Categories
Life

All My Softness

I am home when the beautiful song of my heart is at peace.

There is nothing loud, here, nothing beyond the birds and the rippling pools of shadow on brick.

I am just me, in all of my softness.

Me, in this beautiful place, home.

I have loved tenderly, here.

I will always love tenderly.

Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com
Categories
Life

Alone

It is raining, and I am alone.

And there is sorrow in these parts, and knowing that life is terrible and beautiful, all at the same time.

I am alive with all of that.

I am alive with the sorrow and all the quiet of all the world.

I shall drink some coffee.

I shall drink it well, and hold my cup with love.

Categories
Poetry

They Know Not What They Do

Why,

when the road is so beautiful,

(dappled sun on white)

do these lashing tongues

slice my delicate sky, so?

I shall find a cave, as promised.

A dear and perfect home

to soothe.

And I shall cherish the broken,

never shall I fight, as they do.

They know not how their barbs sting.

Be silent and sure, my battered soul.

Silent and hopeful,

the slicing pain will end.

Categories
Life

The Art of Living Carefully and Beautifully

I made the beds as if it might be the last time.

I didn’t think, ‘Oh. Gosh. You know, I better take more care in making these beds, I might be gone by tomorrow morning.’ It wasn’t like that.

I just folded the sheets over in a way that made my hands feel one with the sheets. I folded the pyjamas and placed them on the end of the bed while watching the way my hands moved; I marvelled at how beautiful those hands looked and felt to me.

It’s the most delicious season of life, this point in time where I’m naturally going with the flow that turns planets and unfurls flowers and plants.

I am just so grateful for all that beautiful loveliness, and I really wanted to come and share some of its whimsical wind with you.

And so I say:

I hope you know you are loved, but…I hope you also know it’s okay to forget, sometimes. Forgetting makes the remembering so, so precious. Truly.

I hope you always remember mistakes are the beautiful door to the changes life has been wishing for you.

I hope you learn to forgive yourself and others, and then go and eat a massive slice of chocolate cake on a random Tuesday, just because.

And I hope you…well, maybe I’ll leave this last hope up to you.

Hope something beautiful for yourself.

I promise, this wish will bring to you the most beautiful things.

xx Brooke

Photo by Teresa Howes on Pexels.com
Categories
Poetry

Sweet Love Departed

When there is,

in this soft heart,

a tear for sweet love departed,

a tender wave of grief upon the shore;

where do these small hands go?

How do I hold

and kiss

and whisper

each precious ache

into wholeness, once more?

There is an apricot sun in the distance.

There is a mighty perfection

twinkling in the eye.

And so it is,

the ache shall be

here

and I shall know her.

Until I have known her eternal home.

Categories
Poetry

Beautiful

Let me tell you

how the small things you do

are beautiful.

Let me show you this mirror,

let you reach for it in wonder.

This shine belongs to you,

do you see?

Do you see?

Yes,

you see.

Categories
Poetry

Anyone

I feel the truth

only because of the false.

A seeing

beyond the faces of clowns.

Play rolled in fear,

don’t you see

the squeaky carousel?

They feel the brittle bones

of life gone by

and bleed again,

but only if they see.

No.

They won’t see,

they don’t want to see.

Be anyone but the truth,

they whisper.

Be anyone

but me.

Categories
Poetry

Let Go

Let go.

For peace.

Categories
Poetry

The Wind

The wind, I think,

is peace.

The breath of the earth.

The song of the trees.

And we will bathe in her softness,

today,

and every day.

The wind, I think,

rolls all days into one.

May she catch us

and show us

the truth in her song.

Categories
Poetry

Soft Things

She floats on the wind

as they stare.

And they will never know her

as their own.

Never see her truth

as anything other

than feathers in the garden.

Yet, she knows herself, dear.

And she knows, darling softness,

that a field of daisies

and daffodils

and dandelions waits for her

somewhere.

Where the soft things come together

at last.