Words like gifts

July 23rd, 2017

Forest

words like gifts,
lead between trees,
where paths don’t flow;
touching the tip
of unknown intent

Rabbit Hole of Desire

March 24th, 2017

His hair coarse and dark, lifting from his scalp in surprised waves. Can I run my fingers through and forget about you? Turn my face to the new, unstuck with glue, hardened by days of neglect and contempt.

A snail hides in its shell, its too soon to tell whether the spell has been broken – cracked into shards that spread for yards. Kneeling on the grass is a girl full of worry.

She gathers her thoughts like wild flowers in a colourful posy. A rabbit hole of desire fills with soil and roots. There are his boots, empty by the door frame, telling of months long gone. A dickie bird at the window sill trills its favourite song that always lasts too long.

Row your boat down the stream, catch a rainbow by its dream, see the waterfall, hear the scream and drop down its tide to the lagoon below.

It waits like an open mouth to catch you between its teeth: rocky crags that jut out like aggressive canines – fangs of a vampire thirsty for blood, rich red like wine.

The Return of Red

October 28th, 2012

Red moon at night, photographers delight

Shedding it’s slippery red silk,
It came.
It came after a dream
That opened the gates
Of my body
Through my mind.

Drawing me into connection
Wth my tides.
The moon inside me
Awakening to a new call.

I called and it came.
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Sisters of Mine

October 26th, 2012

.....sisters walking in unity

Sisters of mine,
My support beams
Of light.
You feed and nourish me,
Bring me to wholeness;
To live in my fullness.

In your hands
I blossom in self-love;
Throw myself into the winds
Of this journey’s song

Near and far,
I feel your presence.
The unspoken connection,
An essential, indispensable life force.
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Moon Mind

August 25th, 2010

Orion's Umbra

Moon Mind
Stars look like birds

Feet tread softly
Walking the night path

Whisper of wind urges me on.

Fat Drops

June 24th, 2010

Raindropped

The muggy afternoon invites the evening in
For its release

Heavy, ripe clouds long to burst
And spill their pearly fruits
On the city.

Thirsty soil and twitching grass.
Eyes search the darkening sky,
Wondering when the showers will come.

Until the low rumble,
The spitting and spotting
Of fat drops on the pavements

Becomes a gushing monsoon
That washes the sweaty heat
Into the gutters

Leaving the smell of hot wet roads
And damp leaves dripping.

Pebble

November 14th, 2009

Carreg / Stone by geraintwn

Pebble on my path, you trap my toe and make me question which way I am going.

Pebble, you set me free – my fingers curl around your coolness, which sips the warmth of the sun.
When I hold you, I am taken into a quiet place beyond myself.
In and around myself, an openness that is always there but hidden by the noise.

Pebble, take me to the seashore: the edge of the land, where the water licks the sand.
Your home, you are set there in stone but move in strong tides, rattling over your brothers and sisters.

Pebble, I keep you on my desk where you remind me of what it is to be quiet and alone, without questions or solutions.

I write because…

October 9th, 2009

How well I could write if I were not here by Esther G on Flickr

I write because when I write blood runs on to the page and forms rivulets that merge into an ocean. A sea – a jumble of words with all their twists, turns, curves and corners.

Words that sit together comfortably like old grandmothers. Words that curl around each other, scaly like lizards’ tails. Words that talk, words that sing. Threads like guitar strings, each a unique note that resonates on the page.

I write because I need to, because my heart beats louder when I think about it.
I write because writing is my romance, the love affair I have been engaged in since childhood.
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Chasing a Canal

October 4th, 2009

C&O Canal by Sandcastlematt on Flickr

Prologue:
As I walked up Gray’s Inn Road, the rain came down in thick streams. The dampness working its way through the inadequate jacket that I had borrowed from my Mum’s coat rack.

I heard a slap and looked down to find the box of overpriced, organic salad that I had bought at the train station had fallen through the bottom of the paper bag, its contents of grated beetroot and carrot spilling on the paving stones.

I was late. I was hungry. The baby strapped to my chest had raindrops running down his cheeks. And, I was on my way to have root canal surgery for the second time in a week.

———————

Heavy swing of doors
Shoes squeak on lino
Low buzz of voices
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Following the Golden Thread

September 23rd, 2009

Pool Reflections by Will Montague

Swans glide, wings beat deep and wide – carving their migratory path through the south sky. Sparrows dive in the wind’s slipstream. Beaks pierce the clouds like the skin of a dream.
Soap bubble floats up high. Round window of rainbow light.

Tree branches finger the sun. At their feet, a thinker bends his mind in on itself until it finds the Oneness. His toes in the grass, clutching the dew. His eyes turn inwards and follow the ghost’s footsteps into the dark cleft of the tree trunk.

His heart beats with no surrender. His heart was once tender but his eyes are blank as a dartboard bullseye. A melody finds its way to his pursed lips and, without a kiss, he begins to whistle. Soft was the song, with notes sweet and long like drops of honey.

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