Wednesday, 29 December 2010

Seven Come To Stay

Hello everyone, as those of you who visit here regularly know, I periodically move things over here from my blog Panopticulated. Here's the latest batch.


A Trick of The Light

The early November sunshine cast golden rays
liquid yellow, pooling on the ruffled white sheets
white mountain tops of my memories, illuminated
I am caught in the moment, tangled in the threads
of another autumn, and ghosts of then burst forth
like maple leaves, red, orange, yellow and beautiful
I watch as the light shifts, and the spell, it is broken
the long gone days, retreating, as if blown by the wind
leaves are falling again, the unsought magic is dissolving
and I am here, and it is now, and the snow covered peaks
are once again, just sheets on the bed that I'm about to make

Saturday Centus the prompt was to use up to 100 words (not including the prompt) using the line - "The early November sunshine cast golden rays..."



Who am I to judge the safety of nightfall
with its yawning mouth and abrupt silence.
Do I not see myself reflected?
with my inner corridors chock full
of absolutes and things that lurk.
Ecstasy too is a possibility
pleasing and assured
the knife edges and all
the forgotten adventures
kaleidoscopes that dazzle
with their fearless symmetry.
Nightfall holds promises that the day could not conceive,
for that is when the things dare to show their true face.
Where illumination is not the reason nor the rhyme,
it is just the gentle breathing of the darkness
and the inevitable quieting of my mind.

Inspired by Three Word Wednesday
prompt words were
judge, nightfall, safety.



Was it such an effort
such a monumental leap
to jump from the mountain of you
to those low flat plains of me
did you fear your demise
or was the instant revival
of your once flagging spirits
all the reward you needed

Inspired by Three Word Wednesday
prompt words were
demise, effort, revival



She could no longer bring herself
to utter his name
or let the galloping wild horses
of her impatience
continue to assign the blame
for it was she
who chose
to dabble
with glass
and with darkness
and the cracks in the curtains
just made her lean further
away from
the light

Inspired by Three Word Wednesday
prompt words were dabble, lean, utter.



Another sunday
with the
of silence
a vast
empty hall
just waiting
for me to break
this quietness
with the sound
of my voice

Written for - Monkey Mans - Sunday 160
where you must use only 160 characters
(including spaces) and post on Sunday.


Lessons to be Learned

The tree and its arthritic branches
clawed at the thick white sky
hoping to educate the
young and foolish,
teach them of winter
and her hard fingers.

And they who were dreaming
of snows soft blankets
to swaddle them
and make them beautiful,
had not yet heard the silence.

Towering evergreens protecting
the feathered flying ones,
they knew the secrets.

And those who had been blessed
to bear the blood red berries,
must learn to never object
to the pecking of the
sharp yellow beak
of the blackbird,
as he swallows
their fruits

Inspired by Three Word Wednesday
prompt words were
educate, object, silence


Just a Matter of Time

He tightened his buckle

trying to evade my gaze

eyes anywhere but me

the big clock was ticking

time dripping, eroding

the soft swaddling fabric

that we had used to disguise

the huge wedge, driven deep

into the tiny hairline cracks

that had now opened up

wider than a chasm

Inspired by Three Word Wednesday
prompt words are
buckle, evade, wedge

Saturday, 18 December 2010


the grey wind stalks me
shadowing my moves
with endless grace

my pack is empty
I've nothing left
but turquoise

and there are
nine black dogs
trailing my scent

- Susannah Bec 2010

Tuesday, 30 November 2010


Punctured by the broken promises
and ferocious regrets of yesterday
I hurl my words at the darkness
a never ending stream of verbs
juggling the intricate moments
I am no longer bent double
with some perceived modesty
I am lithe and dangerous
loping along on wolves feet
filled with a shapeless longing
No longer content to sit up there
on that warped and crooked pedestal
that you placed me on, way back
long before I learned
how to scream

- Susannah Bec 2010

Linked to One Shot Wednesday

Monday, 22 November 2010


I will not speak of winter this year
for it will come silver footed
and bare knuckled
without any mention
of its name

And it will use its tricks
to make visible
my breath
my veins
and the red
that hides
beneath the surface
of my December

And it will be silent
that edgy pen
that traces feathers
on cold glass
an artisan
working in
and in

- Susannah Bec 2010

I am linking this poem to One Shot Wednesday

Monday, 15 November 2010

All I Need

The soft
blue green
ocean waves
of your eyes
are all the
colour I need
on this stark

- Susannah Bec 2010

Saturday, 6 November 2010


Those silvered reflections of you

still exist, strands of spidered silk

woven and so delicately knotted

tracing my veins, footpaths edged

beside the crimson rivers, blood

bound and fluid, still guided

by the high wire touch of you

imperceptable tightropes

where once you walked

- Susannah Bec 2010

Monday, 1 November 2010


so fragile
has escaped me
it spills through my fingers
rampant, no longer contained
it is free running
and it pours
mounding like
molehills at my feet
I tremor at the thought
of the mountains they will bring

then I put a halt to the rushing tide
I create barriers with my breath
and with the soft brush
of my attention
I sweep and
I gather
all the
peace is
once again
contained inside.

- Susannah Bec 2010

Saturday, 30 October 2010


Beneath the fluttering wings
of this red gold leaf blown afternoon
lie the soft white feathers of memory
drifting down on the breeze like seeds
looking for fertile ground to take root
and they find it in my willing earth
and all at once it is another time
and that eager upturned face
and those sparkling eyes
belong once again to me
and I am back home
and you are there
. . . . .

- Susannah Bec 2010

Friday, 29 October 2010



Impetuous now
trying to catch the light
audacious arms
barren branches
those yellow strands
aching to feel
soft ribbons
of warmth

- Susannah Bec 2010

Tuesday, 19 October 2010

Long Shadows

Long shadows, lick
the cold grey of the building
climbing its sides
as the paint yellow sun
sinks low
behind the factory units
with their
gaping mouths
and bland exteriors
just for a brief moment
in that particular slant of light
the reflection
cast in the smeared
and dirty window panes
takes my breath away
with its squalor and its
strange illuminated beauty

Written today as I sat in the car park of an industrial estate.
Posted here for week 16 of One Shot Wednesday at One Stop Poetry - My first time. :-)

Monday, 18 October 2010

All at Sea

My internal boat has been rocked,
it rolls unsteady on unseen waves
as tempestuous feelings churn up
that black ocean, salt water, deep
and choppy and my fragile boat
feels like paper, as it is tossed and
buffeted like flotsam in the swell.
Acutely aware that I have no life
jacket, I cling on to this fragile vessel,
never built for storms such as these,
it crumbles and splinters in my hands.
I lay low in the hull, sea blind eyes closed,
howling with the wind, surfing the surges and
as the storm rages on, I drop anchor and I wait.

- Susannah Bec 2010

Monday, 11 October 2010


I brush off the past as soon as it lands
a quick sweep of the hand,
a sharp flick of the wrist
and it has gone.
I don't let it settle, I don't give it time
I keep my eyes turned forward
I don't look back.

It is only later
in the quiet times
that I realise
that it has been
seeping unnoticed
in through
my skin.

- Susannah Bec 2010

Friday, 8 October 2010

four thoughts

white doves
above the steeple,
imploring bells not to chime.
such stark empty rooms
there are no curtains
at the windows
and everyone
can see

Silence settles on me like snowfall
I feel the heft of its weight subdue me
its heavy patchwork shawl, thrown
a blanket, intricately woven with beads

Tucked into my pocket
lies the letter you wrote
fumbling words and good intentions
moulded you, an inadvertent poet
the simplicity of your words shone
every sentence brimming
with the essence of you

Life is a bowl, swirling with water, never touching the sides,
cold hard porcelain reflecting light, absorbing life, it lets me go...
and the yellow lined path, does not lead to the mountain top, but to
blind alleys, back streets and a cold grey house with a faded blue door.
The dug hole, deeper than before, nearer than the ticking clock that waits.
and the mornings come, and the mornings go, and the phone refuses to ring.

- Susannah Bec 2010

Monday, 4 October 2010

A Time to Soar

. . . . . . . . . .
We walk a path for so long
it becomes deep and worn
familiar and comfortable
our feet step into moulds
made by all the yesterdays
and the scenery is forgotten
it has become routine, known
we begin to forgot how to see
for we know our route so well
that we could walk it blindfold
and being unaware, we often do
the towering sky and soft birdsong
become background, wallpaper
and the well trodden path
becomes a rut
deep sided
up and out
seems daunting
we are so sure of this path
we know it like the back of our hand
how will we know where to put our feet
when we are not following the others
when the route is not marked out
this rut is feeling like a grave
so we clamber up and out
and realise that things
look different here
unfamilar and new
we can feel energy
bubbling to the surface
fear and excitement mixed
and we look around and understand
that any direction would be a good one
that there are no pre-plotted right paths
that all the paths are made by walking
our mind throws off its shackles
and now no longer tethered
our spirit begins to rise
full of possibilities
and finally free
we take flight
and we soar
. . . .

- Susannah Bec 2010

Inspired by the prompt word - soar.
Taken from my prompt writing blog - Panopticulated.

Friday, 24 September 2010

Less Is More

I spread myself too thin
put too many ingredients in the pot
forget to remember that less is more

I get caught up in quantity
when quality shines so much brighter
by nature, I amass rather than discern

A single rose can be studied
seen for its individual perfection
twenty is just a bouquet of flowers

My thoughts say why write one
when ten are flowing from your fingers
but who will listen to ten, when one would do . . .

Tuesday, 21 September 2010

There is stillness . . .

. . There is stillness on the banks
. . . . . . ..... . ..... . .of the flat shallow lake
. . . . . . ..... . beneath the towering branches
. . . . . . ..... . under the wide open skies
. . . . . .with the sun beating down
. . . and the gentle rain falling
and the birds singing

he sits and whistles
. . . . . . and he watches
. . . . . . ..... . and he waits

and the watching sky is full of silk
. . . and the spinning threads reach down
. . . . . . . . . . ..... . .and wind him round, binding him
. . . . . . . . . . . ...weaving him into the tapestry
. . . . . . ..... . in readiness for the cocoon
. . . . that will give him back
when the day is done

- Susannah Bec 2010

This was written for the prompt - Fisherman

Taken from my prompt writing blog - Panopticulated

Thursday, 16 September 2010


She was never one for pastels, her colours were bold
too volatile to have ever been considered demure
she screamed when others merely whispered
it was not her intention to offend, it was just her way

August bought forth a fiercely individual spirit
she couldn't, wouldn't, dull her shine for anyone
her voltage was high, she contained the electricity
but you could still hear it, popping and crackling

Under the shiny surface a golden heart was beating
as it pumped the ruby red lifeblood through her veins
Dancing flames licked around her head, a fiery halo
while all around her ankles the angry ocean roared

She walked the winding road, with bells on her fingers
and rings on her toes, painted toenails gleaming against
the rich dark earth, a carefully thought out disguise
that fluttered through the blank pages awaiting her pen

She came alive when poured into words, she breathed...
sentences became her tree lined avenues of expression
and houses filled with buddhas and peacock feathers
sprung fully formed from her swift and elegant fingers

- Susannah Bec 2010

Written for a prompt, the task - use the words - demure, offend, volatile
Taken from my prompt writing blog - Panopticulated

Friday, 10 September 2010

Handle With Care

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

I am bound around with sticky tape marking me fragile

this sturdy parcel of me is not robust, It bends and tears

If I am handled roughly, little things inside me shatter

I'm swaddled in wadding. . . the extra padding helps

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

If I am handled with care, moved gently, not jolted

my tune plays, the ringing charm of me begins to sing

the air becomes light and sparkles, fractured with laughter

the peaceful gliding doves land and feed without danger

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Scattered seed, strewn like confetti a feast on the dark earth

the soft grey feathers of them, a balm that dresses all wounds

dark night swooping, falling in graceful folds around my neck

the tattered, battered, packaging of me falls gentle at my feet

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

- Susannah Bec 2010

This was another written for a prompt, where the aim was to use the words - charm, feast, robust
Taken from my prompt writing blog - Panopticulated

Tuesday, 7 September 2010


She was
luminous, lit up
she bent like a willow
so that she wouldn't break
touching the ground
with green fingers
she was reaching
down into the

the negative
stroking the surface
polishing the reflections
and making them

Between them
the electrons flowed
completing a circuit
so much electricity
you could feel it
in the


- Susannah Bec 2010

This was written for a prompt - the three prompt words to be used were - break, negative, surface
Taken from my prompt writing blog - Panopticulated


If we become
disconnected and
separated from nature
then we step out of alignment
and we start to entangle ourselves
in the wrappers of the man made world.
We start to believe that that's all there is
the cities, concrete, cars, and the 'things'
(there are always SO many 'things')
and all of the unimportant things
wrap around vines
creeping and covering us
until we can not breathe
until our connection
has been cut.

So we wander alone
through those city streets
and turn on a television to see
what todays weather is going to be
and we forget to look at the sky
and walk on the green grass
springy under our feet.
We begin to believe
that the world
is cold, hard


if we step out
into the wild places,
the forests, the fields,
the mountains, the oceans,
places beating with the pulse,
the heartbeat of life itself, and
we attune again to natures voice
begin to dance those rhythms
then all of the life force
laying subdued
within us...
will come


"As you sit on the hillside, or lie prone under the trees of the forest,
or sprawl wet-legged by a mountain stream, the great door,
that does not look like a door, opens."
- Stephen Graham

- Susannah Bec 2010

Tuesday, 31 August 2010


Back here again - same spot different day

no breeze this time and the sunshine has gone

It is quieter, stiller, more subdued somehow

why is it, that whatever road I take

it always leads me right back here

So little done, so much to do

I think that I may just be

walking in circles

a g a i n

Monday, 30 August 2010

to feel the storm building. . .

The wind whipped her hair
wrapping it around her face

she reached up and pushed it
back behind her ears

She was too close to the edge
she knew it but didn't care

It was exhilarating

to feel the spray from the crashing waves

to feel the storm building

She squinted her eyes
against the rushing wind

licking her lips
tasting the salt
tasting the ocean

Towering clouds raced across the bruised sky
grey and purple, like a vast mountain range

Her heart was racing

low rumbles of thunder moved closer
the air crackled with electricity

The silver black ocean
hurled itself at the shore
crashing over the slippery rocks

She was soaked to the skin
wet strands of hair
wound around her neck

her eyes stinging
and streaming with tears

Streaks of lightning
turned the sky into a lightbox

and the waves roared
the thunder crashed

and she could no longer hear herself think

She screamed into the sound

joining it

adding her energy

She felt passion run through her like a storm
and she was the waves crashing
and the arcing lights
in the electric sky

She felt the thunder
like a force within

. . . and the wind just kept on howling

She fell to her knees
clinging on to the slippery black slate

she was spent



One thought repeating
over and over in her ocean filled mind

If only I could stay here

forever. . .

This is an older piece that I have altered and partially rewritten
for the Thursday Think Tank prompt - Beach/Ocean

Sunday, 29 August 2010

Time Travel


I opened the door and there you were
Just as I had left you so long ago

The frozen moment immortalised
still replaying. . . over and over

But, now I am here again
to tell you I am sorry

to ask you to

Friday, 20 August 2010

Shall we. . .

Shall we sing a different song this time
one that makes the leaves quiver like
a gentle breeze is passing by

Shall we take a different route this time
one that leads through wooded valleys
and meanders beside a tiny stream

Shall we try to understand this time
that we are two separate people
who are walking the same road

- Susannah Bec 2010

Friday, 6 August 2010

Sanctuary - poetry prompt #9

This was written for -
the Poetry Blogroll - Poets United
The Thursday Think Tank - Prompt #9
My first time writing from a poetry prompt, but the title of this one spoke to me. :-)


Behind the facade
the kerb appeal
of outer skin
are many rooms

each has a
wooden door

some lead
to tiny spaces
filled with books

another to a vast hall
where there is dancing

from some
you can hear
the strains
of distant music

or bird song,
or the gentle lapping of waves

some doors are ajar
shedding spangles of light

some are tightly closed
but their handles are
bright and shiny
from use

but, there is one special door

It is painted turquoise
richly decorated with birds
and seashells and sparkling with
pieces of sea tumbled glass

it has a perfect heart shaped keyhole
opened by the little gold key
that hangs from the ribbon
around my neck

it is the door
to the sanctuary

the one
that exists



- Susannah Bec 2010

Wednesday, 4 August 2010


I am paper thin

the fragile membrane

protecting my wound

a sham

a trick of the eye


a raw spot

a gossamer wing

an eggshell

the truth



facade in place

the parade


This was written at the beginning of the year but has not been posted here before.
I was empathising with a friend who had suffered a loss and within moments an almost forgotton wound opened up before me, fresh and raw. . .

- Susannah Bec 2010

Thursday, 29 July 2010

An interview with me at Poets United

Do you write poetry or do you enjoy reading it?
If so please consider checking out -
Poets United
A community & Blogroll for poets who blog

It is a newish but very friendly community set up with lots of energy and enthusiasm by Robert Lloyd. It is quickly growing in size and has introduced new features such as weekly poetry prompts, a poem of the week and poetry blog of the week too.

I was lucky enough to be invited by Robert to join at the very beginning and have enjoyed seeing it quickly becoming a great hub for people who enjoy writing.

This week I was featured in their ongoing Life of a Poet Series

You can read the interview with me, here . . .

The Life Of A Poet - Susannah Bec.

Check it out and why not join up too!

I am sure Robert would make you very welcome. :-)

Monday, 19 July 2010

Inside My Skin

Defined by my own borders, I exist within.

My emotions are vast oceans, rushing rivers, trickling streams, irrigating my being with their cold wet life.

I cross continents with my thoughts, huge landscapes sculpted by my inner nature. The rocks and crevices erupt from my centre, fashioned by tears, carved by the movement of my breath.

These fertile plains were once barren, dry dust bowls devoid of life. The only world I knew existed outside of my skin, these inner lands lay forgotten, unexplored.

Now flower filled meadows are created by my laughter, trees spring up from verdant valleys seeded by hope. My joy is bird song filling the air.

. . . and when night falls and the sky is black as velvet, the stars are my dreams, waiting for me to join them in their dance of becoming.

- Susannah Bec 2010

Friday, 18 June 2010

Pale Blue Buckets

I leave the pale blue buckets filled with fear
lined up outside my bedroom door.
When they are full right up to the brim
I grab the thin metal handles
and carry them ever so slowly
with tiny shuffling fairy steps
sloshing and dripping
through the kitchen, down the stairs
all the way out into the garden
where I empty them carefully onto the Roses

- Susannah Bec 2010

Wednesday, 9 June 2010

This Silence

It drips on me

this silence

through the cracks

in my solid ceiling

it seeps

leaving patterns

a tiny tracery

of unspoken words

like delicate fronds

on the cold hard concrete

of today

Time silvered dominos

topple, a tidal wave

of tiny dots


and falling

and falling


once again

the empty room

the silence


Silence seems to have been the theme for today as I also wrote this - Silence

- Susannah Bec 2010

Tuesday, 1 June 2010

Shining from the Inside

I think I swallowed the sun today
one gulp and it had gone
burning . . . fiery
all the way down
to my belly
and there
it sits


This is about owning your own creativity, the Sun is symbolic of the creative force, it gives warmth, light and life to all things of nature. The symbolism of swallowing the Sun is to bring all of those things into our inner nature - to let it light up our inner world. To shine from the inside.

Image and words - Susannah Bec

Thursday, 20 May 2010

Above Duality

I found tiny shards of sparkling joy
embedded in the dark earth of my sorrow
there is always a balance on this seesaw ride
life contains the seeds of its opposite in each atom
one can not exist independently of the other

yin and yang
seems to be the rules
in this realm of duality
it's how to grow
it's how we know
Its how we appreciate
the differences

but outside of the contrasts,
outside of the either, or
the this and that
above it all

there is only one thing
and it is complete

a realm of infinite possibilities
expanding through the duality
all the fragments fit together
like a perfect jigsaw
it is growing


- Susannah Bec 2010

Tuesday, 11 May 2010

In Search of a Spark

Hello, if you are a regular reader of this blog you will notice that I have designed some new graphics and given the blog a makeover! - I hope you like the changes! - Susannah x

I wander through the corridors of me,
in search of that tiny room
that contains
all I have forgotton.

The dark holds such memories,
it is taut with unspoken things.

Things that lay just below the surface,
unseen, but dangerous, even to the sure footed.

Those small wrinkles in our bedrock become molehills,
that can be magnified into mountains,
in those inner cinemas
of the unconscious.

I need to find the very darkest corner of me

and there, behind the fears
and the debris,

of a life,

half lived

I know I will find the spark.

That pinprick of startling light. . .
just awaiting the breath of my awareness
to fan it into a fire, that will flood the shadows
illuminating those inner rooms with the brightest light.

I reach out with eager hands and pick up that burning torch,
I hold it aloft, until all the dark internal places
have seen the light that I carry

Lit up from within

I remember



Image and words - Susannah Bec

Saturday, 1 May 2010

A Time For Quiet

There are times when we are yearning for quietness
where words are too loud to be spoken
a time for retreat,
for solitude
a time
to mend
what is broken

Sometimes fragility descends on gossamer wings
and spreads its essence on the ordinary things

There are times that cry out for the darkness
There are times when that's all you need
for you know that in those dark places
there are things
that nurture
a seed


- Susannah Bec 2010

Wednesday, 21 April 2010

Dealing With The Past

I was just going through things on another of my blogs when I found this - and searching through past posts I found I had never posted it here before, so . . .



I scrape away at the surface.

Little by little the top layer is removed

exposing the rich, brown soil.

Hidden from the light, it has been concealed,

moist, damp, dark and fertile.

I make a hollow

and feel the crumbly earth

packed under my fingernails,

as I start to dig.

Bare hands


deeper, deeper

as a hole is pulled

from inside myself

and transplanted in the ground

beneath my dirty hands.

This deep dark cavern is potent,

receptive and waiting

as I drop my past into the bottom,

and feel it spread and ooze

down into the expectant earth.

From deep within me

I release my unspent tears,

they surge upward, irrigating me

loosening the tiny rocks

and pebbles

of hurt

Gushing out and into the hole,

shiny and wet against the black earth.

Washed clean

I feel bubbles of joy rising from my core,

I drop to my knees as I begin to smile

and then with my body shaking

I laugh into that deep dark hole.

From out of my mouth

like shining stars,

seeds S C A T T E R

on the newly fertilised soil

and begin to germinate as soon

as they touch the ground.

The joy thunders through my body

as I gently cup the mounded soil

and begin to fill the hole.


- Susannah Bec 2010

Friday, 9 April 2010

A Container For The Flow

I give thanks for these pages
somewhere to pour my words
a container for the flow

they drip from my fingers
touching the keyboard
letters become words

building structures
sentences for my thoughts
to inhabit

dark intricate stairways forged
by the words that trickle
in well worn grooves

Blank pages that have function
enabling me to float
saving me




- Susannah Bec 2010

Monday, 29 March 2010

At The Bottom Of My Psyche

There are moments
where I feel that I have
tapped into something bigger
something more than just
my personal feelings

As though
at the bottom of my own emotions
exists a door

I swim right down to the bottom of my psyche
down into the universal ocean of emotion
that is surging beneath.

Everything ever felt
exists here

and it pours through me
I am its conduit
aware and
I feel
it all

I thrash my way to the surface
up away from that huge
encompassing ocean

breathless and overwhelmed
I emerge to float upon the surface

staring up with gratitude
at the light


- Susannah Bec 2010

Wednesday, 17 March 2010

A Hole In my Persona

You poked a hole in my persona

fragile and brittle it disintegrated

into your careless hands and fell

in tattered threads to the floor

You swept up the little tiny pieces

with your big hard bristled brush

collecting each and every fragment

that had hidden my true identity

I stood there, vulnerable and exposed

I was shining, bare faced and naked

With no mask to shield you from my light

you covered your eyes and looked away

- Susannah Bec 2010

Sunday, 14 March 2010

Revisited - Tiny Green Shoots

Waking dreams
t r i c k l e
down my spine
I shiver in anticipation
as the light grows around me

It makes no sense
my intellect can not hold
this slippery thing that slides
away from my grasping mind.

My heart welcomes the onslaught
open - willing - filled to the brim

my cup
o v e r f l o w s

and I spill myself

soaking into the rich red earth

I water the seeds
scattered so long ago.

One by one
tiny green shoots
break the ground around my feet
quickly spiralling upward toward the encompassing light.

- Susannah Bec 2010

Monday, 8 March 2010

A Thousand and One Places

It slides from my hands this slippery thing called now

my attention a thousand and one places but here

the moment, so easily missed


Rein in those horses of thought

galloping free over the vast open plains of my mind

Let me mount just one sturdy steed to lead the herd

steady, strong and responsive

every nuance felt


We breathe in time and move as one

toward the watering hole

where we will drink


Thursday, 11 February 2010

Dragging Shadows

We are dragging shadows,
with delicate threads,
as strong as wire.
Remnants of
unfinished business,
things we walked away from.
ties we did not cut.
We turn a blind eye,
we do not notice the
weight we are carrying.
Dragging our shadows
as we walk,
we wade forward,
as if through water.

Tuesday, 2 February 2010

Something Broken

There is something broken, something fundamental to life itself. I can not see it, but I heard it shatter long ago and sometimes when a cold wind is blowing in from the past, I hear that painful echo riding on the breeze.

It stings and buzzes, hitting the walls in a locked room, somewhere dark, somewhere hidden.

I followed the river, floating downstream and dismounted on a distant shore. I found myself running, running, I looked down at the strong legs carrying me and they were not mine.

Fragments, shards of a story are all I have.

Saturday, 9 January 2010

Fallow Ground

It has been left unseeded for a season or more. Uncultivated - Inactive. Vast potential forgotten in the fallow ground. Motion stirs the quiet field. Under the surface, it is fertile and ready. Potent and willing, awaiting the warmth and sunlight of my attention. I can feel quiet rumblings as something deep within begins to surface.
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