magical and sudden.

Yet, it is an illusion only.
The difference between yesterday and today so slight.

A change that boasts man's control over nature whilst reminding him that so much of what he perceives is merely perception.

That Other Place

2010-03-22T14:15:00.001Z

I don't know how to explain to you where I have been when I return.

It's not that you wouldn't understand
or that I don't want you to know
I just simply do not have the words

That other place has its own language and symbols
its own landscape to navigate using tools not made in this place
the people reveal themselves raw and unvarnished and beautiful

I feel more aware there
more acute
I can tap my own power
I can reach with yearning hands into the depth of my being
and howl into the cavern of my soul
then hear it echo to the surface
there I can grieve

I feel like Lucy
returning to you only moments after I left
yet having seen another land and had tea with a fawn

And I love you so I want to try to share

Lurker

2010-03-09T23:23:00.000Z

He was stood
lurking
waiting
watching
and at first I thought
shit I'm going to have to deal with this
I put him in a box with all the other people I've had to deal with
who have stood, just there,
lurking
waiting
watching
(sleeping, pissing, shitting, swearing, smoking)

Then
I caught I glimpse of what seemed to be prayer beads in his hands
that changed things
that made his lurking a bid for solitude
his waiting a peace
and his watching a prayer
and in that moment time was slightly lighter
my mind
took a deep breath
expanded
and exhaled.
And I called that moment
hallowed.

But then he was there again
and again and again
and sometimes he comes inside and looks suspicious in a pew
and the mystique evapourates
and he's back in the box with the others
fighting to get out
but I have stifled his ability to inspire
or challenge
or engage me, so
he can't.
And I remember with nostalgia the moment we had
where my mind was supple
and he was peacefully praying in a hallowed solitude.

cairn

2010-02-23T22:01:00.000Z

cairn –
a pile of stones built as
a memorial or landmark
on a mountain side
on a journey

cairn
stones
landmark
mountainside
journey

as you arrive at this cairn
you feel you are passing alone
but see
there are stones already waiting
others have passed this way too
you are not alone
know that you are not alone

you too have a stone you can lay
you have brought it up from the bottom of the mountain
you too can add to this pile
this landmark

what thoughts, feelings, and desires
do you want to gather
and place as a landmark on the path?

i invite you to
pause
see those who have gone before
feel those around you now
then
lay your stone
to mark this moment
here
and now

then carry on the journey

pause
see
feel
mark
carry on

breathe

2010-02-23T21:46:00.000Z

breathe

inhale

exhale

breathe

find

your

breath

cool

cleansing

breath

nose

mouth

breath

warm

welcoming

breath

hear

your

breath

breathe

rise

fall

breathe

breath

healing

restoring

breath

here

now

breath

life-giving

vital

breath

breathe

inwards

downwards

breathe

breath

mine

yours

breath

nourishing

yearning

breath

soul-catching

spirit-guided

breath

breathe

deeper

further

breathe

breath

slow

still

you

god

peace

On Snow

2010-02-05T12:35:00.000Z

Makes all the normal things feel
novel,
extraordinary.
Makes my normal routine
an achievement!
Makes me feel like I'm living in sepia.
Strands places their true distance apart.
Makes high places high, rural places rural,
and far away places far away.
Makes a joke of wheely suitcases.
Makes coming in from the outside an epic return from Narnia,
where it's always winter and never Christmas.
Delightfully makes work, and school, and outside life, optional.
Makes winter - winter
and the prospect of other seasons - exciting.

There was a man

2009-09-05T18:20:00.000+01:00

There was a man on the train, a passenger only, and yet, as he moved up the carriage, he seemed to possess the space around him, as if he lived on the train, and he was simply walking through his home.

Made me think some people saunter through life like this.
Made me wonder how they can feel so comfortable in so many environments.
Made me speculate whether it is a conscious power game, or, whether they do feel that much in command of the space they happen to inhabit.

This man made me feel like a squatter in his habitation, an interloper on his sofa, eating his food and praying not to be spotted.

Glass Fortress

2009-09-05T17:58:00.000+01:00

I know what they call you.
I guess what I see is as they say, and yet, I cannot believe that is all you are.

You stare into the middle distance as if there lies a stage on which silent actors perform a slow, lullaby, play, a play that you have seen many times before, a play that has no ending, it doesn't end.

Mostly you sit as if you wish to hide, so that no-one can see you, even though, if they choose to, everyone can see you. This is awkward, but once you are watching the play, this seems not to bother you.

You are alone. Always alone. And you draw silence round your shoulders like a blanket. But you must talk, you must interact, for it is you that buys the drinks, you that pays.

I feel sorrow and sadness when I see you, pity and compassion co-mingled. Yet, as the empty glasses become your see-through fortress, I do not come near you. I cannot bring myself to take away your fortress. Part of me fears you and part of me questions that fear - so I busy myself, other jobs, other glasses, other people.

I want to know why you are here and why sorrow looms over you. I wonder who you have been in the past. I wonder who you know. I wonder where you are just before you are here and where you go when you leave. But all from a distance, from afar.

I know what they call you, but I can't let that be all you are.
And I wonder why I can't and if that says more about me than you.

The Cathedral belongs to you

2009-08-31T19:50:00.000+01:00

What about God, he says
and I say, God goes home at five too,
because I feel it is what he deserves as an answer.

How does shutting a building at five have anything to do with God?
How ridiculous.

Chances are he doesn't believe in 'God' and thus was simply angry that I was stopping him doing something he had decided he was doing. And if he does believe - what sort of belief limits a supreme being to a hotch-potch building in an industrial city in South Yorkshire!

What is it with people and church buildings? What makes them take possession of them regardless of belief or geography or affiliation? I pay my taxes for this, one woman even said once.

People don't feel they own mosques or temples, they don't expect to be allowed in the library or a museum or even a pub at all hours of the day or whenever the urge strikes them. They accept that - whilst they might have a desire to be in a dry, beautiful to some, interesting to others, public space that they don't have to pay for - they close and the staff go home.

What is it about 'God', a Christian 'God' at that, that means a building, in the city centre, has to, must, stay open - all the time? What do people expect to find here...

Football

2009-08-19T00:03:00.000+01:00

I find it amazing how quickly I was bought.

I sat watching a game that means nothing to me, surrounded by bawdy strangers who support a team, that despite my extreme geographical closeness, also mean nothing to me. Whose name was a mystery to me until I saw the huge swords painted on the side of the stadium, indeed, whose stadium I mistook for a warehouse on first trying to navigate by it.

And yet, the fortune line of my feelings during this game took me from mild amusement, at the start, to actual physical grief as they began to lose. I even found myself admiring their passing skills, I even felt the need to say this, aloud.

The next day, I was sort of back to my habitual indifference.
Why is that?
What waft of magical air passed over my brain and emotions as I watched?

(Also, despite the presence of significantly more men than women, I still had to queue for the ladies. Unimpressed.)

Prayer Husks

2009-08-18T23:02:00.000+01:00

Collecting up the husks of prayers
I feel like an ephemeral pall bearer
or maybe a spiritual grave digger.

With the prayer
burnt, ascended,
I am left with only shells
and when they knock together they make hollow, empty, sounds.

I wonder again at the words said over these objects,
the emotion they have been imbued with,
the private ritual they have been involved in,
the symbol they carry,
the importance they have,
the difference they make.

I want to light another candle she says,
and although the old man wears her child sized sunglasses on his balding head
and her adorned bag over his shoulder,
he responds in a serious tone,
no, not another,
it is only for special times.