I
love to walk,
to feel the breeze-breath caress and bless my skin,
and the sunshine warm on my face.
I love to walk,
to hear the riots of sparrows
in the hedgerows near the hospital.
I love to walk,
to see the magnolia buds pushing through,
to see the birds flit from tree to tree,
and the squirrel run along the wall.
I love to walk,
down the Avenues,
to see the grand tall houses and their front gardens,
each unique and beautiful in their own way,
and the spring flowers in the grass lining the pavement.
I love to walk,
to see the people I pass.
Many look drowned and haunted,
and on a day when I have been quiet,
I remember to will them love and healing.
I love to walk,
to school with my boy as he talks, talks, talks,
his words dancing and bouncing around the cars.
I love to walk,
to feel my body do what it’s made to do:
my breadth quicken, the heat rising, muscles stretching,
as I rush to school for pick up.
I love to walk,
to feel the breeze-breath caress and bless my skin,
and the sunshine warm on my face.
Friday, 6 March 2020
Tuesday, 3 March 2020
Instead
Today
is the day I’m not going to do the things that need doing:
the dirty dishes piling up in the sink,
the laundry that needs putting in the dryer,
the phone calls to arrange the dentist,
to cancel the swimming lesson.
Instead I will buy the gold summer sandals I don’t really need,
the pretty flower pot and the garden plant
that will yield pink flowers in the spring.
Instead I will sit in the hushed bookshop café
that breathes knowledge and creativity,
and have a latte and croissant.
Instead I will walk the long way home
by the industrial river,
and gaze at the water and the sky
blessing the warehouses and factories.
Instead I will sit here for at least two hours,
enter in silence, perhaps find peace and simplicity,
maybe write,
and feel the sun coming through the window.
Today is the day I’m not going to do the things that need doing.
the dirty dishes piling up in the sink,
the laundry that needs putting in the dryer,
the phone calls to arrange the dentist,
to cancel the swimming lesson.
Instead I will buy the gold summer sandals I don’t really need,
the pretty flower pot and the garden plant
that will yield pink flowers in the spring.
Instead I will sit in the hushed bookshop café
that breathes knowledge and creativity,
and have a latte and croissant.
Instead I will walk the long way home
by the industrial river,
and gaze at the water and the sky
blessing the warehouses and factories.
Instead I will sit here for at least two hours,
enter in silence, perhaps find peace and simplicity,
maybe write,
and feel the sun coming through the window.
Today is the day I’m not going to do the things that need doing.
Sunday, 1 March 2020
Bright Star
My boy isn’t made for these regimented straight lines,
grey conformity,
still unquestioning,
expected achievements and the world’s targets.
He’s made for buzzing and spinning,
fizzing thoughts, galloping stories.
The colours he loves are purple and rainbows and gold.
And he pushes, flying free,grey conformity,
still unquestioning,
expected achievements and the world’s targets.
He’s made for buzzing and spinning,
fizzing thoughts, galloping stories.
The colours he loves are purple and rainbows and gold.
burning,
a solitary bright star.
Moony
It is you, our boy, who told us the secret about the moon.
How he loves to play hide and seek with us,
because he loves us.
One early morning he is proudly bright and gleaming
over the frosted playground and the bare trees.
Another day he lets his sister, the sun, show the glory,
and he is pale and shy in the blue sky.
But you notice him,
and greet him in delight,
you friend “Moony!”
Other days we can’t see him at all,
or we catch and glimpse him, and he disappears,
but we know that he is just playing hide and seek,
because he loves us.
Thank you, my beautiful boy,
for showing me one of the many things that are given to us,
that calls out to us,
that embody the forever-loving, forever-changing, always-here-with-us
presence.
How he loves to play hide and seek with us,
because he loves us.
One early morning he is proudly bright and gleaming
over the frosted playground and the bare trees.
Another day he lets his sister, the sun, show the glory,
and he is pale and shy in the blue sky.
But you notice him,
and greet him in delight,
you friend “Moony!”
Other days we can’t see him at all,
or we catch and glimpse him, and he disappears,
but we know that he is just playing hide and seek,
because he loves us.
Thank you, my beautiful boy,
for showing me one of the many things that are given to us,
that calls out to us,
that embody the forever-loving, forever-changing, always-here-with-us
presence.
Still Winter
It is still winter,
the trees are stripped bare.
I wanted them to call me,
to shed the things I don’t need,
to shed the withered practice,
that stifles and eats the things
that are being born in secret hiding.
I am waiting in darkness, barrenness,
for warmth, green, bursting new life,
to come up rejoicing.
I want to be born anew!
Immersed by disciples
dunking me in the cool cleansing river.
I want the green shoots to spring,
pushing to the light,
tumbling, long, flowing,
like the furry ever-growing plant in my bathroom.
But it is still winter.
The grey clouds hang oppressive overhead,
and I am still shaking off my autumn withered leaves.
the trees are stripped bare.
I wanted them to call me,
to shed the things I don’t need,
to shed the withered practice,
that stifles and eats the things
that are being born in secret hiding.
I am waiting in darkness, barrenness,
for warmth, green, bursting new life,
to come up rejoicing.
I want to be born anew!
Immersed by disciples
dunking me in the cool cleansing river.
I want the green shoots to spring,
pushing to the light,
tumbling, long, flowing,
like the furry ever-growing plant in my bathroom.
But it is still winter.
The grey clouds hang oppressive overhead,
and I am still shaking off my autumn withered leaves.
The Calling I was Born With
I
was born with the call of the candle
in the corner of my room.
The call of the deepest waters,
green beauty in mystery shadows.
Or the roots sinking into the real earth.
I was born with the pulling of light and deep darkness,
that both have their place and wholeness.
I was born with the pulling of sky God, of earth God,
of wide outpouring embrace,
ever-loving.
in the corner of my room.
The call of the deepest waters,
green beauty in mystery shadows.
Or the roots sinking into the real earth.
I was born with the pulling of light and deep darkness,
that both have their place and wholeness.
I was born with the pulling of sky God, of earth God,
of wide outpouring embrace,
ever-loving.
Our House
Our
house breathes deep over us,
a cradling sanctuary.
It holds many stories,
perhaps pain, anger, and hurt.
But for us it envelops us with its branches;
they are gnarled, kindly,
strong, wise.
It has brought us to itself gently
and we breathe in its safety.
a cradling sanctuary.
It holds many stories,
perhaps pain, anger, and hurt.
But for us it envelops us with its branches;
they are gnarled, kindly,
strong, wise.
It has brought us to itself gently
and we breathe in its safety.
Christmas 2019
It’s
Christmas
and the world and hearts turn inwards,
contracting into its own prisons,
screaming at the others outside.
Men rule boastful, puff chested, gloating,
while inside in darkness,
their child curls with pain.
You came too, in desperate times,
while men ruled screaming.
You came to a family in conflict, unsure,
who had to leap, part doubting,
to faith, to trust, to love.
In our small house our broken bits
crash and clash.
We deflate sadly,
and reach out to heal and love again.
But this is what you came for,
for this raging injustice,
for our dark pain.
You came to shine a light, to stir hope high,
to love outpouringly, endlessly,
to show that we can shine
through this brokenness too.
and the world and hearts turn inwards,
contracting into its own prisons,
screaming at the others outside.
Men rule boastful, puff chested, gloating,
while inside in darkness,
their child curls with pain.
You came too, in desperate times,
while men ruled screaming.
You came to a family in conflict, unsure,
who had to leap, part doubting,
to faith, to trust, to love.
In our small house our broken bits
crash and clash.
We deflate sadly,
and reach out to heal and love again.
But this is what you came for,
for this raging injustice,
for our dark pain.
You came to shine a light, to stir hope high,
to love outpouringly, endlessly,
to show that we can shine
through this brokenness too.
Expectancy
I walk home from the school run in my new DMs,
breaking them in, my feet are protesting and wincing.
They will become comfort and home,
like my old friends in my forgotten self-room.
My soul winces and struggles
to feed itself only the life-giving, growing fruits.
But I know if I break it in, I’ll come home,
and the light will grow, guiding.
The cars beep at the green light
to tell the one at the front to go.
The time to go is now, to move into the new soul life.
The lit windows in the hospital
speak of the interior castle,
my soul time will shine a light on the forgotten darkened rooms.
Perhaps Sue Monk Kidd is right,
God’s message is in everything,
if we search expectantly.
breaking them in, my feet are protesting and wincing.
They will become comfort and home,
like my old friends in my forgotten self-room.
My soul winces and struggles
to feed itself only the life-giving, growing fruits.
But I know if I break it in, I’ll come home,
and the light will grow, guiding.
The cars beep at the green light
to tell the one at the front to go.
The time to go is now, to move into the new soul life.
The lit windows in the hospital
speak of the interior castle,
my soul time will shine a light on the forgotten darkened rooms.
Perhaps Sue Monk Kidd is right,
God’s message is in everything,
if we search expectantly.
In Celebration of Community
I came to community with a shining, whole pedestal.
The vines enveloped it, tangled and messy.
Old wounds were ripped open
as the mirror to the selves I built
glared ugly, cringing.
You grabbing at me, I could almost hear you in your screaming:
“I don’t like YOU.
You can’t charm me,
and that is the truth”.
My lesser, squashed shadows wept.
But in some mysterious God-given,
God-present moment of hurt and pain
came your embrace.
An absolution, a struggling transformation.
You saw through my perfect shining mirror
and pulled my tangled shadows a little into the light,
pulled my shining pedestal a little into the shadows.
The vines enveloped it, tangled and messy.
Old wounds were ripped open
as the mirror to the selves I built
glared ugly, cringing.
You grabbing at me, I could almost hear you in your screaming:
“I don’t like YOU.
You can’t charm me,
and that is the truth”.
My lesser, squashed shadows wept.
But in some mysterious God-given,
God-present moment of hurt and pain
came your embrace.
An absolution, a struggling transformation.
You saw through my perfect shining mirror
and pulled my tangled shadows a little into the light,
pulled my shining pedestal a little into the shadows.
Calling
Is
there a flickering light within each of us?
transcendent, sacramental.
Our gifts whole, untainted,
a truth fighting to be fulfilled.
It can get buried in mirrors,
distorted, engorged,
pressed down in dark, hard rubble,
it hurts.
But does it burn there gently all the same?
Is there a path to tread,
a calling unique to be heard,
a persistent voice that niggles
when the distractions are laid down?
The flowers embody who they are,
they do what they must do,
they take their place in the beautiful song,
their role that can’t be done by anyone else.
Can we?
transcendent, sacramental.
Our gifts whole, untainted,
a truth fighting to be fulfilled.
It can get buried in mirrors,
distorted, engorged,
pressed down in dark, hard rubble,
it hurts.
But does it burn there gently all the same?
Is there a path to tread,
a calling unique to be heard,
a persistent voice that niggles
when the distractions are laid down?
The flowers embody who they are,
they do what they must do,
they take their place in the beautiful song,
their role that can’t be done by anyone else.
Can we?
The Ground We Walk On
The
ground we walk on daily glows deep
with the bones and dust of our ancestors.
Working, breathing, loving,
toiling, struggling, grieving, laughing,
in this particular place.
You pulled us inexplicably, mysteriously here,
saying this place is where you must be.
To stretch our roots,
to build and renew life here.
Here, in our oldest of places,
the place of their bones and our bones.
The doors have flown open for us.
God shouts yes, yes, yes to us.
This path, this shining path, aligns and is yours.
Their spirits soar and permeate everlasting.
with the bones and dust of our ancestors.
Working, breathing, loving,
toiling, struggling, grieving, laughing,
in this particular place.
You pulled us inexplicably, mysteriously here,
saying this place is where you must be.
To stretch our roots,
to build and renew life here.
Here, in our oldest of places,
the place of their bones and our bones.
The doors have flown open for us.
God shouts yes, yes, yes to us.
This path, this shining path, aligns and is yours.
Their spirits soar and permeate everlasting.
On My Bed at Night
In
silence, on my bed at night
the intimate breadth through my nose
keeps me company in peace.
Outside the machines are
rushing, spurting their filth.
Agitated voices soar
in a cracking storm, squashed underneath and bursting.
Footsteps, a door opening and closing.
A life is lived,
a soul, a jewel, moves and is loved.
All this in silence, on my bed at night.
the intimate breadth through my nose
keeps me company in peace.
Outside the machines are
rushing, spurting their filth.
Agitated voices soar
in a cracking storm, squashed underneath and bursting.
Footsteps, a door opening and closing.
A life is lived,
a soul, a jewel, moves and is loved.
All this in silence, on my bed at night.
Frost
The world is covered in cold sparky white,
the fog bringing mystery to everything.
The spider webs, defined by frost,
are abandoned.
You say the spiders have dug into the earth beneath
to be warm and safe,
peeking out to check if their webs
can be delicate and subtle again.
Sheets of ice cover the park pond.
We laugh lovingly at ducks walking on it
leaving their trail, their mark.
They are drawn to the water, the broken part,
the depths beneath.
What for? For food, sustenance, life?
Walking to and from school,
washing up,
hanging laundry,
getting up,
having a shower,
getting you ready,
cooking food,
the mundane day to day,
repeating.
My mind freezes,
things to do,
surface thoughts,
scroll down.
Underneath flutters my soul, pulling from the depths.
The laundry calls to me to be seen anew,
to be seen as precious and beautiful.
The daffodils on my table promise life
bursting through to the open.
The snowdrops in the park say life
is always there, renewing.
the fog bringing mystery to everything.
The spider webs, defined by frost,
are abandoned.
You say the spiders have dug into the earth beneath
to be warm and safe,
peeking out to check if their webs
can be delicate and subtle again.
Sheets of ice cover the park pond.
We laugh lovingly at ducks walking on it
leaving their trail, their mark.
They are drawn to the water, the broken part,
the depths beneath.
What for? For food, sustenance, life?
Walking to and from school,
washing up,
hanging laundry,
getting up,
having a shower,
getting you ready,
cooking food,
the mundane day to day,
repeating.
My mind freezes,
things to do,
surface thoughts,
scroll down.
Underneath flutters my soul, pulling from the depths.
The laundry calls to me to be seen anew,
to be seen as precious and beautiful.
The daffodils on my table promise life
bursting through to the open.
The snowdrops in the park say life
is always there, renewing.
Sacred Ground
There are times when the breeze rushes into the cracks
and the divine pulses beside me, rejoicing.
When I know I am standing on my unique holy ground
the path shining clear ahead of me.
I was on a retreat, receding into the past now
but it seeped into my blood and bones.
The large golden tree, solid and breathing
and time and death slipped, a soft cloth falling.
Today I am in this colourful tent of creation.
My fizzing boy is flying, free outside,
being embraced by his own,
and I hear the words I need to hear.
The divine shines warm around me,
and there is no doubting the truth or realness of it,
the enveloping, dancing miracle of it.
and the divine pulses beside me, rejoicing.
When I know I am standing on my unique holy ground
the path shining clear ahead of me.
I was on a retreat, receding into the past now
but it seeped into my blood and bones.
The large golden tree, solid and breathing
and time and death slipped, a soft cloth falling.
Today I am in this colourful tent of creation.
My fizzing boy is flying, free outside,
being embraced by his own,
and I hear the words I need to hear.
The divine shines warm around me,
and there is no doubting the truth or realness of it,
the enveloping, dancing miracle of it.
Beautiful Pattern
Everything
is a beautiful pattern.
The singular blue sky gazing down,
the birds repeating song.
The leaves:
large, green bright;
thin, spiky, stretching;
their dappled sun and shadow stroking the path as I walk.
Everything is a beautiful pattern.
Those human made things:
the ordered lines of the wood fence,
the mish mash random of the pebbled wall,
the two green blocks hugged by red in the tennis courts,
the concrete slabs, the cobbled path.
Everything is a beautiful pattern.
The singular blue sky gazing down,
the birds repeating song.
The leaves:
large, green bright;
thin, spiky, stretching;
their dappled sun and shadow stroking the path as I walk.
Everything is a beautiful pattern.
Those human made things:
the ordered lines of the wood fence,
the mish mash random of the pebbled wall,
the two green blocks hugged by red in the tennis courts,
the concrete slabs, the cobbled path.
Everything is a beautiful pattern.
Rooftops from my Window
While I wash the dishes
the tops of houses, roofs and chimneys
(nothing special, mundane)
are my view, squashed in,
from my kitchen sink window.
I trace them with my pen gazing
they are revealed, unfolding
Pretty semi-circle patterns of the burnt umber tiles,
dark frames horizontal and across.
Aerials perched criss-cross precise,
reaching to the sky pinging.
The chimneys black stains and ridged tops.
A man opens his attic window slightly
a seagull rushes, hopping outside it excitedly,
unmasked emotion.
Returning with food, the man is smiling.
How beautiful that they have found each other
and fulfilled their longings.
Yes, to open my eyes and gaze awhile
reveals the true nature of things,
the pure beauty of everything,
hiding there in quiet, plain sight,
constant.
the tops of houses, roofs and chimneys
(nothing special, mundane)
are my view, squashed in,
from my kitchen sink window.
I trace them with my pen gazing
they are revealed, unfolding
Pretty semi-circle patterns of the burnt umber tiles,
dark frames horizontal and across.
Aerials perched criss-cross precise,
reaching to the sky pinging.
The chimneys black stains and ridged tops.
A man opens his attic window slightly
a seagull rushes, hopping outside it excitedly,
unmasked emotion.
Returning with food, the man is smiling.
How beautiful that they have found each other
and fulfilled their longings.
Yes, to open my eyes and gaze awhile
reveals the true nature of things,
the pure beauty of everything,
hiding there in quiet, plain sight,
constant.
Childhood Pearls
I
was reading poems and was transported – why?
to childhood holidays in Menton
a sweet and forgotten place
of precious memories…
The messy overgrown steep walk
to our wild rubble cottage on the hillside
I breathe the mint, strong smelling,
crickets, bugs, buzzing around us, flicking.
In the outside shower lives spiders, insects, webs
I rush it to leave quickly, nervous.
Sun hot, long days on the beach,
jumping big waves
and lying on the lilo serene,
playing bat and ball, counting.
On the balcony in the evening
the adults drink small beers
as the darkening mystery cradles us.
These are precious memories, pearls, delicate
oh to create some now, for my boy.
to childhood holidays in Menton
a sweet and forgotten place
of precious memories…
The messy overgrown steep walk
to our wild rubble cottage on the hillside
I breathe the mint, strong smelling,
crickets, bugs, buzzing around us, flicking.
In the outside shower lives spiders, insects, webs
I rush it to leave quickly, nervous.
Sun hot, long days on the beach,
jumping big waves
and lying on the lilo serene,
playing bat and ball, counting.
On the balcony in the evening
the adults drink small beers
as the darkening mystery cradles us.
These are precious memories, pearls, delicate
oh to create some now, for my boy.
My Friend the Sea
You
look particularly beautiful today
so I’ve stopped walking home
grabbed this pen and paper to write this love to you.
Today you are golden sun and blue haze
lapping.
Other days you are grey
tumultuous
throwing stones
making us work to walk,
reminding us to let go control.
Other days you are gentle
caressing
stroking.
You were there in the darkest depths of my pain.
Physical presence of the everlasting constant love
when I needed you most.
There is no big message in this writing,
just a celebration
a love letter to you.
I walk home with trousers wet from sitting.
so I’ve stopped walking home
grabbed this pen and paper to write this love to you.
Today you are golden sun and blue haze
lapping.
Other days you are grey
tumultuous
throwing stones
making us work to walk,
reminding us to let go control.
Other days you are gentle
caressing
stroking.
You were there in the darkest depths of my pain.
Physical presence of the everlasting constant love
when I needed you most.
There is no big message in this writing,
just a celebration
a love letter to you.
I walk home with trousers wet from sitting.
Mundane Awakening
On a mundane wet walk home from school I awaken.
Walking the quiet backstreets I breathe in
the faint sea spray, the wet mossy ground alive.
The rain drops are shining as they hang from the winter buds,
our birds who stay with us for winter tweet gently, tentatively
while the seagulls sqwalk confidently.
In the distance an alarm beeps incessant.
Stepping onto the buzzing road the death machines roar overwhelming,
the petrol smell drowns the everlasting sea.
Can these two marry, love, care, cherish?
Can we nurture the delicate, natural, fierce life?
Walking the quiet backstreets I breathe in
the faint sea spray, the wet mossy ground alive.
The rain drops are shining as they hang from the winter buds,
our birds who stay with us for winter tweet gently, tentatively
while the seagulls sqwalk confidently.
In the distance an alarm beeps incessant.
Stepping onto the buzzing road the death machines roar overwhelming,
the petrol smell drowns the everlasting sea.
Can these two marry, love, care, cherish?
Can we nurture the delicate, natural, fierce life?
Pearls
The
ordinary days go by in seeming monotonous routines
but the pearls shine bright.
I can bury my head in my dark tunnel of past and future,
hood covered eyes and ears muffled.
I can’t see them shining, their beauty and light.
Today I caught one – my boy
kissing his letters and stamps
before dropping them in the post box.
Letters of love and thanks – his pure, no games love.
His Beavers promise later – earnest and sincere,
proud and smiling, my eyes simmered.
The other, a colleague I may never see again
a sudden realisation and connection
I felt loving and loved.
These pearls gleamed, hundreds called me today.
Tomorrow, open your eyes Ellie
open and see the deeper well.
but the pearls shine bright.
I can bury my head in my dark tunnel of past and future,
hood covered eyes and ears muffled.
I can’t see them shining, their beauty and light.
Today I caught one – my boy
kissing his letters and stamps
before dropping them in the post box.
Letters of love and thanks – his pure, no games love.
His Beavers promise later – earnest and sincere,
proud and smiling, my eyes simmered.
The other, a colleague I may never see again
a sudden realisation and connection
I felt loving and loved.
These pearls gleamed, hundreds called me today.
Tomorrow, open your eyes Ellie
open and see the deeper well.
Bare Trees
On
the train I looked up
and put away my screen.
I opened my eyes, awake
catching the beautiful call through the window.
I see a print
the bare trees in ink, the white sky a blank page.
Each is unique:
feathery softness
knobbly bobbles.
They ache delicately.
It is all there waiting
thousands of moments to savour and sustain us.
This is the one caught today,
the bare trees against the white sky.
and put away my screen.
I opened my eyes, awake
catching the beautiful call through the window.
I see a print
the bare trees in ink, the white sky a blank page.
Each is unique:
feathery softness
knobbly bobbles.
They ache delicately.
It is all there waiting
thousands of moments to savour and sustain us.
This is the one caught today,
the bare trees against the white sky.
Bedtimes are Special
Throughout the day we have our battles
There are the flowing story one’s
“Let’s play!”
Tumbling, rolling around inside you,
a constant pouring out,
a bubbling ball of life and light, sparking.
Then there are the other ones
keeping to time and routine:
time to stop play, time for a shower,
time to stop shower, time for bed…
You push and stall, and moan and wail,
cracks and distance.
At the end of the day we fall into bed,
in softening and quietening
Questions… “mummy…?” “Yes?...” (not again)
Then intimacy, closeness, “I love mummy’s hugs”
“I love your hugs”
“Why do you hug me after we cross the road?”
(I never realised I did…but I love to hug you
all the time…I’m glad you remember and feel it)
“because I love you…so much.”
I can feel the other closeness in the light and darkness
complete oneness, love unconditional,
I hope I mirror that for you.
There are the flowing story one’s
“Let’s play!”
Tumbling, rolling around inside you,
a constant pouring out,
a bubbling ball of life and light, sparking.
Then there are the other ones
keeping to time and routine:
time to stop play, time for a shower,
time to stop shower, time for bed…
You push and stall, and moan and wail,
cracks and distance.
At the end of the day we fall into bed,
in softening and quietening
Questions… “mummy…?” “Yes?...” (not again)
Then intimacy, closeness, “I love mummy’s hugs”
“I love your hugs”
“Why do you hug me after we cross the road?”
(I never realised I did…but I love to hug you
all the time…I’m glad you remember and feel it)
“because I love you…so much.”
I can feel the other closeness in the light and darkness
complete oneness, love unconditional,
I hope I mirror that for you.
Resurrection
There was nothing good about the darkest times:
the triumphant devil
the utter destruction
the sad heavy cloak that descended
and clung to me forever permeating.
I couldn’t know it or feel it
But you held and cocooned me in warm rich soil
gently, tenderly, secretly.
Then I blossomed
and emerged, blinking
the light sang and shone!
I gazed in wonder and amazement
at my beautiful, creative, confident boy,
at the mutual love and healing by mum’s.
And my gifts flew open
the way they were always called to.
the triumphant devil
the utter destruction
the sad heavy cloak that descended
and clung to me forever permeating.
I couldn’t know it or feel it
But you held and cocooned me in warm rich soil
gently, tenderly, secretly.
Then I blossomed
and emerged, blinking
the light sang and shone!
I gazed in wonder and amazement
at my beautiful, creative, confident boy,
at the mutual love and healing by mum’s.
And my gifts flew open
the way they were always called to.
By the Sea
You
roar and sing –
everlasting, persistent, insistent:
“CAN YOU HEAR ME?
CAN YOU SEE AND HEAR? WE’RE ONE, ALWAYS!”
I crunch stones slowly beating
to the right the heavy concrete deadening
and you calling, calling –
Our eyes, ears – open them!
Open them – and our souls will dance!
everlasting, persistent, insistent:
“CAN YOU HEAR ME?
CAN YOU SEE AND HEAR? WE’RE ONE, ALWAYS!”
I crunch stones slowly beating
to the right the heavy concrete deadening
and you calling, calling –
Our eyes, ears – open them!
Open them – and our souls will dance!
Seeds
It
was freely given, a memento of a time, together.
I planted them unknowing
an impulsive moment, to see.
I didn’t know if it was the right time or conditions
to start their life.
Two peaked through and stretched,
light green shoots – beautiful life –
because they had to.
I marvelled and watered and looked
as they tenderly
reached
outstretched
longing.
We nurture tender growing in the morning, early.
Our pens – green shoots –
searching, listening
to our callings.
Will they grow chilli’s?
Despite our imperfect unknowing?
I planted them unknowing
an impulsive moment, to see.
I didn’t know if it was the right time or conditions
to start their life.
Two peaked through and stretched,
light green shoots – beautiful life –
because they had to.
I marvelled and watered and looked
as they tenderly
reached
outstretched
longing.
We nurture tender growing in the morning, early.
Our pens – green shoots –
searching, listening
to our callings.
Will they grow chilli’s?
Despite our imperfect unknowing?
September in the Playground
They
danced in joy, a trinity,
flickering white beauties.
We were in the simplest of places, of joy and exploring.
Our eyes opened and nature poured her gifts:
the white pearls danced,
the spiders dappled brown built their webs,
and surprises of yellow gold, blue, red and black,
flashed grace and went.
We marvelled in this simple place,
overflowing
My boy explored and spun and paused,
the beauty touched his fizzing soul,
he looked, still.
We belonged us three, to each other, and to nature’s beauty.
flickering white beauties.
We were in the simplest of places, of joy and exploring.
Our eyes opened and nature poured her gifts:
the white pearls danced,
the spiders dappled brown built their webs,
and surprises of yellow gold, blue, red and black,
flashed grace and went.
We marvelled in this simple place,
overflowing
My boy explored and spun and paused,
the beauty touched his fizzing soul,
he looked, still.
We belonged us three, to each other, and to nature’s beauty.
True
I’m
welcoming and smiling,
empathic and understanding.
I listen and I care,
I’m the good and attentive one.
It is a house I built
It is cracking and falling.
It is all dust
scattering,
dissolving
in the wind.
I fly in freedom
in sky blue peace
and light filled love.
I don’t need this dust anymore
I let it go – and draw it to me.
I love my craving child.
The gaping hole fills.
empathic and understanding.
I listen and I care,
I’m the good and attentive one.
It is a house I built
It is cracking and falling.
It is all dust
scattering,
dissolving
in the wind.
I fly in freedom
in sky blue peace
and light filled love.
I don’t need this dust anymore
I let it go – and draw it to me.
I love my craving child.
The gaping hole fills.
Rocky Ground and Healthy Soil
It’s not dark or light, saint or sinner,
rocky ground or healthy soil
It’s both, and, dual, and all those things.
My dead darkness is my shining light
a call awake, a freedom song
a precious gift to open gently.
The certainties, splits, and breaks
are dandelion seeds catching light,
they float away.
I am called to live in wholeness, with wide arms
open, sky shining and
dark clouds looming.
All is well and good, and all is precious gift.
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