Loved

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The first time,
you lay before me as magnificence –

the stars and the moon
were the clothes you wore –
a gift to my blackest of nights.

And while in your arms, I raced with you
through sun and sky, and as the earth
turned only to feel your heartbeat,

 I swear, I trembled when I felt it too.

You had no edges or centre – you
were love, and I trembled.

And I miss you.

 

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Itiswhatitis

Back for a short while after completing what seems like a zillion pendants and zentangle light bottles… don’t ponder… lol.  I have an event this Sunday coming,  then a month of work/rest/restock then some more.  Needed to write so I did.  Garden is great, sun keeps coming – all’s good. Hope you are all well.  I shouldn’t ‘write’ myself off.  I will take it ‘As it Comes’! I can do both.

indiff

Your head feels warm
in my colder arms
as you hold me close,
oblivious, inside my turmoil –

and you speak to me,
only if you’re willing,
otherwise,
go live by yourself.

This fucking honey liqueur,
is too thick to pour,
but somehow it gets me drunk –
does it’s sticky glue create a distance?

Moths fly around me
hurling their abuse,
so please dowse the light –
god, you’re ignorant.

Are we to stay
‘ignited’?
Do we still make a good match?

Since you close your mind,
it is indifference, I feel,

and I wonder aloud
in all of my screams,

and I see the past streaming before me,
till it muddies my glass – it’s all unreal.

What the fuck was it
that we created?

Can we live up to that?
I feel a need.

I sang you songs –
and not inebriated,

I sat on your lap
watching TV.

I thought I belonged,
but was mistaken,

I don’t even belong
to me.

Stuck in the thick of it,
wrangling with these lacy honeyed sleeves,
I’m interrupted by full on indifference;

 it pours from orifices

I thought were mine,
but it is all the stuff that you bleed.

 

Chalk Bones

chalk bones whips blush poem

My cheeks inherited
these whispered blushes.
Above them sits one jewel
in the traverse
of my brow’s flesh,
a stream of teardrops,
permanently nestle
in the body of my face –

they remind me of the child
caught crying
in ink black darkness
where silver shadows
of pale moon would try and invade
my solemnity –
its own had wandered only to find
nothingness and me, hiding inside of it.

Occasionally,
we would dance
a reflection; swooning and
dipping, dodging emptiness,
faded scars and the morass
of past pain, unredacted, untouched,
left to degrade, as if it could.

Calm moon chalk
expressions would beat rhythmic
shadows on my chest, imposing
stoic interruptions
where my stolid heart should be;

and, still at press pause, afraid of my
own heartbeat, of my organs,
of mnemonic patterns –

myriad disjointed
memories have scattered
amid fabricated utterances

fluttering endlessly.  Out of control
in chasms of grey, fleshy matter –
pretty cacti run my veins –
flower buds seldom seen
are happy there
forcing blood, forcing life.

I bang on the mirror…
until cracks fill with my blood –

like grime and dirt,
the pain of my disease
is ingrained,

it cannot be wiped away –
so the reflection oscillates.
I roll my cheeks one at a time;
warm flesh pressed hard
against cold glass,
my painted orange lips, linger,

and I pray my bones break
so that I might heal.

I resolve to stop this
dance of attrition – and smear
the neon shop bought mask,
swapping sorrows for sin,

and we wade out from the mire –
facets polished, pores unclogged –

for a little while
at least.

With cupped hands, I drink
the rhythm of the rain
still smothered in shade.

Ashen faced, I find I have, at least,
become whole.

Missy

A pick from this time 2 years ago.   I’m still busy doing my thing and making lots of money to help beat cancer sooner.  I smashed last year’s target and I am a third of the way through the one set for 2019.  I will have more faith and raise it!  Next event is this Saturday.  I hope you are all well and gearing up for a wonderful spring and its inspiration! Take care.

As it Comes

Miss.png

Her skin is fair, lightly freckled and starkly
contrasts her ambiguous demeanour.
I always tip my cap, ‘Good day, Miss,’
but she never casts a glance.
I carry on my way, meandering
deep in wild thoughts that are always
honeysuckle, blue grass, rosehips
and my Miss.
The sun beats down on she and us,
but when my Miss smiles, the heavens open
and it pours, dare I say, it rains tears.
My thinking is, it can not compete
with the lovely lady who does not care
if I live or die, because I know us to be just
a part of my wildest dreams –
the place I go to swiftly as I pass
the dingy, rusted via duct
on my way to work –
I pass that way often, my dreams,
so as not to be seduced by the muggy
waters of brown stench lying along my trail.
Deep down, I think…

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Song for a Bluebird

I’m starting another year fundraising for CRUK, and painting my socks off again for my first event on 23rd February.  Sorry I haven’t been able to get around to your blogs and good works yet.  I hope you all have a lovely Valentine’s day,  loving one another, and many others.  Be kind and careful.   Here are some of my hearts for you from last year’s painting spree.  Take care.

Dedicating this old chestnut on Valentine’s day to my lovely husband, Jay.  Love you.

Walk me to the end
of love – let us be love.

Fold me where the
seams are stitched,

edges brought closer
till there is no end.

Play me till the piano
aches, when drifting sighs

start dancing, and crooning
violins stop playing.

Lift me like a hope
seeking light from dust,

hold me with your beauty
like a soul on fire –

let me be the risk you take,
dance me to the edge

then wait with me until the end
of love, let us be love.