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

She Told Me So

“I’ll tell of this love that I know”

She said to me one day

“So please, if your will should allow

Listen and hear what I have to say”

She spoke of the soil cushioning her

The grass tickling her ears

The sunflower towering above her

Yellow soothing and easing her fears

She told me of seeds and their spurt

How spirit moves heavens on earth

And the force that grounds deep roots

Is the same as us knowing our worth

“Don’t forget you are no different”

Her whispers I still hear

“What makes the sunset so beautiful

Is you seeking you, my dear”

And with all this love that I know

From the listened word, not spoken

I conclude that I was, all along

Whole, not once ever broken.

My Best

Give 100% and you’ve no where to go

60%?

“No way, too low”

40% and you’re off the scale

10%? Hanging on by a nail

30%?

Yea, that’ll do…

If you’re frail and starving or struck down by flu

There’s always 50, the happy between

For the average, make doers, not large but not lean

80% gets a tap on the head

And 20% gets our arse outta bed

90%, that seems pretty high…

“Can’t push for 100?? Tut tut, oh my”

70 then, that’ll have to do

“70 might, at a push, get you through”

1%, 12 or 103!

What number grades best when I’m just being me?

Wings

Because the birds can fly

It makes me question things

Why was I born a human?

When I dream of having wings.

I would take off everyday

Hearing nothing but the breeze

No toes to break anymore

Nor more grazing of my knees.

Never wishing I was someplace else

As I’d soar across the sand

I’d be free to coast the ocean

And my garden’s where I land.

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