Dig Deep #domestic abuse

A little rant and a p-o-e-m in light of increasing domestic abuse numbers (within this Covid period) and ‘legal’ /unrecognised domestic abuse – depending on country, perspective, bribery and misogyny. It is not OK to condone the notion that women exist to be beaten, abused and trodden on.

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Bury me deeply
so that the sun can’t find
my heart.
It will not oblige
if torn from my smouldering flesh;
soothing fractals in the shadows of my skin
still glow with the pearls
of my faith, a faith that now runs as sweat down
my beaten face. My soul was always on fire –
the reason your hands are now burning.

Bury me deeply
so that the crows you tame
will not abuse me for all eternity,
when solace is no longer
a sacred place
and death becomes an arbitrary mulch.

Bury me deeply,
so that when your fists rage and pound
against the rise of dank, dark soil,
I will not feel you.
And when you scream and shout,
begging for grief and release, since I am not
there to torture, the crows will
gather once again,
but, you will watch them shield me.
So, you should bury
me deeply.

Mindless Control

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Psychedelics-writingasitcomes-drugs

Looking out
on this piss pouring, cloudy day,

I find it hard to unravel.

My life,
inside this invidious smog,

includes those many ubiquities and other tawdry, awkward bits,
often unkind to my demeanour.
And, as a consequence, they are always sent reeling.

But then, I tend to reel them inland –
from LSD to intense, or
merely simple chats,
until nothing will rival that
unwinding, mind bending
anecdote of inner self and healing whilst reeling.

“If I am not myself,
then how can others
see me?

To me,
it was, and still is
a revelation.”

But looking out today
on this rainy morning,
I still feel nothing inspiring –

so  I drain away this fancy
and torturous pain,
to  at least allow me to see the question

of Who I am,

and how that makes me feel…

Ok,  I see.

Looking out
on this piss pouring, cloudy day,

I find it hard to unravel.

Inside, Will the Sun Shine?

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I wish it was possible to live
without a heart,
and walk inside a head
without thoughts
and dread.
And as I was walking in my head,
the lighting wasn’t set –
good moods left me at the lamppost –

its metallic flavour permeated my tongue
as I wrapped my cold arms around it,
while your taste
and the taste of blood
brought me darkness and tears.
I had hoped reinventing
the sunshine would bring me
memories like ham rolls,
and hot mustard
spilled onto a tablecloth of time
where I’d lay out my choices;
of meetings in the square,
casual and attentive,
awash with shadows
when they came to serve the daylight,
and with more than enough warmth
to dry these morbid tears.

I still walk for hours and hours,
but never venture out.

Bring me sunshine,
bring me laughter,
bring me love.

Lessons for My Daughter

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Italics are quotes from George Ivanovich Gurdjieff who was an influential early 20th century Russian mystic, philosopher, spiritual teacher.

do not wonder where we
have been –
all footsteps are obliterated,
all teaching is gone
and knowledge dissipated
by the curse of war;

harness wisdom
as if it were the sun’s energy,
learn belief and hope
outside of bricks and mortar
and scholastic endeavours.

Knowledge is a gift
but wisdom must be earned,

use it wisely as new seed
to enrich dry soil,
fuel the mind and healing
compasses turned by the wind’s
desire to grow stronger –
while lands toil

turn greed into respect
for the beauty of all things
and all people,
let humanity enter this uncertain
phase together so that we can
feed each other

with “wisdom” of the Orient
and the “energy” of the West

and let us stop, as a world,
destroying all life with impunity

 

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