Before Me Now

I wonder who I was before me, now?

What if I’d been a tree before I was a human

Or a decomposing leaf

Or I was the tree, the leaf, the rabbit that rummaged amongst the fallen leaves and the soil on the rabbits paw

What if I was the field that the rabbit dreamed of

Every blade of grass and dandelion

Or the roots of a weed

Or the bacteria that lives on the root

Or the worm that travels underground

What if I was the bird that ate the worm and so food that feeds her babies, could have been me too

Or the dirt in her nest or the twigs she collects

What if I was the shell on the beach that breaks when stepped on or the blood that trickles into the sand

Or the sand itself or the seabed

Or the crab or the jellyfish

Or the seaweed that dances on the surface

Or the salt in the sea

What if I was the pepper ground to a powder

Or the potato cooked to perfection or the metal of the fork before it was moulded

What if I’d once lived in the intestine of a whale

Or a shark or even the creatures we now find in fossils

What if I’d once lived on a meteorite which plummeted to this planet

What id I’d been every colour of the galaxy

Or a spark in the big bang, present at the start of beginnings

And endings

Recycled over and over until I got to be here

What if I’m ancient and my soul is so old I’ll never remember exactly where I came from

Or know where I’m going

What if I grew out of nothing and thats where I’m headed

Or I’m the smallest of everything floating within the infinite of nothing

I wonder who I was before me, now?

 

No Longer Asking

 

Spirit, lead me someplace to find you

I ask them to make themselves heard

And make it bright, with flames I’ll see in the mist

I waited, for a day or two

Their response I’d so clearly plotted

To which I believed they’d ignored

I prayed to the moon

Clasped within a wishbone cage

“Am I to ask you instead?”

Sunk are my pleas as I notice nothing

So I tug at myself, limbs that entwine senses

I must find a place to curl into these wonders

Surely the fineness of these landscapes know something?

And with broken tissue, I fight on

Nothing came

But soreness, buried

How am I to know the order of this chaos?

The beginnings of inquisition, I cannot remember

But I do remember answers, logical

Yet still the questions poured

And deeper I clawed

But the crawling, it hurt

So I cry to the clouds

“You impersonal temptress!”

Enough is enough

I’m too tired for this precision

Instead, thank you and goodbye

For your love is swollen

And I’ve no time

Thinking time is all I have to waste

But darn it, it was me

Holding on for instruction

And I am bursting at the seams with knowing

Harnessing needs

Silencing birth pains

And thank god, spirit transcends suffocation

I asked for forgiveness, for the blaming and taming

But not before my cells resonate

With the unfolding of bestowed blessings

Mastery in motion

To see myself as that

In the dirt, with blood on my knees

And pimpled skin and bones that ache from dancing in the dark

Brilliance is what I am

I am the perceiver of every sign I need

And I’ll dance as one

With those I’d once requested reassurance

No longer asking

But thankful to know already.

 

Wild Opals

I saw you

Above the tiles that promised to keep out the rain

Your eyes were opal, that’s how I remembered them

And the sun was always setting but your hair was more golden than the light

I sat crossed legged

Like a child waiting to hear a fairytale

Your nails were short

But not bitten, you had been working on the land

And your fingers were stained by the soil

Or the cigarettes you used to smoke

You told me smoking was bad for your health

I assumed you stopped, you never told me you had

And we were there

Saying very little to each other but then we never did speak much

My joints loosened as you spoke and your rhythm pulsed within me

Your voice

Still, those whispers caught in the tide

Are your way

Go North you told me

Catch the red berries

Place them on the ground around your shivering body

Breathe into your cold palms

And let your warmth remind you

That you are enough

I called you a witch

Because I couldn’t pen you down

You were defiant against description

Beyond the madness of sanity

I was haunted by you

And as I prayed to understand you

Your craft I wished to home

I was gifted with an empty note

And a furious breeze

That beckoned towards the northern sea

Keep moving, I hear

Don’t stiffen with the wanting

As then you’d be like those

And I, I hear

Have become, already.

I


Where did I place I, 

       the capital, the stamp?

The stem that propped success 

Where did I get lost? 

       as not looking so straight as before

And falling into stand,

       but cannot find the footprints 

            where heels were dug so deep.

Searching back to written as proper

But now

         we melt 

              or so it feels

As we 

    becoming

Once I was drawn in water,

           a line dividing fishes 

               now tides remember  

So I ask where is I?

           knowing already,

               but pray to forget. 

Bury Me

Bury me where the brambles grow 

Sliced by unforgiving thorns

Let my tears crumble 

Like salt drops repelling the slugs

But let them come 

And leave silver trails across my breasts 

Whose majesty I’ve only imagined

Let me feel the break in my bones  

And scream as discs slip and roots wilt

So shallowly planted by frightened fingers 

I have known to ask of moulding discreetly, to feel common amongst the mass 

But my shedding mimics no other 

What comes up, too big to fit

And the dirt under my nails 

The dirt now choking my rusty cords

Feeds the hunger I feel, surpressing the swell

Full on words I’ve never spoken 

And they claw deeper into memories, ripened words sculpt outside of me 

Developed in your world  

But fallen in mine 

I am calling you, death of a stranger 

I’ve known what I’m allowed 

But forgot why I yearned for less 

For a naked me, stripped bare for saviours sake

I request that my core, sore and bruised, may rot

Welcomed back home

Please bury me where chunks can be bitten 

Where I can feel worthy enough to feed the worms 

And grow again, live again

Die, again 

Non-committed Writing


It’s been such a long time since I’ve sat down to commit to writing. Short, uncomplicated poems have been bursting from my hand like bubbles in pop but to actually commit to a thought that trails longer than a breath (which is how poetry feels to me, an exhalation, the next idea comes as quickly as the last) has felt weighty and awkwardly unnatural.

And I’ve been running with the unnatural by doing nothing. Not even trying to write beyond the poem. Not even brainstorming or journaling or thinking beyond the pauses, no longer stringing one idea to another to create a bulk of something that may or could or would mould into a story or reflection. And then I wonder if any of this even matters. Is this is worth even writing about, the not writing stuff. And is the not writing a symptom of a bigger disillusion? And what am I feeling disillusioned about… what has changed?

Everything has changed. Everything always does change, day by day. And these changes can build into a complete overhaul of how we perceive ourselves and the world. And that make me feel a little disillusioned at times as it only reminds me that all we label ourselves to be are only fleeting beliefs, constructed by everything we’ve absorbed till that point.

What a wild world we live in. It’s scary as hell and more beautiful than imagined galaxies, more surreal than dreams, more intense than heightened cravings. And to think about what I want want to write about overwhelms me as there are a million feelings worth exploring and endless sinarios that paint a complex tapestry of chapters. 

So poetry soothes this chaos, its eases the wordy pulse that quickens during 3am wake up calls. It makes sense to not try and make sense of anything, I wonder if we’re never supposed to understand. I’ve spent the past few years trying to find myself in a flow that suits. I still feel a little bloated and bulky during various moments of the day. That’s just me and I’m ok with that now.

Was I always trying to be an idea of myself, as I beat myself up for not writing the novel I once hoped I’d be able talk about to inquisitive strangers? Who knows, I certainly don’t. 

So I guess poetry is my commitment, steering frantic energies that would only bury themselves in my bones if I didn’t pick up the pen. It’s medicine to write what feels right. Fuck what I think I’m supposed to be doing. 

I’m supposed to be doing me, right now, being the only woman I know how to be. For now, anyway.

Bestest 

So said the dog ‘oh human, I’d really like to know, where exactly is the spot that biscuits like to grow?’
‘You know the ones you give me, to settle me at night, I’d like to find them for myself and take a crunchy bite’

The human laughed ‘oh dog, they do not grow on trees, they’re made by hands of human kind and travel overseas. See the biscuits that you eat, aren’t natural like the grass, they’re made of stuff I cannot spell and stamped to show they pass. Passed as what, I’m not too sure, but still you like to chew, they seem to keep you able, to do as dogs can do’

The dog was not too sure of this, as what should he then eat, if missiles were to hit the earth and kill off all the meat? ‘If that should happen’ the human said ‘you’d die as well, I’m sure.’ So said the dog, ‘how sad is that’ and cried into his paw.

The human and the dog, they hugged until it hurt, but then the human had a thought she couldn’t wait to blurt. ‘You see, we could get blown so high we find another planet, where I could be a butterfly and you could be a rabbit. And then we’d eat whatever’s there, be yellow, red or blue. We’d nibble on fresh pastures green or make a rainbow stew. Let’s hope that if this world should end our souls will stay together. To roam around this universe, best pals we’ll be forever’