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

Sense

It may make no sense

No sense at all

But listen to this

As man of tall

Shall bend at the knees

As petals fall

And the breaking of day

Is best thought at night

To imagine to the sun

Most vivid in sight

And some days I’m weary

Some days I’m cold

Some days I’m young and others I’m old

Sense is the happen

No need for the why

As we’re born, we exist

And the end, we die.

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.

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

Sister, I See You

Sister, I see you

I have done all along

I’ve stood under the stars you dream

Your woes are in my song.

I see the woman you’ve become

Perfection, that’s you now

No questions need to haunt your heart

Of when or where or how.

For all of that, the heavy doubt

The worries you hold true

Shall flow behind courageous blood

The sacred light in you.

For sister, you have hidden deep

A wisdom like no other

As from you born, not just a child

But warrior and mother.

Red Paint

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There are days when I envision myself crawling through mud.

Being cradled by beds of clay and fertile dirt. My light depending upon the struggle, this intensity of needing to collapse into primal states feels more real than morning rituals.

Let the worms bury beneath me.

Let the woodlouse tickle my belly as they mount the mountain of me.

Let me be where theres no explanation. No why or how or whats next?

I am not enlightened here nor unworthy to call myself eternally divine.

I am not an understanding person as that sets me above.

No righteousness is homed within my marrow, cells vibrate with the waves of the ocean, no longer reacting to the 6 o’clock news.

I’m nothing recognised here, Im absolutely unravelled like the root of a willow tree. Above the water when the sun shines and submerged after the storm.

And in truth, I feel permanently sorry. Confusion rising daily, as the silence is broken by morning birdsong. I’ve forgotten what it means to be held by Great Mother and nourished by our Lords love.

So for all that is real in me, my blood that runs, let it run freely into the earth. Let that be.

My gift back, returned to Her. My life flow.

Words are constructed but my bleeding, a greater creation.

And if I could paint my face with this vibrant colour pouring from me, without outraged eyes beating back all that is natural, I would.

I’d crawl in the mud to the weathered rocks and bleed.

I’d no longer be littered with pollutive chatter nor my fins caught in wire nets, trawled to set an example or sacrificed in the name of conformance.

I am interconnected to Her, to Him, to the holy and sacred spirit. Ignited by the magic our ancestors hoped we’d comprehend, believing to be woven into our DNA. And maybe we do comprehend, more than we hope. We swim fully armoured to stay afloat yet all that is asked for us to remember the infinity of our soul is to fall. To mightily surrender to where it is only god who can carry our breath.

It would be with red on my face, bloody fingers painting so uninhibitedly that id crawl thankfully through the dirt I’ve been so desperate to clean myself from.

No more.

Is There?

Is there not this way inside

I can switch on like a TV

Is there a weed and a buttercup

Hidden deeply within me?

Is there not a song I’ve lost

Down trodden roads forgotten

Is there notes that weave away

The rocks at the very bottom

Is there not a deafening flow

Where grease is washed from my hair

Is there a me that is more than bones

And I witness both sides of the pair

Is there all of this and more

Cycled a million times through

These colours,

This dance

This patterned dream

This life I do how I do.

Seen

I hope not to be seen

By the knower that’s been

Nor the giver, the taker

The holy thou maker

Don’t ram with I think

When my life’s at the brink

‘It sure worked for them’

This rumouring stem

I hope not to be questioned

No shoulds ever mentioned

No rites to my ‘wrongs’

Fine tuning my songs

Don’t raid me with yours

Those outpouring doors

Fast halting the ripple

Black taping the nipple

Not my world, that’s you

Those rules you hold true

Keep them close, if you may

Your minute, your day

Not mine.

If There Is Such A Way

Surrounded by a million tones, not woven by me

And I cannot decipher one from another

But there is a symphony of perfection to be drank all at once

And I am drunk

Drunk on the shades of spring

Yet still I chatter a thousand woes, haunting the evening waves

Am I a lunatic?

For it feels the moon draws all that dwells involuntary

Would I choose this crazy distinction?

I’d rather root beneath the worms and grow without this trouble

Where all I would want is to slowly dance to where I rest most comfortably

Or to climb the walls, not afraid of position

Is this my prison, believing I am not such a way?

That fate is my own doing

I often pray my thoughts to be swiftly caught by an eagles claw, then released far from land

Filtered by the salt and dispersed upon the seabed, food for the fishes

Ideals I’ve collected, are they to sculpt me? Like hands without permission roaming my naked skin

I quiver

And may I throw that to the birds also

So how,

If there is such a way

Am I to be?