Sunday, 26 October 2014

Colour me in





Shall we colour this day

with love?

The love I felt in Church yesterday

and 

the quiet feeling of joy

when I waken

to the creaminess of these October mornings.

In my little room of thought

I travel all around the world

places I've been, 

scents that I've smelled.

What a treasure chest the mind is,

an artist's palette

painting and colouring new beauty~

every single day.

The sooty lines of the rooftops

at that time of dusk

when candles flicker 

and once again my heart fills

with gratitude to a loving God.

This endless universe of the stars

and the sky

all in my mind

colouring

colouring

colouring



* Based on Jack Kerouac's * The Lonesome Traveller *

Sunday, 19 October 2014

Star fire











Today,

yesterday,

a week that was.

Season change ~

colder nights

breath on the air

and taking out an old,

weathered copy of Wuthering Heights.

It seems right.

Long hot soaks 
in the bath.

The little luxuries of life.

Your kiss so small
and your touch so warm.

Imagined owl song ,
that  light I love
at dusk
when candles glow
in the room
and street lamps
light
with a strange, hopeful warmth.

I can smell Christmas.
The windows are filling up with sparkle.

Looking towards the sky

I reach my outstretched fingers
and hope to catch

the 

star fire.

Today,

yesterday,

before

the leaves had fallen.




Sunday, 5 October 2014

The distant sea



Lying in bed

surrounded by books

half read

and listening to

the faraway sound

of someone,

going somewhere;

on a moped.

I love that sound so much.

These last few,

lazy days

before returning to work on Monday.

Reality bites.

Someone told me yesterday

I never get a break.


This is why
I spend a lot of my time
dreaming
taking photos ~
singing songs
quietly,
in my heart.

Refusing to take off

my rose tinted glasses

I dream of waking

on  a warm sun soaked hillside

looking down

on a world

for which

I

have

no

words

and far beyond

the distant sea

shining

white


Monday, 29 September 2014

The language of this day






Too much time

on anyone's hands,

is folly.

It allows the language of this day

and waterfalls of words and thoughts

to go coursing through this head.

I'm almost looking forward to getting back to work next week.

These days are filled with anxious thoughts ,

I realise that all the events of the past months

have finally taken their toll on me.

So each day I search for the small joys,

photographs that make me smile ~

words that sink deep into my bones.

I lay out each new day like

a fresh hymn sheet,

praying that

the

right

chords

will

come


Sunday, 21 September 2014

The red teapot









The words keep coming

and when they do

I have to write them down

there is no other option

they are the singing echoes

in the corners of my heart,

after all.

Last night I made tea

in my favourite red tea pot

and opened the back door

to look out at the evening sky.

I listened for the sound of your singing

and thought of the letters

from a thousand miles away.

The music plays on.

Works into my heart and slides down into my bones.

I think of your hands.

Two measures of tenderness

that have returned to me once more.

I turn,

smile,

and

drink

my

tea

from

the

red

teapot

I

love

Saturday, 20 September 2014

You are always here with me







Calling for you

in the midnight hour

reaching out,

from the endless dream.

That's how it is,

these days.

Because I got sick when I got home

from vacation

I've wrapped myself in the cosy coffee house

environment that is the internet.

Reading  page after page of Sylvia Plath

her words and anguish screaming at me in a certain font that I love.

The floor of the world falls away

when I'm wrapped in words.

That endless need is never satiated .

So there are books and newspapers scattered in every room

waiting ,

quiet,

like long lost lovers for me to return to them.

I always do.




*Sylvia Plath image via 

Saturday, 13 September 2014

When you give me the end of summer


















I tried,

I really did

to wear sky scraper heels

while on vacation.

For me, they didn't work.

Back to my mousey pumps.

I wanted to look glamorous as

NYC fashion week blazed

from the windows

all around me.

Women,

pencil thin

and bright burning cigarettes dangling

from the corner of their

lipstick stained lips

had  a world weary look in their eyes.

This is what must be like
living in a concrete jungle all the time
I thought.

Never seeing the ocean or

feeling the rush of the sea in your veins.


I walked,

oh I walked.

Through Central Park on and on

where the old men play chess

and little boy boats bob on the lake.


I wandered up the steps of The Met

and refused to pay 30 bucks to see famous paintings .

Art should be free.

I tried to ground myself

oh I tried, but without you the effort seemed futile.

It was too much.

So I danced inside my heart

and

gave

myself

to

the moon

instead

knowing

you

were

sleeping

under

it

too