Back To The Pit

When I return

Back to the pit

Where fertile soil birthed the beginning, the word

And where endings are witnessed beyond the horizon

Where rocks have whispered and blossoms are nodding

“Yes, you’ve seen us before”

I remember the word

One word

In a place where nothing is neat

And to this place I will return

Like the burning of sage

The scent returns to the nose

The ash, back to She

The smoke, weaving through space to meet the spirit of maker

My descent

Shall be a one word affair

And heard only by the weary

As they’ve surrendered to the flight

Just as reeds in the wind

Offer no resistance

Nor shall I

When I return, back to the pit

To rise again

We

I forgot the existence of you

We were lost

And I clung, structure kept me up but my legs ached and my fingers were burnt by the sun I painted blue

But in that, I remembered again

There you stood

The beautiful flesh of your feet

Soaked by the oil of olives

And jasmine creeped through your toes

Amber seeped from your pores

So firm in you was the essence I’m to love

And not because of command

Because all I had to do was remember

We met before time framed expansions

Before corners boxed our union, branding the blocks as real

Remember the sight we surrendered?

As we bowed, foreheads kissing the soil and eyes closed, resting

Together we rose, below the blossoming buds

We spread our roots to feed, I give back that which I received from you

And when I forgot this

My veins pulsed with such force, too rapid for the void

Too fast for death to settle

In death, there is no judgement

In death, the flesh surrenders to where home began

In death we are woven

Rising to the saviour

That is we.

Nerves

When excitement comes

I think it’s right for me

But my body vibrates

And I’m sensing as I would, if stress were rocking the boat

So, in these differences I can talk myself through

But my body

She knows how the feeling flows

From one side to the other

Reaching the same heights.

Investments

I’ve made a decision to invest in my perceptions

Well, perception of my perceptions. I feel like I’m three layers away from the truth

And maybe no matter how hard I try, I’m always boxed within a role, a substance, a circumstance.

And that’s right or wrong or… fuck it

Sometimes I see it, that we’re tides giving the moon a hard time. “Stop doing your thing, so I can stop doing my thing. Let’s watch life die together”

And I had to look hard at myself. As when you invest in something you gotta have an understanding of the value before commitments are made

So, where’s my poverty line?

How down on myself can I stoop before I tarnish this penny? Pretty low. No-ones perfect

That’s what vinegar is for! And it really doesn’t take that long to work

The market is forever changing, this bustling creation, like figures typed onto a screen with closed eyes and wondering fingers

It is what it is, I’ve heard that before

I’m investing in my perceptions

What perceptions? You say

I hear you

How do I see things? The word ‘how’ is incredibly specific

I can’t indulge in specifics, there is no time for that, I’m an investor now

Time is precious

Wait, perceptions of time, am I running out?

I’ll pour more in, paint more seconds and dial tones that expand the circle. Introduce 13

Now I’ve enough

Enough bids stillness and I’m happy to raise my hand to that

Perceptions on a conveyer belt, that’s an invention I could invest in

Or invest in seeing before appearance

I wish I’d learnt long ago that the real value isn’t the matter, but the thought in-between

Permission Slip

There’s not much you need to do

Just a little nod

Like a permission slip to the moon

Let her call home the cells of you, the fibres and the threads

With songs your cells remember

As you forgot such a long time ago, remember? For what cannot be pronounced is what we call nonsense

But she knows, and her work is effortless

So you see, there is little you can do

Her healing is effortless, like the simplistic complexity of breathing

All you need do is give a little nod, “ok, I’m ready now”

And let him join in too, let him wrap his arms around you

His hand is already clasped within yours, you’re just squeezing so tightly you feel only the weight of your own force

Be a permission slip to the son, the spirit, the mother who knows your every step

There really is little you have to do

Just nod

And this currency we call life will not only fill you, vibrate you, pleasure you

It will empty you of all those torn paper notes

That cut your fingers and toes and play a sad tune

This universe is never without chaos but sadness, we can burn the branches of sadness and scatter the ashes.

There’s not much you have to do except show up

With nothing

Expecting nothing

Saying nothing

Holding a permission slip that you know was probably never asked for in the first place

A Herb A Day

A herb a day

Keeps the doctor away

And calls in the witches

The white and the green

The rosemary sprig

The kiwi, the fig

All help keep me glowing

Through times hitting hard

The end of the tunnel

The light in my funnel

Isn’t further than reach

As we’re told it can be

And this delight I feel

I didn’t earn it nor steal

It’s a thought that I had

And decided to keep

When my health starts to tip

Herbal tea I do sip

And imagine my body

To be sparkly and well

Steady

I wonder if I was a cat in a past life

Staring at the birds

Lazing for hours

Except in this life I don’t pounce on prey

I devour those darting movements, those transparent beams fighting inside

And I’m too rapid as I eat

As they repeat

Again and again

I can see my habits reflected in distractions that carried me here

And are those distractions working?

This cycle, drawing up soils I’ve neglected for 35 years knows little of the answer

And these worms I found, would they have satisfied the cat I was

Would the seeds I planted grow into life that nourishes me and my babies

I shrug, as for now

Being the human I appear to be

Am hungry

Not because the soil isn’t fertile

But I’ve boxed time so neatly that no root had a chance to bed a home, to spread

I can be still for hours, like a lioness

But once I move

It’s violent

And I may have forgotten where I left my cubs

So for now I roam alone

Until I remember that the rain can find me better when I grow tall, steadily.

No life wants to hide away from the sun.

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.

Remember

When I lay on my bed and stare at the ceiling

and think of you

I remember those times you said we were through

or was that me?

memories blurred

yesterday was I fighting, my warrior stirred?

or was I laughing at jokes you told me

late at night when we should have been sleeping

but we weren’t

not knowing if the others eyes were open

never the words we yearned were spoken

remember the promise of road trips

and playing cards for cash?

when you said you’d teach me to swim

but alas

chlorine brings me out in a rash

“hey, who cares” you said

and we didn’t care, hot days brought naked bodies

fantasies soaring

sweat pouring

and leaky taps in the bathroom that annoyed the hell outta me

remember you saying “let it be”

let it be

I did

and we never managed to see it through

not doing those things we said we’d do

i’ll remember you the way I choose

not crying (like i did) “why the fuck did I lose!”

because really I lost nothing

i had so much to bring

and we showed up, the best we could

doing everything we believed we should

I remember the rainbow

I told you about it when you were there and I was here

when on the phone, remember I said “the rain on my face felt like the tear

I cried over you”

just the one

I lied

but the rainbow came and you hung up

a name in my inbox I decide to delete

I hope you remember me better

better than it felt we’d remember back then

even if you give me a two

I remember you now as a ten out of ten

 

 

Fallen

FullSizeRender

I’ve been too afraid to breathe deeply

Sat, with my feet dangling over the edge, watching life catch their prey

What, do I imagine I will feel?

Afraid of the tears I’ve bottled and given away, with compliments

My sacred waters soothing another’s tired feet

Afraid of years I lost to the gambling sun, burning through the darkness with flames of inadequacy. It was not my place to cry, I am too dry for that pleasure.

Broken nails imbedded in my throat as I crawled my way up from the bottom

Always crawling to be seen. Visible is my head but my heart remained below the apple, too afraid to devour.

I remember the day I broke in the middle of the road, not able to catch a breath, too fast were thoughts of running far from sharp cartilage in my lungs.

How am I able to leave myself behind?

I’ve been too afraid to breathe deeply, as what rises may be the soil to root my soul back to my body, the mud to cleanse forgotten sores.