I’m taking a short break from writing poetry on the blog – but hope to get back to it soon!
In the meantime, I thought my regular readers might be interested in finding out more about my next Leadership Embodiment worship taking place in London on June 6th (Day One) and July 4th (Day Two). Click here more info: Leadership Embodiment Fundamentals
We sat grown quiet
at the name of love,
luxuriating in the
unfolding of this moment.
I want to cup time in my
hand, caresses its
hold it still.
Shall I settle then.
for a photograph
in the album of
you & I, on the red sofa
Sit surrounded by newspaper
cast aside, adrift, scattered,
The perfume of buttered toast,
sound waves of jazz fill the space.
part of the WordPress Daily Prompt on the theme of Smitten
When I saw you last time, 10 years ago
with bristly chin and grubby t-shirt you
jabbering away, circling me in
an erratic orbit, spinning moonlight,
moon-like around my silent earth.
Now you’re here, drinking coffee in
Peitit Tout, clean-shaven (miss the beard though)
Speaking in complete sentences and even pausing
Earthbound – I can touch you now.
Note: I was in a local cafe, earwigging on a reunion meeting between two people who hadn’t seen each other in a very long time. It was a touching conversation and I couldn’t help imagining the story behind their lives which inspired me to write this poem. The first line is from Keats – thanks to Jo Shapcott for suggesting taking a line from Keats at her latest poetry workshop. Because I copied the first line from Keats, I have entered this in the WordPress Daily Challenge
When I stumbled over
that tree root on the island
that always trips me up;
the one on the winding path
to solitaire, through those
I felt my knees bruise
oh it made my eyes tear up
as you outstretched your
smiling so sweetly
with such kindness that all
I could do was to hold
you tightly to me
stumble forgotten now.
Part of the Word press daily challenge http://wordpress.com/read/post/id/489937/67564/
It’s 15 years since Dave & I got together as a couple. In our first year, we used to joke that if we had each put a personal ad in the paper, we would have never chosen each other. ‘Taciturn Geordie be-bop jazz musician in early 50′s‘ and ‘Lively, stroppy, untidy North American feminist in her late 20′s’ would not have been an obvious match! Yet here we are and those differences are a just a light counterpoint on the surface of our relationship. David Whyte, the poet and author talks about the invitation that is at the heart of any true relationship. This invitation, he explains, ‘is felt not only one to another but to the horizon of the future that both participants first intuited and then promised to themselves. This beckoning invitational horizon is continually kept alive by the depth and profundity and heartfelt nature of the invitation made one to another on the present ground of the relationship.’ By some strange miracle, against the odds and through the grumpy, irritable fed-up times, we’ve managed to keep on extending this invitation. In the most concrete way this happened when Dave agreed, despite it not being in his interests or a great desire of his at the time, to father a child with me, 24 odd years after his first child had been born – prioritising me and the future, inviting an unknown future in on the present ground. I’m feel very blessed and grateful to be in a relationship and family where I know without a doubt that I am the centre of two people’s lives – Dave and our son Sam. The three poems below are written on the theme of love & family life.Loves Thrives I’m running my finger along the embroidered stitch That runs lovingly, haphazardly through the patchwork quilt covering the bed where we made, then birthed Sam. Here amongst the detritus of our lives; the overflowing laundry basket, bags of old clothes for the charity shop hanging on the hook by the door, a hallway full of shoes, boots, and books. of course books everywhere piled by/under/in the bed and beside the fireplace; in that drawer of miscellany holding keys to doors that belong to us no longer, 3d glasses, old mobile phones, lastly not forgetting the dark cupboard in the loft holding jetsam and flotsam from times long ago (such an obvious metaphor for my neurosis hiding within the corner of my mind) Love thrives, cross-stitching its way through this chaotic fabric of our life.
Crossing Longsands It could be mid-winter
Not August, here on
Longsands, under cloudy skies
Walking into the wind blowing
Off the North Sea. Slightly ahead now, I look back
At you & our son looking into
A rock pool, picking up sea shells
Checking out barnacles Heart expanding
The tears in my eyes
Are not just from the
Salty wind. I can’t believe I’ve
Taken this love
for granted for so long. Imagine….
If we had just
Kept our heads down
Ignored the signs
Minded the (age) gap. Yet here we are,
An unlikely trio
Together. Spoiling for a fight I’m weary.
is cold, damp and I’m not
well dressed for the day,
not accepted summer’s
finally ebbed out to sea. The bags hanging
awkwardly off my shoulder,
weigh down heavily and
the underwire of my well
worn bra is digging,
into my left breast. The key sticks in the lock,
Turn it this way & that
I’m in. (finally) And I remember now.
I didn’t do the washing up.
Which I had promised to do.
That I didn’t. Old arguments about the
house work replay in my mind
on a loop so that
when I reach the top
of the stairs,
I’m spoiling for a fight….. In the kitchen you stand at the sink
washing all those dishes
that I should have done
I’m prepared for battle,
verbal fisticuffs ready.Before I can even flash my eyes,
here you are,
in front of me, arms outstretched,
to wrap round me,
so I lean fully in.
My head fits neatly in the
hollow just above your collarbone,
my breasts scrunched against your chest.
You say ‘mmmm, you smell nice -
like a woman.’
‘What does a woman smell like then?’
I am undone, defences peeled from me.
‘Like you, like you’ you reply
If I were a cat, I’d purr.
Yes, I would purr.
my precious relationship, my precious family http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/12/12/daily-prompt-my-precious/
Under the big oak in the middle of the park a golden leaf spirals a golden leaf spirals slowly to your outstretched hand - a precious invitation. how many invitations have you ignored till this very moment? this very moment? The song of the swift at sunset The curve of the herons neck The stubborn daisy growing between the cracks All extending the invitation: Put down your knapsack of sorrows Join our dance today. ****************************** The power of the invitation - part of the wordpress daily prompt http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/11/22/daily-prompt-power/
A blizzard announces your
arrival, sending down white flakes
some as big as a quarter,
to blanket the countryside.
A relentless, swirling whiteness.
Overnight, snow drifts build
up silently and when we awake
a wall of whiteness blocks
lower windows, doors.
We’re glued to the radio
as one by one school closures
‘R B Dickey, Brookfield Elementary
Arcadia Street, until, finally
ours is called.
‘Snow Day! Hooray!’
‘Do children in Africa have snow days?’
We wonder, pulling out the old
world atlas, thick with dust
where we find the leaf,
- brown & brittle now -
that we pressed between the pages,
in autumn – when yellow, golds
and rich reds ruled the world,
not this mute whiteness.