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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

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

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

Because I am a miracle

That I am alive
Is a miracle

That I am able to breathe
Deeply into my belly
Is a blessing

For such a blessing
I feel deepest gratitude


When I was a star
I couldn’t hear the birds
Singing in the morning

When I was a star
I couldn’t taste the ocean
Salting my skin

When I was a star
I couldn’t feel the warm breeze
Bringing my face messages of hope

When I was a star
I couldn’t inhale the mint or the rose
In all their ostentatious fragrant glory

When I was a star I couldn’t even see
the magic of the afternoon light
golden, slinky, as it casts itself
so flatteringly
over all the miracles
that surround us

Here I now am
in this exquisite form

a feeling, sensing, breathing
miracle of life
with the sublime ability
to derive deep pleasure
from my physical functions
eating, moving, shitting, sleeping, drinking water, laughing, breathing...

Why would I look for anything more?

When I was a star
I saw this life and chose it

Now I am here
Experiencing

Morning birdsong filling my spirit

Gently dancing trees soothing my soul

Totally nourished by the very act of recognising the beauty of our natural world,
of which I am a worthy element,
and basking
in gratitude
for this
divine
moment

Copyright Zoe Xanadu 2021

Opti-mist

This magic mist
of Daybreak

Can I store some in my lungs
and breathe it out
much later on
when I need to remember
this perfect purity?

When I am still in bed
The way I feel
the weight of the world
and all its things
is different

Later,
When I’m up,
The support of recent sleep
and lovely sheets
and so many velvet cushions
will have receded

The replenishment I feel at dawn
will have depleted

And the hope I rely on
to carry on believing
that I can put all the clean washing away
or smash the patriarchy
will need a recharge



And so then,
in that moment of need,
if I can breathe
into my depth
and exhale
some of this early morning magic
I might be able to remember
to go gently.







Copyright 2021