Category: Poetry
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Here’s to the Degenerates, the Wanderers, the Survivors
Here’s to the souls forced to live under cover of darkness, filled with desires they cannot express, overflowing with needs daylight cannot soothe. Here’s to the 3-piece suitors, lunch hours on their knees, heeling to Madame X, travelling hidden and unspoken roads within themselves. Here’s to lives lived in shadows, in defiance of no life lived at all. Here’s to the good, obedient ones, who shred rules to pieces, who launch fireballs of abandon when no one is looking. Here’s to the embers that singe their ground, reminders of who they are, when unjudged and free. Here’s to the addicts,…
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Where, on Earth, is Your Majesty?
Where sits the sense of self that will not allow itself to be treated so? The flame lit from the original spark that chose to bring such a creature breathing, crying, screaming into this world, that you now allow to be extinguished by one so low, where is it? Where are you? You see, I watch you, with your forsaken abandoned splendour run whimpering after the dog that would cock its leg to use you as a tree. I watch you, confused that another might dare, so brazenly to forget you. Even though you have long…
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Love Affair
I want us to have a love affair. You and me. How about it, my love? I’m inviting you to show up suited, in your tightest emotions thoughts, buttoned up over that raw and wounded chest. Come, let me unclothe you, let me help you out of this world where you are unhappy not at your best. not yourself. I am excited, love, to watch you unbind the laces, of your knotted and twisted dreams only to watch them fall as do unexpected tearswhen you ground in ways you have never known. There is no woman like me,…
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Loiter
Loiter, my friend loiter. Allow motion to have its wicked way around you, any way it so pleases as you hang out inconspicuous and free. The moon in its shared bed of stars and dark is proficient at curving this way and that complete at all times. Luna, my friend is a hussy of the most formidable sort overcome nightly by all manner of wet and cumulus cloud.
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We Are All A Collection Of Short Stories
we are all a collection of short stories made to look whole one fluid, linear, looping tale. within each story no chapters only worlds self sufficient enough to undo whatever follows or precedes. we are all a collection of short stories and, loved ones people will borrow needed passages recognised sentences, will see mirrored parts of themselves born alone travelled still. let them take it makes room for all you will take, too. the parts are independent must have autonomy from and for the other. we are all a collection of short stories the only way, to survive a life…
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Midwife
You have been asked to birth greatness and your first response, is to cry out for another. Another person, another woman, another soul. You have been called to birth brilliance and so you search for a wise feminine; a she sublime, a she capable, a she strong enough to bear the weight of power surging within you. You look around for the doula, creativity dammed at your roots, eager to flow through the vessel of one fit to withstand its force. You search for the doula, until the message comes, loud, in your quietness, No more humans. No more humans. No more other. Only us. Until…
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Rest
Rest, is nourishment. It is not checking emails, messages, or sitting quietly to ponder, the 50 things to do later. They aren’t urgent, anyway. Once the fear is removed, the panic, the ‘what ifs’, all that is left is choice, to do the thing now, or later. Rest, is the master of later. Rest, is eating food that the body, not the mind, craves. It is the herbal infusion that communes, with your needs, on a cellular level. It is the slumber that breathes softly, mistaken, sometimes, for a lover. Rest, sinks far from all surfaces, cannot feel the frantic…
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Don’t Trust The Process
Don’t trust the process. Trust the stillness that lives in the spaces between. Trust the walk from your bed to the shower, the moments between plating your food and eating it, the life between asking for your dream and receiving what you really need. + Don’t trust the process. Because that is only about trusting what you’re doing, not who you’re being, in between. Your life is not a process. + This emphasis on time on linear movement, will only nail you deeper onto this Earth onto the cross of expectation and maybe even, regret. You came here to learn…
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Homesick
We are all homesick. We are all longing for the place to belong, where we may show up whole and seen by the group. Releasing all the ways we water down to fit in, discarding the shadows and the decoys, we have created to throw others off our scent. We are all homesick for the tribes that help the healing of marriages, the nurturing and care for one another’s children, and the soothing to all parts of us that ache. We are all homesick not for the material, the plot of brick and mortar, or piece of land that is vast…