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
Page 4 of 6
M & E
I hardly feel like writing
I barely bother to read
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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?
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
It’s ok
Actually
It’s so totally ok
That I’m tired
It’s a massive job
Being a human
It’s a massive job
Being a parent
To small humans
The world is in utter turmoil
So much doesn’t make sense
Our innately, exquisitely intelligent children can see this so clearly
And they know
They know how to pull us back to the truth of our reality
They know how to pause in wonder at
birdsong, starlight, new fungi
They know how to play
They know how to feel
They know how to take their sweet time
What they don’t know
is how fucking uncomfortable it is
to be stretched across the chasm of their knowing of what’s real
and our adult bondage to
the bullshit reality of late-stage capitalism
It’s so totally ok that I’m tired
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
Crow child
Sometimes a crow in the distance sounds like a child in another room calling out “Mum!”
🪶
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 