You. Are. It. Look down At each of your darling little toes And know what every one of them already knows: That You in all your razzle dazzle stardust You in all your fear You in all your great small greatness: You. Are. It.
Last night I dreamt a little red fox jumped over the round clear moon I was the moon and you were the fox That doesn't matter though What does is that right there in that moon jump was the magic I've been trying to get to forever I woke sad and made it my work [...]
You weren't in the museum amongst the illuminated manuscripts. And I can tell you, I looked really closely. You weren't in the vanilla chai latte I had later on in the cafe. (The girl who made it could have told me that). You weren't in the gift shop. Nor in the cry of the seagull [...]
I just read a Rumi poem that pissed me off: The one about the Love Dogs About how the howl of the dog for its master IS the connection Bollocks. I can tell you right off: This time around that's not going to be enough.
Beautiful old willow Last week curled and draped upon our river Nodding sagely to the passing ducks Today stands devastated Split in two by last night’s storm Interior milk white grinning Gaped entirely to the world Tragic end to noble tree? Or just the answer to the question it was asking its entire life?
i Think: does crocus put the brakes on crocus? Brave first flower. Pale cup reaching, opening, gold heart first into the light. Is crocus always questioning, ordering: Not like that. Like this. Purple, really? White I think: Improve or die unloved. Always angry mending Until crocus has no idea of how or why or which [...]
It’s late and the soul picks her sweet way through the debris: ‘I can’t believe you said that, ate that, smoked that; of course they don’t like you; why would they?; look at the state of you’. She picks her sweet way between smoldering rafters, over burnt out stories. Through smoke and flame and the [...]
Hard to remember always that we share a soul You, I, the vicar who almost ran me over on his bicycle The one who frowned before remembering. Offered an 'even vicars...' kind of smile. The one who might do a sermon on it On patience at the weekend. 'Even I' perhaps he'll start. Ego speaks and soul separates Into me. You. My dog The vicar. On Sunday high up in his eyrie. I'm wondering what remembering looks like: Silent, infinite love-orgy And what the password* for that party might be. *PM me pls if u got it thx :)
Today my soul will not take flight On flock of words to wheel and scatter To make new shapes Turn silver in the light Today it stays down here sulky flat and dark as lead It says it's trapped between my body And the earth The thing is right now I can't be bothered to [...]
Sorrow wants to know how we met and through whom and whether I’m actually entitled to know her. ‘You see’ she says in her softly voice , 'You don’t have a child who is dying Your partner has not gone terminal Your clitorus appears to be intact And even the lump growing from your dog’s foot [...]