Add your name to join the movement.
I wait for the light, in my own fashion.
Have you seen? This room has grown.
On this day last year, the cost
of being wrong was nothing.
I am loving my poems more each day
What is so delicious about it is
stony limits cannot hold out.
Explore the magic toy shop with me
the graceful birch, straight ahead
where the forest begins, a white cluster
the old wood has fallen
and rotted to riches
feeding the daffodil shoots
pushing upward, splitting the earth
tender tree, a white beacon
stands by the dark forest edge
this is a time for promises
made to each morning begun
the sap, so sweet before the first green,
becomes bitter when the year starts to age
if dreams were liquid we’d all be oceans
notions of fish would swim in our depths
the tides are tirelessly churning the sand
the weeds below sway in the flow
in time the ocean will swallow the land
our silvered skins flicker and shine
I feel your slick side stroke against mine
circling back I seek you again
we swim through life escaping the nets
in whispering voices, the bones, they talk
through the rolling curving lines of the land
they lead me gently, unconscious I walk
on the moss covered stones I rest my hand
to feel their quiet presence lingering there
through the rolling curving lines of the land
in the haunt of the fox, home of the hare,
where all is as it was before, I come
to feel their quiet presence lingering there
guided by moonlight, stones, spiral and sun
I walk the path of the ancestors bones
where all is as it was before, I come
to the place of the barrow, long dark homes,
with lasting respect for all that they knew
I walk the path of the ancestors bones
the stones they placed and the ancient ditches
where the blackthorn at dawn sparkles with dew
inform me still of their deepest wishes
with lasting respect for all that they knew
my thoughts today are not inspired
no deep emotions stoke the inner fire
no image scampers out across the page
the world bursts in with wings and horns
distracting me, declaring I’m no poet
all my hopes bereft, forlorn
poems are made of dancing words
delicious words that tumble out
marked with flows and rhythms
they skitter-scatter on the page
they fascinate, seductive
they have power and strength
imposing form upon it
an ode, a ballad, sonnet
I try to see connections
until they find direction
seeking out….
what’s that word?….
ah yes – perfection
Good morning Soul
What a bright sunny day!
My Soul smiles at me
”I’m so glad you feel that way
as the day holds some
challenges
choices
I hope you are well prepared,
as I suggested?”
”Ah my Soul,
is not all life a preparation?
If it’s a challenge
I expect I can manage
I always get by somehow
If it’s a choice
I hope to make a wise one”
There is a doubt
at the back of my mind
about this
but I don’t express it
”What worries me”
said my Soul
”Is you don’t always
avoid the damage.
Ask your heart
how it feels
about this approach.
Are you sure
you are being honest
with regard to the toll
it all takes?”
If I can’t tell my soul
who will I tell?
So I admit
I tire of some struggles.
I ask for further advice.
My soul smiles again
with a tender expression.
”See it all as simple lessons.
One step at a time.
No pressure.
In the final days
it is I who will judge you
with compassion
and understanding.
I love you
above all things.”
I was so glad to hear this.
I may reach a place
where we both are at peace
without further need
of compassion.
All I must do
is save my own Soul
by loving it
more completely.
when i visit with Freya the world hides away
always the unwelcome guest at the table
there is no room for me under the sun
i am derided, avoided, despised
i am named as all that is bad
they say that i follow false gods
even the gods of Valhalla blamed me
when they counted me amongst them,
as one eternally treacherous, mad
they stole a month of my time
while i count the circling of moons
ascending, resurrecting, enlightening
have no fear of me, welcome me in
who am i?
consider the apple
a treasure
brilliant flowers in spring
ranging from pink to white
a light aroma lifts the spirit
of all who pass close by
decorate your chambers
with blossoms
beauty, bounty of life
after the glory of blossoms
come the succulent fruits
consuming the apple
a journey to paradise
in the presence of love
long past the time of ripeness
when the waves of passion subside
the apples we stored away
soften and wrinkle
their warm fragrance lingers
filling our rooms in winter
where we sit long into the night
in simple companionship
All windows locked, no door, no sanctuary,
no hopes, no kindness, all dreams your nightmares
in this world, of your creation, only you
spreading your despair
Locking loveliness away with bitter hate,
dread fate, you hover over me, a demon.
Is this the best that you can find to hurt me?
I have my own mask
Masked and silent, with my stomach clenched in fear
I fly a million miles away, never near.
You shut me in a darkened room, I vanish
I wear my own wings
You cannot reach inside my mind, never will.
There is a light you can’t extinguish. It burns,
buried under night, it glimmers softly still.
I have my own light
You mistook me long for one who cannot see.
I know you, I see you struggling in your hell.
I cannot help you, break the spell or reach you.
I can’t set you free
I will go from here one day. I’ll forget you.
You’ll remember how I tried to bring you light.
No doubt you’ll see that as a greater torment.
I won’t be haunted
When I escape, the sun will shine the brighter
in a world that’s new to me, reborn from dark,
clearer, stronger, its definitions sharper.
This is not defeat.
At school I sat and stared at squiggles
Because I never read a word
Confusing shapes like spider legs.
Dunces cap cast its shadow
Enough to make ambition freeze
Failure seemed a certain end.
Growing, shrinking, twisting, curving
How could I make sense of words
Inspiration hovered round
Just out of reach, across a bridge
Kept away from me by nerves.
Love of story drove me on.
Maybe one day I would write.
No idea where to start
Opening books to begin.
Poetry awaited me.
Questions filled my childish mind,
Romantic notions, heroes tales,
Secret places hid in dreams.
Time ran on, escaping fools,
Under teachers piercing eye.
Visions were distracting me.
Wrong again. I muttered, stammered.
X X X wrong wrong wrong
‘You are very slow’ she said
Zealous whip above my head
The Dreaming Path 