Categories
Poetry

Searching

How deep is the sea that clutches

and drags me to the muddy floor, within?

How many days will I tumble

into the swell of inner life

unspoken, unwanted, unkind?

Shall I stand here, now,

battered and smiling, beside this beautiful life?

Still searching.

Still searching.

Always searching, but for the fleeting days

of clarity,

of home neat and tidy.

The creative knife;

sharp, yet desperately beautiful in shine.

Still searching.

Always, still searching.

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Categories
Poetry

Tomorrow’s Rose

How delicate it is, the garden of eternity.

Interwoven; the past, present, future

of our sleepy meadow, dear.

One cannot possibly know how

or what

the wind of today will drift to the valley

of tomorrow.

One can only hope to gather roses in arms

and lay them down, admired.

But what of tomorrow?

A dried rose is surely a beauty.

A delight preserved from time gone by.

Take these roses, fine.

Take this heart

and scatter my soul freely

into the arms of the dreamers, next.

Tomorrow’s rose.

Today’s quiet and careful sun.

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Categories
Poetry

Twinkling Silence

Hush.

Here in the silence

that lingers between each star.

Close your eyes,

let the sweet velvet black

hold you.

And you will know

(you will know)

that this is all you need.

The twinkling silence that is you.

This is all you need.

Categories
Poetry

I Feel

My heart is open and bare,

laid out before the world again.

Their pain is mine: I give it loving arms.

I speak their truth.

I burn with mine.

They say these are words, but I know they are more.

I call them life, achingly true.

Here I am, the softest rose: bruised but sweet.

And waiting.

An open bud, thirsty for the dew.

It’s who I am, the rose, I know.

What is this dew to fall on me?

Is it love? This feeling, deep and strong.

For a world that doesn’t know itself,

a world too scared to open its heart and see?

Do not tell me I overthink.

I feel

for you.

I feel.

For humanity.

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Categories
Life

Peace

Peace.

It’s soft and it’s cool.

It’s free and it’s flowing.

And quiet. (Good heavens it’s quiet. I close my eyes for that one. Truly. I close my eyes.)

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Peace.

It lives in the candle beside me; within this flame, still and perfect.

I drink tea alone—peace lives there.

And the wind, swaying green beyond the window: it stops me as I wander.

It brings me home.

Peace is the language that brings me home.

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Peace.

It is such a beautiful thing.

And it’s funny. How long it has taken me to see its worth.

That I’ve been looking for it. That, always, it’s been mine.

If only I’d known that I needed it.

I needed it.

Peace. I need it, still.

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Categories
Poetry

Human Like You

Do not ask me to hate

the ‘broken’ ones.

I am a broken one

because I am human.

You are too. You are too.

Do not ask me

to turn my soul inside out

so I might fit into your mould

of unrelenting judgement.

I am my own self, and I will love them,

even if you will not.

Always,

I will love.

Do not tell them they are broken

compared to you.

They are broken differently to you.

They are human, like you.

They are human.

Like you.

Categories
Motherhood

A Beautiful Mess

This messy home,

an incorrectness:

something broken

needing to be fixed.

The wars we rage inside ourselves

just to keep control,

to maintain clean,

to maintain ‘right.’

It is a mistake of the eyes

and the heart

not to see the true beauty

of a home:

messy, chaotic,

beautifully lived in.

These crumbs on the floor.

They are not bad or wrong.

They are a reminder of my children.

How lucky I am to have them at all.

This beautiful mess a child does bring.

Mess is life.

And though a pristine home

is a gift to be treasured,

so is this mess.

This mess of sweet

imperfect

life.

Categories
Poetry

She Would

If she could hold the world with all her heart.

If she could soften the growls of the wildest of them,

she would.

Oh, she would.

Oh, she would.

Categories
Poetry

Only And Always

The wind cannot be caught.

It cannot be moulded to perfection,

scraped and gutted

and made to be something other than

what it is.

The wind is only, and always, the wind.

And you

are only

and always

you.

Flow as you will.

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Categories
Poetry

Like I am

Deep within my heart

there is a river, raging on.

And I ask this river to be careful.

‘I am fragile,’ I say, on the softest breath.

‘Sway me,

always,

never to rush me,

never demand.

Hold me carefully, river.

Hold me carefully,

I am not like the others

made of brick and bone

and steel.

I am only like I am.

I am only like I am.

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