Love
Today I fell in love
With the enchantingly intriguing
whorls of my left index finger
My own fingerprint
My own uniqueness
Finding new things to love about myself
What a beautiful daily habit
Page 2 of 3
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
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
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?
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
Tea and sunrise
Magpies stomping on the roof
Rustling sounds in the garden
different
to the nocturnal rustlings
bolder
shadows of the morning walkers
diligent silhouettes
passing by my window
the dusty film makes it all seem
so romantic
lace hanging haphazardly
like a renaissance era opera dancer
backstage
in a state of delicious dishevelment
limbs everywhere
Dogs pull their humans
eager to know what news this day brings
so easily sated
by the daily miracle
of the sun remembering to rise
What further delight
would any sane person
seek to seek?
Stay here in this
the gold of highest value
hear the praises
sung by those with wings
whose freedom of flight
allows the broadest view from above
who still choose
to come home to roost
They will always remind me
that to be near a tree
is all I need
To breathe the freshness
of the new day
in through my newest leaves
down to my deepest roots
And to feel my expansion
My belonging
My arrival home
In every direction
as I exhale
Dwelling in the ultimate dimension
Grateful for this breath
Copyright 2021
Regeneration
My girlfriend says she wants
to get a truck
and line them up
and run them over
Ok..
I think,
... that could be good...
...but what of the seeds they’ve dropped?
the seeds just like the ones from which they grew
already sprouting,
spouting entitlement
and ownership
and so much unpaid rent.
What of this invasive weed?
The weed that leads Prime Ministers
to describe women as “finding ourselves in vulnerable situations”
The weed that means that when women demand - request - suggest safety,
Men get angry.
Not all men.
It’s true.
There are men like native plants, unobtrusive, growing well, supporting an ecology of healthy growth in the recovering, adapting rainforest of the truth of human nature.
Quick!
Create a nursery!
Support these plants to propagate and flourish!
Let the birds spread their seed, shitting indiscriminately over
Formal Gardens
Infested Riverbanks
And Backyards the world over.
Let the feminist men multiply.
Let the weeds be made redundant
by the fabulous and unapologetic spread of sweet grevillia!
The age of the dominance of
Morning Glory
is ending.
It was never ok to rub that on your cousin as she slept.
Copyright 2021
Bed
Bedtime brings such joy
The anticipation
of the
Pleasure
of the
First sip of tea tomorrow morning
(C) 2021
Spritely Musings 