Maybe That’s It

Making sense

Brings its own questions

Like floating through space

How is that possible?

And the pink in the rock

And the blue and the green

How do they come about?

And a cats purr

Why do I remember the peace when I hear it?

And it is peaceful

Like a lake or a crisp sun in winter

I don’t want to make sense of the why

Maybe that’s it

As if I did, maybe magic wouldn’t exist anymore

Devil

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The devil

Leans on faultless side

Blaming aches on broken toes

Gritting teeth to catch my will

Cramming roots with raucous woes

The devil

Bears upon my win

Her loosing forces tongue to rip

Knowing not how far she’ll swipe

I bow to miss her chorus grip

The devil

Dates my wondrous flight

She clips my wings as failing soars

Her nails carve out sharpened nibs

To empty raw and heart filled pores

The devil

Wears my crown at night

Shielding light from sleeping eyes

Her fingers bash upon my brow

And stamps my fortune red with lies

The devil

Dances wildly right

While steady rains on all went wrong

Her thread I knot around my neck

And pray she stays for lengths too long

Urban Leaf

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When exhausts filter sunlight

And handfuls of dust

Have us craving fresh peaches

And pit chiselled lust.

When leaves litter concrete

Swept by songs unsung

And feet tread the mill

Their silk left unspun.

When weaving fumes tempt

Breath looses the lead

Then caged is our wisdom

And deadened the need.

When scent is ignored

And tar coats worn skin

I’ll call upon heaven

Heard faintly within.

Little Listener

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Delicate lace

Imprints my palm

And symbols of faith

Tattooed on arm

Waves on crown

Hair grows so thin

Untouched by blade

On thigh and shin

Fingers bitten

Nails short and blunt

Stories on back

Hope riding in front

Muddy paths

Staining my feet

And ridid toes

Ignoring the beat

Breasts carved small

And ribs poke free

Frame thought weak

Bears the weight of me

Faintly drawn clouds

Days roaming slow

Subtleties roar

Guiding where to go

I follow not knowing

Which way to turn

Does it matter?

Either way, I’ll learn.

 

Perfectly Not

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Imperfections

My armour

Bullseye to my blade

Imbedding deep

For pains I weep

Hungry teeth skewer muscle

My teeth

Because comparisons hurt

Blood stained spit, trickles

Wiped away by fingers ashamed

My skin welded to bone

Flames I turned upon myself

Ash caught by earth

Onto layers of prayer

Spoken by our grandmothers, for saviour

Yet still we cry

Generations silenced by promises

Morphing contractions, nothing changes

Woman whipped by ‘rear of the year’

Tits out

Swollen perfections

And stretched ideals

Suck on what you see

But so much more are we

Fresh eyes

Curious cries

Birthed from woman

And fierce love

Scares many

So imperfections

Are my sweet spot

To love

Loving what be

Saves from shame

The dampening weapon

When really

Imperfection has no form

No right or wrong

No weak or strong

Only the human

Being as best they can

The woman, the man

So my imperfections

 

Once my armour to blame

No more

No point to score

I am beautiful

No blame or shame for that.

 

 

Simple

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To the moon

Said the sun

‘Begin us some fun

Let such rules be heard

That all shall submerge

In the wild, to be free

Precariously

Doing all to survive

Roaming far and wide

Thinking they may control

How it works

But they don’t’.

Said the moon in return

‘But what should they learn?

If they stride too fast

What lessons will last

How will one reflect?

Acting circumspect

And driven by fear

Keeping hate too near

And they keep themselves going

But where do they go?’

A confident sun

Said ‘free will has begun!’

They’ll follow their call

Choosing big, choosing small

The truth will be theirs

And we’ll comfort their stares

As they pray for our voice

To guide their next choice

But deep down they know

Which way they’re to go

And they’ll do what is best

For their soul

To grow

‘Gosh’ the moon sighed

A worry reply

‘We’ve not thought this through

For what should we do?

If the soul of the meek

Should faintly speak

And reflection dies

As lies

They rise

And time drives a need

To travel with speed

From one place to another

To only discover

Dissatisfaction

And plan further action

To plough much more

Than they managed before!’

The sun scratched his head

‘Let’s try this instead

We work closely together

With land

And the weather

To us all may ponder

Their faith growing fonder

In what we create

To be loved’.

‘Agreed!’ said the moon

No moment too soon

When life

Gives life

All reasons to be.’

Found

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She sings to caged bones, lost within the mist of belonging.

She dances bare foot upon moistened earth, praying for understanding.

It never comes.

She bows to tradition, seeking ritual to carve truths. Surface wounds bleed, iron seeping into her receptive soul.

With open arms she calls for the owl at midnight hours.

Yet hours mock, the clock is no friend. Ideals from childhood still haunting present fascinations.

No owl spied. Only paper reflections are points of reference for her, landscape fantasies gracing daydreams.

Traffic echoes.

Mechanic limbs constricting her breath. Machine realities play vividly during meditations. Her world is one of construction, built by green-fingered desires.

Stung by tastes of metal and chemical pastes, smeared across her pastel complexion.

Her skin is worn from tired work. Decades never to resurrect.

Her hair knotted.

Her vision hovers below sun kissed horizons, counting steps to avoid straight lines in pavements.

Her nights are late. Conversations with electric devices partner imaginings of community. Muttering of others existence to be one full of wrongs.

Her life is lost.

Mystery cradles tearful days. The moon ignites primal blueprints and wants of change that never come about. She sits, palms connect to ancient chants, wrenching her from modern chains. Fearless commitment is more than she can fathom.

Yet commit she must, to save a soul not yet broken.