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poetry pondering the curious things that arrive
with morning coffees, wide skies and whispering ancestors

I am missing

 

'I am missing', said the Rabbit

'You are here', said the confused Badger

The Rabbit began to search for I

The Badger scratched its head

Underneath its pillow - 'No'

At the point of the horizon - 'No'

Inside, the inside of stuff - 'No'

3 days the Rabbit searched

3 days the Forest, the Rain and the Wind observed - amused by such a search

'It seems I have left', declared the Rabbit after 3 days

'Who are You?', asked the Snail

'A Rabbit who has lost its I'

The Snail pondered for a while

The Squirrel wondered if it too had lost its I

The Wind smiled and blew through the Trees

names

 

They gave ‘me’ a name

A wondrous box, silk… ribbons..glitter

One day it didn’t fit....The name

Or the kindly crafted box

I said

'Shall I leave?'

'The Growl 

waits out there'

                              They said

I wondered

Pushed Space

Sat with Her

The One With The Drum

'Dum da dum da dum',

and We Danced to the Song

in the velvety darkness of a Heart

‘We are forged from the Sky

and each moment brings a different name, 

Nur ala Nur ala Nur….’

holiday

sometimes I miss the woman I used to be

fantastically naive

agreeably prisoned 

disasters left un-queried

trusting of the long time ago’s

I wish I could visit

for a day or 2

that woman

that place in time

makings drums on a Saturday

 

She hears 

Stretched skin

ribbon in and out

chocolate

and laughter 

worries

and jealousy 

and love.

The Water gathers.

The Waiting arrives.

Thirsty,

the Drum 

listens.

She will play the sound of Living

trying

chocolate on her tongue

she's trying to feel better

this place is heavier

than she anticipated

 

colours on her skin

she's trying to look better

living deep 

behind clocks and things

 

smile lines curving

she's trying to move better

looking through 

this world to reach

'make my imitation real'* - said a man she had never met

fidgeting with astrolabes

fumbling through traffic lights

she's trying...

suspicious

 

Hello Moon.

I am suspicious of you.

A light bulb in the night sky.

I read somewhere,

that You arrived.

I arrived too.

Perhaps we are the same.

We are after all,

both in love with the Sun.

the glorious funeral

Heavy, a weight on her cheeks,

from a long time ago

with the breaking of Worlds.

 

She’s walking in the labyrinth of a Rose,

and marvelling at the designs of Water,

a home fit for the King of Kings.

 

Intricate as the lace of Her home, a Spider

   sits in the corner of this realm

pondering the Wisdom of Love.

 

Giants,  and their invisible footprints,

walk with Angels on concrete highways

wondering,'when will we be seen?'

 

Inside a heart, the Beginning mocks an End, 

as the sum of something, explodes into a

million possibilities.

Boxes, 

Lines, 

and Walls drawn by grey beards

stand ready for cremation.

Their hearts soften at the sound of clapping

from Butterfly wings...

drinking strawberry milkshake on street corners

memories weaved in warm blankets 

   heavy, to hold places where dreams are made

she stumbles onto the field 

  the wind swirls the dust of bones 

    she covers her mouth

       closed eyes

swords in carcasses, shields rusting 

   the taste of coriander, plastic sweets and samosas

 

she drags her thoughts to the lands where

    Candy floss is a king and Sunshine comes for tea

        hooking herself into cracks, clutching the air

. . . 

creaking, and desperate to be oiled

     Imitation towers over her pink 

         laughing,

              bleeding into the gentle wind

back she goes, 

   walking in old shoes, 

  mismatched fabric - 

     poking the ground with her wand…

 

Query is wandering, 

   plaguing Curiosity with Wonder

and the 'it' seep's like an old teabag

    inking her world with the smell of pavements

       tennis balls on the roof

           dried blood from scraped knees

                   fences from pulled hair yanked in backstreet quarrels

and running

    in white sandals

        running to where the breath greats death

Quite Sentences flutter

      knowing their dragon wings

hooded Red Lines

          given life on street corners

here, there, now and tomorrow's

all because 

    because of a rhythm 

heard from a place

where anchors are thrown from vessels

    just above terracotta chimney pots...

too late

in the quite

sits a something 

too great to approach

too great to draw near.

in this place, loud noises 

makes a world kind and a heart thats blind.

dancing circles

with netflix, rum and prayer,

the suit stalks its prey the girl cautiously eats.

a tender cry

rolling towards

a cracked howl,

too neat

to be ugly

she swallows.

one day...it arrives at her doorstep

...so she builds...

with

rhythmic drums

she is ready for war.

beauty waxed and axed

bang bang  - beats the drum-

drown this sound

drown this sound

drown the distant hum

labbayka, labbayka….

By the River,

under a Great Tree,

from a window looking across a foggy street.

Anchored sometimes

with that piano song playing on repeat….

she waits.

Curled up,

held,

with an orchestra of Colour,

...ingredients added to

feel wholesome.

The cold whip of misery,

brings a change of direction

and those coffee stained deaths in boardroom meetings….

...Created to make

it

less linear.

No!

Summons a figure

wandering

in this quest.

And finally at an edge,

Silence makes His 

grand entrance—

...And Quiet is crowned.

Until …

the shriek of MURDER...

folds a scaffolding 

holding an idea,

...bringing

the curse of movement.

And so it begins 

again.

Inside the golden prism of Sound.

Caught for days in the breath

of a thousand Stars.

At a bus stop, swept in a love story with Rain…

Here I am…