Burning both Ends


a stare,
fires a
bled bare
by a pale
yellow, violet

gliding wax moulds a
grip and steady drips set,
not unlike our game.
The Slowness of time
runs with our thoughts down
this vine, as I tease the quick
with scorched fingers. As
is your want, you navigate
my aim and like moths we
self destruct when we linger.
A breath of air releases a
care, and we flinch in the
flame’s parting sigh.
Sulphur from the quickening
strike reminds me of the
kindling light as
sleeping birds hum
and candlelit morn draws nigh.

Make Love not War (19/09/2008)

827-fullAlone at last. The air around us was hushed and lit only by a dim and unobtrusive guide that would not belie to anyone as it danced, urging us perhaps to surrender. But who was surrendering? Inside I screamed, half torn apart by insecurities, a wounding enemy and euphoria as the candlelight drifted past my gaze. Focus regained, I felt calm with a warm tender touch, almost hesitant. My hopes wanted it to be sincere, my inner turmoil made it more an unattractive suspicion.

The candle snapped a pleasant sooth and when I had turned from it once more his knees were around mine. I felt safe and wanted even though the tentative approaches and his eyes kept me bubbling; doubting, questioning, till I almost could cry. Was he so right? The person I had dreamed of after having come this far on a journey both within myself and outside, losing much along the way. What an ironic reward this would be if tinged with fears and marred by my demons. Would his blue eyes fight them? Would his quiet touch dismiss it all? I steal back my gown as they begin to eat me alive.

Strong hands brushed up against my arms and gently removed my shield, some of my trembles and most of my heart’s ache. Instinctively my arms reached to cover myself before understanding brought them down but held them frail against his hands; frail on their own but with a strength that echoed my internal army hitherto sleeping. When I called they didn’t wake. I summon myself and all I have and fear drives me lest I lose him too. Longing drives me. He drives me but I am on my own, yet, I don’t feel alone.

My mind savours memories, ideas and notions in a scrapbook made when the warmth, understanding, tolerance and longing he has were thousands of miles away… surely that was enough even now? If not, let me be swallowed whole where I sit. To lose is terrifying but to lose after all this would be like death.

A mile of racing thoughts matched my heart’s pulse; rapid and urgent, desperate, sometimes petrifying. Time gets lost. He was still there, his knees gently squeezing mine as he moved to maybe to go find an excuse. Maybe, as he leaned forward into my neck and I felt the prickles where his arm once was, he just wants to feel my hair or maybe, as he brushes past it and pulls me toward him with noses brushing and foreheads caressing, he just might kiss me. Garbed thoughts, past tensions and badgering niggles are swept away by a buzz, a sense of being, a cosy familiarity -him. Rapid waves of another kind swiftly take hold and I give in and throw my caution in its awful mask to the wind. A caution that dressed my scar, my wants and my needs and hid them from my view. A caution that could have cost me dearly and lost me the only thing I ever really tried to win after suffering heavy defeats.

My demons rage again when assaulted. Teased by their enemy’s searching hands. His needing hands? Needing me? I still can’t believe it. their habit is assuaged when warm streams drown them out and his hands, these hands, try to make me his own. I want them to hold me and shield me. Let their generous form devour me until they become like a second skin to mine, to hold whenever and forever and as long as they want me to want them.

I wake from a dream, sweating and shaking, but the dream still ran through me in small, colourful sensations that pulsated through my veins. Tender, sensual images ran up my sides and with an avarice, slid down my flesh and pulled me with him. A need that was sometimes greedy, but well tamed, tried to take me all at once with  a gentle longing trying to capture me forever.  I saw the same blue eyes before they disappeared when he swept  down my body. I felt wanted, needed, protected, peaceful and cared for; the best a love has to offer I remembered. I met his eyes again as he came back  to kiss me, and it was then that I realised I had not been dreaming – it was in fact reality.

No Man nor Boy, nor Beast should Hinder

cropped2nd pasture

This is one of the pieces I published when I began here a year ago when nobody knew I was here, and I quite happily wrote and published and looked for pictures for months on end, which was all I wanted to do, and which I still love doing.  I rewrote a version for my dad’s funeral service.  One year later, I miss him deeply.  I thought I would redo this in his honour…he urged me to keep writing when I’d given up, and now I know you all  better, and thank you,  I’d also like to share.

Inspired by William Shakespeare

“To be or not to be, that is the question;
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing, end them. To die, to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to — ’tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish’d. To die, to sleep;
To sleep, perchance to dream. Ay, there’s the rub,”
~ W Shakespeare

~No Man Nor Beast…by Anita M Kulkarni Nabonne

A gentle hand, cool and unafraid, stroked a young man’s head.
‘No Man, nor boy, nor Beast should hinder.
Unscramble that tethered brow, tame that beast a restless heart.
Smooth the toiled and ingrained lines of tired and old pastures,
make them soft and as green as new pastures can possibly be,
they are laid out just for you, as far and as long as your eyes can take,
pulling and calling you lest they remain forever fallow, unforeseen,
even when seen in daylight’s dream.’

His prickled elbows rest and suffer both old and new veneer that holds
the lack lustre days of lost dreams and freshly varnished wants.
Once a man, now as a boy, he leans and he gazes, reaching
with his welling eyes. The mist is his but is in the wind,
the wind before him, with it’s teasing breath in rapture, it is the wind
who tells him to, ‘follow,’ to ‘come with me and see…’

Beyond the horizon, way ahead, past corn fields and ambition
and laughter and submission, yesterdays, nighttimes and dreaming
of tomorrows, his friend the wind, bristles through the slender, tall grass
and swims in these waves all the way on green and pleasant ocean –
past the weary belly of the setting sun nestling on the checkered
tablecloth – horizon of another land, another time, an even fresher pasture.

Its hem flaps with whooshing exuberance; each tiny, chasm
of possible space bristles the golden hair of the barley till over
and through the friendless, picket fence creaking in the distance.
Once there, it teases spindly legs till through those and up the frail,
wooden stoop, it bursts through a sad, silk screen, that can barely
cling to the original tender arms of it’s beloved, but tattered frame,
but is loathe, so loathe to let it go.

Once inside this other orphan; the mischievous child – lost, but now free
and with abandon, like his friends around him and like the wind – strong
yet gentle, he breathes life into sleeping cobwebs that hold memories
of families and laughter and runs with the ghosted voices till he pushes them with  renewed force through the tired, resigned and cracked shutters; its paint now just warped layers of pain, sadness and dusted,
streaming light, until they are flung unashamedly and without resistance
…well and truly open.

Together they spill in a tumble like bedraggled weeds
onto pastures new. They need no coax or invite till they in turn dive
with naked knees tucked into a warmer chest, into yet another pond, to swim
among the playful faces of wistful dreams that are dandelions, clover and buttercups floating in their own warm and tropical seas till
the daytime sun grows weary and tells them ‘time for bed and dreams…
dreams that have yet to be spoken, touched or those unsaid.’

Small and tired limbs bask on this gentle wave that responds and ushers towards a silvered horizon. Waiting, is the moon’s maternity; arms outstretched and beckoning, ‘Come sleep now, rest your dreams and your happy but aching brow, for tomorrow is another day, another pasture, another lifetime. Let eager rest up a while before you swim again, but dream of what is beyond my skirts.’ She wraps his shivering body and blankets his doubts and fears, keeping safe till tomorrow all his hopes and all his dreams. Kissing his forehead, smoothed and calmed, she whispers to the child, vulnerable but as yet unharmed,

No more; and by a sleep to say we end
the heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
that flesh is heir to — ’tis a consummation
devoutly to be wish’d. To die, to sleep;
to sleep, perchance to dream.

by wakening them we say live them
in this warm and quilted pasture.  Acres
secreted by distance, out of reach no longer.
devoutly to be wish’d. To live, not die;
to sleep, perchance a dream?


when you waken, it will be there,
when you dream, she will be there.
When you begin to live
you could have it all.

But, sleep now.’


cropped waterIt’s been such a long time, it could be ten thousand years. Time passes faster when you cry all your tears. Last time I looked back I could only see my feet. I never saw the sky, I missed a treat, and I miss my old life. I can only look back and cry. I miss my future, but it is too late I say, and I cry for the passing time all of the day.

‘There are blue skies and a cold yearning face. Catching the breeze with eyes closed in embrace. Swirling on tip toes, hearts lifted in the air, wind cool on the fingertips but chilled in the stare. Longing and heartache kept warm all the while. Never a dry eye let down by goodbye. She holds it all in still after many have cared. But don’t tell her you’re leaving, don’t stroke her there.’

I take off my robe in ankles held deep. My hands fill the water with each step of my feet. The waves fully clothe me until I am replete. I disappear from view and drown in this pain, and I miss my future, but I can see the stars now, over and over and over again.


two lost soul

Inside my head there is a story with plots and angles, arcs and curve balls, twists and turns, reality and make believe, mystery, assumptions and clever word play. Inside my head there is a dream where clarity resounds and bleeds into fuzz and fur, where the abstract becomes meaningful and reality becomes the nightmare, contained. Inside my heart there is a man who is part story, part dream and daydream. I can see it but dismiss it. I hear it but then forget it. When I feel it, only then do I fully understand.

3grief2I feel like I have been hit by a truck and someone else is feeling all of the pain. I can’t thank them enough for that. It’s like I am treading water waiting for the sharks to come. The more weary I grow, and the more blood spills, they will probably come – such is the nature of grief.
It feels like my heart is breaking before it sinks, while being manically held aloft with another kind of love. I’m trying to fill gaps like plugging a boat full of holes that is somehow kept afloat, until it finally sinks due to a sad lacking.
I am not unique, and I know this happens to everybody at some point when we find ourselves the reluctant passenger on a journey through a process, but I will be glad if somewhere on the way; before this journey’s end, I can stop to remember and smile and  not just wait to be bitten.


Floating happily alone on my mind’s shapeless ocean
Till your mind sets sail and steers,
drawing me with your words to lovelorn rocks.
Sail beside me, sail beside me,
Hear the call,
I am here, here I am
Impatiently waiting –
your boat will breach,
and I will reach,
despite you shy away from sorrow.

Clouds like a seascape waft their potions,
I am caught like a helpless child
breathing words but my boat is leaning.
Keep a distance, keep a distance,
Ignore the singing,
I will drown, I will drown.
I am sinking
as you enfold me,
my broken bones reach
despite you said you’d keep me from sorrow.

Sea foam and its spurious memories claim me,
Mocking my buoyancy and I weaken.
It is too late now, for swimming would beat me,
do not touch me, please do not touch me.
Hear my wishes
As I drown, as I drown
I am not afraid
as I lay like a trapped oyster,
and despite you prize me apart,
my broken bones can no longer feel the sorrow.

Waves become my wings and they lift me from my tears,
I look down to flailing arms, soon at rest.
Smiles break through the storm clad sky,
relieved at such a calm sea.
My heart breaks, breaks in two,
but still it holds me buoyant.
I feel weightless and free
as my shackles disappear,
sinking deeply near the breakers,
all that is left to see is your figure holding in the sorrow.

sea sirens