Saturday, 27 April 2013

Where the Pussywillows Fly

I dreamed of a world where pussywilllows flew 
Soft bodies filled the air 
Whirring about with long blue wings

Sending vibrations coursing 

Causing every tiny hair on my body 
To stand 

Erect ~ Alive ~ Eager

To reach 
In surprise and awe

I dreamed of a world where Mother cats prowled 
Nomads moving freely with kittens in  mouths
Nurturing their young in the ways of the feral psyche

The air I breathed came alive

Charging against the boundaries of my lungs
Pressing, infusing smells

Ocean ~ Wind ~ Animal

The wild
Fruitful and untamed

Thursday, 18 April 2013

He Told Me I Would Never

He told me I could search the world over and I would never find anything anywhere quite like him

I'm a Leo 

So I took that as a challenge and headed out on a journey

I returned to his door two and a half years later triumphant

When he opened his door I stated with pride "I did it!" 

"Prove it." he demanded quietly leaning against his door frame, looking, both intrigued and unconvinced.

I took off my back pack, set it on the step, reached in, carefully withdrew a mason jar and passed it to him.

"What's this?" he asked


"It's an empty mason jar."

"It's not at all empty. It's filled to the brim with all the stuff you're made of."

"Oh? What kind of stuff?"

" Inside that bottle is the magic of a rainbow I found in Greenland, star light I found in the North West Territories, wind from each of the four corners, air that's been caressed by butterfly wings from St. Lucia, sun beams from Samoa, the innocence of a newborn from Uruguay, the passion of a gypsy from Romania, the heat of a thunder bolt from South Carolina, the fragrance of the first bloom of summer from England, the poetic joy of Ireland, and one salty tear of a mermaid from Fiji.  You."  I said again triumphantly

"All that's in here, eh?"

I nodded.

"Well, you must be tired, being right can be exhausting." he said with a grin as he reached out for my hand

"It is and I am." I admitted placing my hand in his

"Would you like to come in?"

" Yes, I would like to come in. I'd like that very much."

The Quiet Climb Towards The Fall

There's a stirring when old ways start to whisper
Almost without a hint of knowing

Despite very good intentions
Despite diligence

When the whispers start ...

... Do we listen?
Or do we explain it away?

"Probably just a creak in an old joint settling ... just one of those noises old vessels make in the midst of the darkest's nothing."  a voice will often offer up
In the hope of silencing vigilant angels.

After all we're all big boys and girls. We can do this on our own.


Sunday, 14 April 2013

There She Stood

There she stood
Her legacy adorning every weathered inch of her

Her fruit hanging 


There for the plucking
There for the savouring
There for the quenching and the quelling

There if we reach

There if we don't



Thursday, 11 April 2013

Consequential Residue

No matter if your head 
is tipped left or right
Or whether a thing is examined
During the day or the night
There you sit, in your debris
Dusty remnants of decisions made much to hastily

Consequential Residue

There you are. But what to do?
Do you approach from the front?
Or approach from the rear?
But what if IT captures you?

What then should you do?

Do you have a sense of humour?
Can you laugh it away?
Or are you pious and proper
And that require that you pray?
Or do you require more effort than even that
Like continual sweeping of your creepage back under your mat?

Should you bag and tag?
Or toss off the bridge?
Should you mount the head of it?
Or stick it to the door of your fridge?
It is just so very much to decide
Whether to display ... or whether to hide