We Are All Naked

We are all naked.
under our fashions
under our 'style'
We are all naked
under the layers
worn for warmth
worn to enhance
worn for modesty
We are all naked
we were born naked
that is how we were designed
no fur, no feathers, no scales
we chose to cover up
for a myriad of reasons
but we were born naked
we are all naked underneath

I can't understand the cry - "they are naked how disgusting, what if the children see." We are taught to be ashamed of our natural state and teach that if we remove the 'layers' it is wrong. There is nothing more natural - it is the mind that has a problem.

We are all naked
we were born naked
that is how we were designed
we are all naked underneath

Hormonal

Another sift through some of my older writing turned up this astute observation of 'hormonal fluctuations'. . . better run for cover! :-)

HORMONAL
One wrong word is all it would take,
the downward glance, a big mistake
the tone of your voice was not quite right
your answer falsely, unnaturally bright
I'm hyperaware and looking for clues
something to ignite my very short fuse
my nerves have trouble handling the load
when I'm primed for action, ready to explode

Too Close for Comfort

I nearly slipped down the cracks that opened in my reality today. Fissures in the once solid ground threatened to swallow me as I passed. The looming dream world too close for comfort, infiltrating the light of day. No longer content with its sleep populated realm, it tore a hole in the thin fabric that separates these two different worlds. Maybe these rips are always there, hidden, unseen, but today, I noticed.

Paint, Brushes and Goodbyes

I think i'll stop trying to paint, put my brushes down and pack away my colours. Canvasses can remain white, they have no need of my embellishments. Paint can stay in tubes. The assorted brushes displayed like dried flowers splayed in their sturdy pot, have stopped dreaming of thick paint and swirling water.

It had its moment, when inspiration and colour were a heady mix, creativity poured and splashed onto surfaces, it couldn't be contained it had to flow. The pictures needed to be seen, the colours absorbed, it was a joy, a primal urge.

I have carried the memory like a crumpled photo of a long gone lover. Awaiting the day when that fiery desire would once again run through my veins and beg to be released onto that virgin page. Creativity unleashed on a white canvass, pictures and stories appearing in the paint in front of my smitten eyes.

That golden moment has never returned and I'm not waiting any more.
It's time to put down this torch I have been carrying, say my final goodbyes and mourn for that time when it was easy and paint and I were lovers.

Dealing With Darkness

Peripheral vision glimpsing the darkness that lurks in unused corners. The shadows stalking my footsteps. Wrapped blackness creeps. The amorphous night seeps in through a crack. Tangible darkness billowing like smoke. It follows my breath.

Fear rises to greet this ancient comrade, emotion hooked into an age old dance. They move together as mutual passion is fueled. Darkness feeding fear, fear feeding darkness. Locked in a lovers embrace they writhe, energy quickening, they are lost in each other.

Eyes open I stare into the blackness, caught up in the passion of the moment. The energy creating vortexes, whirlpools. Nothing solid in this world of night. I pull my energy out of the fray. Anchor strong and steady I close my eyes, reach for the light inside and flick the switch.

The Perfect Moment

Every moment - a perfect moment

every second full of potential

every thought a building block

a stepping off point into the endless now

it is forever now, despite the illusions

of expectation and memory

of a before and an after

it is now

it is always now

*

I am . . .

I am an empty cup,

a shallow bowl,

a deep hollow in an ancient rock.

I am an unused envelope,

a blank page,

a primed canvas.

I am a rain barrel,

a vacant house.

a cavernous sea cave when the tide is out.

I am the space created by nothing,

I am expectation,

I am waiting to be filled.

Struck by The Moment

I sit silently within my universe
and my universe
sits silently
within me.

I am bathed in golden light
passing, as moments do
a thread in the garment of my life
woven with sound, and with meaning.

Strengthened by my beating heart
Strengthened by the ticking clock
Strengthened by my realisation
of my place in it all.

I am everything
I am nothing.

I am bathed in golden light
. . . struck by the moment.