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sometimes
not always not even usually, but every now and then I float out above the conversation I am in and the cruel thought occurs "oh I am such an idiot" it takes such a lot of effort to love myself out of these moments
saved
Poetry will save us as it has and always does It's poetry who catches us falling in and out of love A resting tent that nurtures us while our souls replenish, touching the universality of our own uniquely fragile stardust... Stroking our foreheads, breathing peace into our hearts, illuminating the beauty in everything and stitching it into a cloak of light, draped lovingly around our shaking shoulders; whispering cogently to us of its impenetrability, of our own sovereign safety, so that we may rise refueled our furnace stoked charged by the life force now burning outrageously bright in us to face the world and all its oddly timed surprises with the optimistic courage of a rising sun This day is mine! Poetry has saved me. Again.
I Thought
I was somewhere that I thought I might see you and my heart was aflutter
I saw someone who could have been you and my soul began to ache
It wasn’t even you
Among the many cars, yours could maybe have been one of them. I couldn’t see it, but the thought that I might had me all atingle.
And then, driving away, there you were, driving towards me
Our eyes met
Our hearts intertwined
And in that moment, I knew.
Knew that I was head over heels in love with you
May we use this time apart well
May we reunite in bliss
And live our lives together in simple joy
For you are beautiful
And so am I
Tree
Tree
In the forest
alone I stand
surrounded
by the held wisdom
and cool release
of all my fellow trees
Our shared experiences
touch us differently
but the sky calls us all
upwards
as our roots reach
ever deeper
to nourish us
we grow
together
Copyright 2021
Drongo
Now at last I understand Why all those mothers of all those high school boyfriends delighted in me so Now that I am the mother of a daughter who brings home teenage boys What a refreshing relief I must have been for those women who lived with teenage boys
Rain
How can the rain be without symbolism? How could it ever be that it is simply raining? How can I be calm when this water is surrounding me without relent? My heart's lament. I'm damp. Damp in all my organs. I want to whinge in protest I want to register with some authority, officially, my dissatisfaction with the appearance of mold on my timber chair Actually? Really? Truly? I'm to put up with this now as well? My heart is harbouring mildew. Black soot haunts my kidneys. My liver is beset by wet dust of the kind that causes hives in some young children Smoke it out, this ominous damp! Cleanse me of this creeping moisture... Smudge, Fire, Hot coals... I don't care. Just let me be rid of this soggy curse. I would rather that the workings of my brain crackle like dry forest twigs or a lively fire I would rather that the air in me felt light and crisp as sunshine I want to be crunchy to feel like a spark in me could easily ignite Yes! I want to be flammable or at least warm like a pocket potato or a passionate embrace... This damp suits me not. Enough rain. Enough.
(C) 2021
Garden
In my garden
Weeding
I look up and gasp in awe
At the beauty of the view up through the tree
“Imagine being one of the creatures lucky enough to live under here!”
And then I realised that I am.
(C) 2021
M & E
I hardly feel like writing
I barely bother to read
Scroll
Scroll
Scroll
Wanting to be fed
by the feed
Knowingly wading through
the mire that
saps my soul
Overriding self-imposed time limits
In a tacit agreement
to self-destruct
so that
in arriving at that nihilistic state of
I Hate Everything
I am humbled into remembering
that
Meditation and Exercise
are my true salvation.
The day is calling me.
Put down the phone.
‘Click’.
(C) 2021
Imagine
Imagine
If everything was as exquisite
as a perfect cup of tea!
Life would be unbearable
in its all-expanding beauty
and limitless optimism
...or is it already?
Spritely Musings 