Friday, 12 February 2016

rendered inarticulate and beautiful
by the desire to not diminish the mystery
by squeezing it into words.

burning in starlight,
in the dark,
in the silence that isn't silent.

it's a long night and these waters
still run deep, but you're a strong swimmer
and not out of nowhere the meaning
is emerging as a continual unfurling
in all directions..

Tuesday, 2 February 2016

gold ink. second page in.

second of February 2016.
imbolc.

the river liquid swift and swollen, going where it needs to go and paying no heed to the trees scattered like casualties along it's banks. the rest stand strong and defiant as the wind thunders through them. the white bells of snowdrops dance and the soft green spears of crocus somehow manage, as they always do, to break through the cold hard dirt. the wonder of it all gloriously intoxicating. how ridiculously savage and determined and ravishing nature is. mother. source. beauty.

Monday, 1 February 2016

shedding skin. gently

in the time it takes to untangle yourself from the snakes you plaited down his back the birds will have scratched their cyphers on the dirty sky above naked fields exposing their pregnant brown bellies and your dreams (which turned out to be borrowed anyway) will have been nothing more than hazy provocations and you'll be soaked to the bone, the flame burning bright in one hand, a half drunk glass of milk in the other, burying apple seeds in the cracks as the day loosens it's grip with trembling hands and remembers the hills and the way they wore white so softly on their shoulders..
i am leaning, i am learning,
i am watching giants roll across the sky.
i imagine there are people like you everywhere,
but too many people ask the wrong questions.

Thursday, 28 January 2016

night bears the weight of the moon
bone white and swollen
silhouetting wings outstretched
and ready.

sparks fly.

speak a little louder.

glow in the dark.

acknowledge the myriad saints
and gods of the morning and high places
who turn a blind eye and pretend
to know not of anything greater
than themselves.

little lighthouse,
shine your green heart
through edges cracking
in preparation for new growth.
a constant bloom. emerging
to speak in tongues and live out the myth
within the circle of fire
surrounded by the accumulation
of all these things that were never small,
but were held in open hands
along with the cup I hold now
to your cautious lips.

Wednesday, 6 January 2016

the moon hangs from the ceiling and i slip softly between the dots, your ink blots, the space between your eyes from where you gave birth to yourself, between the extremes to which you're drawn. take you apart beneath the silent surface, amid the truth hiding behind what's seen. and see.

Friday, 1 January 2016

the day feels clean against my skin.
old ends and new beginnings.
 
turn me around,
what if the answer is yes?..