Creativity emanating from the MotherVerse.
My Creative Heart
Playing with painted paper scraps in today’s Creative Time.
Between the Floorboards
Broken parts of things lost
Between the floorboards of my mind
The playground sing-song,
Holiday cottage of yesteryear,
That checked shirt I wore,
Purple and black,
When I was eight
But wait
I’m not mourning girlhood
I’m dreaming myself into maturity
Growing into the one
I’m scared to become
Yet free now
To walk this path
To the gate
Of my medicine garden
Asking noone’s permission
To turn the key
But my own
Broken
Broken,
in places I cannot see.
Lost,
in spaces I cannot feel.
Where the river carves a gash
Through the road
So that none shall pass,
There is nothing to do
But sit on my arse.
I slip into those quiet places
Where broken parts meld and mend
And in lost-ness, I find a friend.
The Game
The frustrated tiger paces the river bank. His padded feet imprint the sandy earth. A walking stick, polished and lifeless has been left where the water meets the land and two leather sandals, placed side by side, point to footprints that spring off into the stream.
The black water mirrors the foliage that fringes the passage it carves through the jungle. Somewhere in its depths, a naked body slides like a fish, feeling the smooth play of wet along its limbs.
She lies amongst reeds, waiting for the sunset and shadow body of the tiger to disappear back into the forest from whence it came.
With a final sniff of the warm air and a humming growl, the tiger walks back between trees in search of another game.
The swimmer emerges, hair, wet and long, hanging in strands to her shoulders. The droplets drip off her as she salutes the sun, each bead magnifying the sunlight on to the surface of her skin.
The cool, velvet silt of the river floor squeezes between her toes.
She sits on a sun-warmed rock and waits until the ripples still and the river becomes a flawless mirror once again.
roshnii 