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

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.

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.

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?

Warrior (I)

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I don’t see a broken woman anymore

I’m not the wreck I thought myself before

Yes, I hold the crap I’ve kept

I greet the fears I’ve always met

My heart still aches from shrapnel wounds

Still blinded by those darn typhoons

I wonder still where time has flown

Why seeds of doubt have stubbornly grown

But life stirs up the shit I hid

Those frets, they’re living, not stains to rid

I’ll loosen grip through daily strains

Nor question tears that ease my pains

I’m not shattered glass upon the floor

I am not a broken woman anymore

Find Me

Some people may find me annoying

They don’t like the way that I dress

Some people may think I’m too bossy

Others may moan ‘she’s an absolute mess!’

Some may say that they like me

The joy that I bring, they’re a fan

They think that I’m funny and laugh at my jokes

Hoping I’ll stay as I am

But hey, you can’t please ‘um all

I’ve tried but it really don’t work

And maybe the pleasing ain’t pleasing

Cos I’ll think good intentions yet sound like a jerk

So some people like me and others may not

The question is why do I care?

As I can’t change the way that they see me

But myself, I can change how I cope with their stare

As They Pulse

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Amongst the midst of thinking

I stumble upon shallow water

Where fishes pray

Slowly planning their descent. One day

I walk on broken shell

And kick the sandy bed

Grain filled mist dances

Passing by my bloody toes

Red turns to pink. To nothing

I think to numb

But the salt, the salt eases the pain

Turtles bury themselves

Hiding from careless pace

So I stop

Forgetting where I came from

Inhaling the horizon

Exhaling the days I hated these hands

That sway in the sea

Ripples circle the whole of me

And my heart listens to the clams

As they pulse

And water rises

My hair flirts with the algae

Entwining under the setting sun

I wonder how I thought

How thinking goes. Gone

And my heart listens to the clams

As they pulse

And I pulse too

Me, delicious?

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What if

I forget how to breathe

One day my lungs pack up

And I freeze

For longer than a minute

An hour

I die right there

And purple veins decorate marbled blood

Clots of dark, crumble

Hawks hover above

Liquid pink drenches the earth

And twigs played by bones

Settle alone

Waiting for the squirrel to collect

What if

All I knew of myself

When painted lips pout in the morning

As I decide by the light of the mirror

My worth

Was gone in a flash

Ground down to feed the worms

Every inch of me

Nourishes another

So what if

Before I die

I decide to be delicious

Before the hawks and the squirrels and the worms

Enjoy me

I’ll make sure to enjoy myself first

I AM SHE

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I am she

The saber-tooth, wounding comfort spots

‘Never think your work is done’

Sinking deeper into prayer

Feathers cleanse and winds whisper

As I call upon the sage

Wisdom coasting exhalations

‘I am she’

Words skim the waters

My core so fierce I bleed

Staining fingers that bribe silence

I burn

Nourishing earth with all I shed

I am linen, woven by the chief of stars

The cloth for inspired strokes

Imaginations willing me into existence

I am she

The deciding note

My howl stirs sleeping pixies

Sparking magic as wings chime

I am the symbol escorting the rain

The dramatic ending

I am she.