Another New Year

Tear the page from the calender
and throw it away.
Another year gone.

Twelve edible months, consumed by time.
That voracious predator that stalks the living,
while beating out the rhythms of this earthly realm.

The ticking seconds - a metronome.

Life marches onward, minute by racing minute,
it never ceases and we must walk apace.

There is no stopping.

We can only learn to dance with each fleeting moment.
A gentle tango, weaving through the speeding years.

Processing - Composting - Growing.

Vibrating in my throat, the feeling sits, a coiled snake
- a reptile that my mind has spawned.

Yellow and black
foreward and back
its red eyes dart
. . . over my ammunition
. . . in this war of attrition

It wants control of my tongue, it needs my words

to vocalise its hiss and rattle
to bear its venom into battle
it tastes the air
. . . sensing with dissatisfaction
. . . my characteristic lack of action

We wait.

I swallow and gulp and down it goes
eating it, and its imaginary foes
it wriggles and writhes
. . . knowing I have found a cure
. . . tomorrow it will be manure

Knotted in my stomach, my digestion begins.

determined I will not be distracted
as all the nutrients are extracted
it softens and starts to dissolve
. . . slithering down with grunts and growls
. . . it enters the dark cave of my bowels

Its power is lost, it has been re absorbed

a dire situation has been elevated
the mind has lost what it created
I am retaining the power
. . . the waste is now expelled as shit
. . . to fertilise what I plant in it

Processing - Composting - Growing.


.

Great News - Trust

My Poem TRUST is featured in this years Llewellyn's 2010 Witches' Companion.

TRUST

Navigate the darkness.

Edge your way forward

one sure foot

in front of the other.

Eyes closed

you trust your inner light.

Immersed in feelings,

you have no need of sight.

Your inner navigation

knows the route.

Intuition

the compass

of the soul.

Feel the direction

the magnetic pull

on your primal instincts.

Trust the path

Trust your gut

Trust your self

Keep walking.

*

About Your Life

Sometimes you need to define what it is for you - what is the purpose of this wild and crazy life, where is your place in the scheme of things. Will you plod steady down the centre path of your life, or skirt the edges, dancing with shadows, listening to the music that is yours alone to hear. Will you sparkle and shine and burn with passing passions, reflecting the lights of the peripheral and almost unseen. Or do you want to sink roots deep into the black earth and remain steady, growing branches, sprouting leaves, reaching for the sky. Do you run, do you walk, or do you sit and wait for the sparkling moments to blow through your hair.

Tempory Blip in Gravity.

Spinning like a top. My balance is lost, my axis tipped and I am scattered. Teetering on the edge looking for handholds. I am searching for solid ground in this miasma of confusion.

When did I lose myself? What knocked me out of orbit? What caused the tempory blip in gravity that sent me floating off into deep space like this?
Did I reach out so far that I forgot to return?

Climbing rock faces, wanting to see what is over the next ridge. Looking for you, I wandered too far from me.

Dancing With Infinity

I just found some old notebooks with pages full of forgotten pieces of writing - I am posting some here, so that they don't get lost again.

Walking on the borderline

Standing on the edge

Dancing with infinity

at the thin edge of the wedge

The intellect's a master

that should become a slave

To participate in this great dance

To surf this quantum wave

If you're breathing with existance

tomorrow never comes

Be one with all the universe

You are the sacred Aum

*

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.

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 canvas, 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.

My Terrain

You walk across my soul
with tender steps
unaware of my terrain
you falter at my heart
where you carve your name
and leave a mark
that we both pretend
not to see

Wrapped

Wrapped in our personality,

enmeshed with our views,

seemingly welded to our roots.

We struggle, twist and turn,

as the soul pushes to be free.

Thrusting up, through the

fertile earth of our being.

A seed seeking the light.

Dreaming

The past populates my dreams with faces long gone and almost forgotten, real again for a moment, we interact in this night time world. Daybreak sends them back to their rightful places, but the echo remains, a stain upon
a new day that did not ask for the memories.

Trust

Navigate the darkness.

Edge your way forward, one sure foot in front of the other.

Eyes closed, you trust your inner light.

Immersed in feelings you have no need of sight.

Your inner navigation knows the route.

Intuition the compass of the soul.

Feel the direction, the magnetic pull on your primal instincts.

Trust the path, trust your gut, trust your self.

Keep walking.

*

Alchemy

Golden, I am golden,

a fiery sun burning with a never ending flame.

Red hot centre combusting.

Radiating outward,

wave after wave, fueled by a magnificent wind.

Whirling, blowing life into the feeding flames.

I am alight, radiant, glorious.

Raging heat, the nucleus of creation,

throw me down into your molten heart,

transform me in your crucible.

Forged in the white heat, to arise

a phoenix from your flame.

Base to precious,

lead to gold,

transmutation,

alchemy.

My Skin's Too Tight

It don't feel right
My skin's too tight

Can no longer hide
What's on the inside
It's causing fear
The weather in here

I think this is it
My shell's gonna split

It don't feel right
My skin's too tight

Been singing my song
While playing along
Keeping it small
So I didn't fall

But I think this is it
My shell's gonna split

It don't feel right
My skin's too tight

Inside I feel vast
I've let go of the past
There's no more room
I just gotta bloom

I think this is it
My shell's gonna split

"I Dreamt I found two herons in a library, I gave them food and water
then woke up as I was about to take them outside."

I have spent my days stringing and unstringing my instrument, while the song I came to sing remains unsung.-Tagore

A Moment Spent

Time
d
r
i
p
s
from the anxious clock

No stopping the onward motion
one brief moment morphing endlessly
. . into the next
. and the next
and the next

It never ceases

You can not hold these moments
they
s
l
i
p
through your fingers

Snapshots of instances stored like photos
freeze framed - locked in our memory
pressed like dried flowers
in the pages of a book
illustrating
the story
of our
lives

Treasure the racing moments
for once spent
they are
d
e
a
d
and g o n e.

"We have only this moment, sparkling like a star in our hand
- and melting like a snowflake." - Marie B. Ray

There Is Nothing To Hide

Some people give
Some people take
Some are real
Some are fake

Some know abundance
Some know lack
It seems everyone of us
Is trying to get back

To that sense of belonging
That makes us feel whole
The place where we merge
That some label soul

We inhabit our bodies
We think we're our mind
But we sense there's much more
That we're trying to find

We sit in our homes
Surrounded by stuff
Still searching for more
'Cos its never enough

We fill up our cupboards
But can't fill the hole
That lies deep inside us
While we're playing a role

We are showing our surface
When we're fathoms deep
We're longing for depth
But we sow what we reap

To accurately mirror
What we are inside
We must understand
There is nothing to hide

That under the surface
Under the skin
We're from the same place
Inside we're all kin

A Note to my Soul

Shine from me and fill my world with light.
Let love, compassion and all good things
radiate outward from my core.

Let me seek evolution whilst trusting
the goodness of universal love.

Let my life be a mirror,
to the beauty of all that is.

Let me transform, and purify, and make whole.

Let me be aware
Right here...Right now.

Let me align with my highest vision
and join hands with my very soul.

Let me live with love
...and the deepest of understanding.

Tiny Green Shoots

Waking dreams trickle down my spine. I shiver in anticipation as the light grows around me. It makes no sense, my intellect can not grasp this slippery thing that slides away from my grasping mind.

My heart welcomes the onslaught, open, willing, filled to the brim, my cup overflows 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.

I Could . . .

The day is mine to do as I will, to walk barefoot on damp earth, or to feel the wind whip through my hair, or to stroke a friendly dog, or a purring cat.

I could bake a cake, plant flowers, sit under a tree and read a book, I could fly a kite, see shapes in the clouds, listen to birdsong, hug someone, smile, laugh and chat.

I could lay back and listen to music, plan and dream, or do something useful, I could clean, polish, wash, organise things, put things away, redecorate, paint a picture, write a poem, notice the sounds outside my window.

Or I could worry.

Watching The Poet - A Memory

The cadence of his words as they rise and fall
a rhythmic rocking of syllables
crashing against the shore
of my being.

Ebbing
gentle
soothing
inspiring reverie
as it retreats to a whisper.

Then the waves return. . .
wiping away the footsteps
embedded in the sand
of my lonely shore.

Washing it clean
with the power
of his words.

Dedicated to James Smith 1926-1983 - A True Poet.

I fell in love with poetry at an early age. My father used to sit at the table and scribble for a few minutes, then say - 'listen to this' and he would read aloud what he had just written.

The cadence, the rhythm, the beauty of the words had me hypnotised.

He then used to screw up the paper and throw it in the bin! . . . and I would feel a sense of loss and outrage - why did he throw it away ?!! I would often rescue the crumpled paper and keep it. But to him, the moment had gone. He didn't need to keep his words. . . I did.

I do the same, I suppose. Sometimes things well up in me and I sit with the feeling and type. It appears on the screen, no longer inside me but out there. . .

Instead of crumpling the paper, I press publish and it appears on my blog.

Technology has a lot to answer for! ;-)

Submariner

I am a submariner.
I explore the depths.

I have no choice,
I am looking for my freedom.

I trawl the ocean bottom
and drag my treasures up to the light.

Make them conscious.

Illuminate the shadows,
so that there can be no fear.

Coming into Alignment

I have come into alignment with myself, walking in
time to my own rhythm, trusting my own beat.

Scattered pieces now magnetized by my core, return
and slot in to places I didn't even know were empty.

A jigsaw coming together, edges done long ago, the
final bits are slipping easily into the missing spaces.

Fragments I suspected long gone, were not lost, just hidden.

The final piece will reveal the whole picture,
I pick it up and gently put it into place.

Copyright © SB 2009

I Walked for Miles

I walked for miles to find the tree
whose roots began inside of me

the earth, the moon, the stars, the sun
the roots, the branches all are one

I walked for miles to find the tree
who roots began inside of me

Becoming

From deep within, I am emerging.
Goddess white, and brilliant.
The flame, becomes a fire.
I am incandescent.

I have bathed in turquoise waters.
Dross has turned to gold.
Sunlight, fills my being.
I am radiant.

The skin of my youth, now shed.
I recognise my shadow.
Dark corners, banished by light.
I am reborn.

Copyright © SB 2008

If Only I Could

I would drench you in colour
to nourish your soul.
Wrap you in purple to help
make you whole.
feel you
reveal you
enlighten
and heal you.

Copyright © SB 2008

Out of the Shadows

We project our own shadows onto suitable screens
and rage at the images and cry at the scenes
it's everything I'm not, It's unfair and untrue
whereas the shadow contains the un owned bits of you

To honestly face whats projected outside
and own it as ours, means nothing to hide
we take back our power and then can begin
to realise the truth, the controls are within

We don't see our shadow but others often do
and though hard to face up to, many times it is true
that often we're guilty of the behaviour we hate
our 'unconscious' projected, we take up as bait

Copyright © SB 2009

The Past . . .

the past has thrown its net at me
and caught me in its thread
memories of a far off time
go whirling round my head

I do not find it comfortable
in that long forgotten place
with markers of a former life
in another time and space

drag my attention back to now
and remembering what is real
I return to my peaceful place
at the centre of the wheel

Copyright © SB 2008

When There's Only Darkness

Sometimes when there's only darkness
and you can't seem to grasp the light
when the night time goes on forever
and nothing can make it right
when you feel that heavy feeling
of the storm there in your heart
and all the words of advice you hear
doesn't take the emptiness apart

Just know that there are anchors
who will hold a place for you
burning with a clear bright light
until you make it through
and though there may be tunnels
that are dark and twist and bend
remember without fail
theres always light there at the end

(To a special friend - you know who you are x)

Multidimensional

What we are, can not be described in clear and concise form
for it would be a one dimensional understanding
of the interplay of all that can not be completely
grasped by the intellect alone.

We exist simultaneously on myriad levels
we are indeed multidimensional beings
alive in a multidimensional universe.

Copyright © SB 2008

Cyberspace

I am a god in cyberspace
I create with pixels
I move mountains with my mouse
If I do not like that wall just there
I do not scratch my head and stare
I can "drag and drop" it wherever I choose
It's like we are standing in gods shoes
In cyberspace.

I wonder
Is this how our universe came about
one day the gods were heard to shout
I've animated this spinning ball
Could this have been the start of it all?

Pixels and atoms
are they all the same
Just called by another name
Do we have to "believe" its true
Could this be our "on stage" cue
Is it time we took our place
Alongside the gods
In cyberspace.

Copyright © SB 2008

I Will Not...

I will not step into the cage of my past
defining myself by what has gone

By the marks on my canvas
made in another time and place

For I am an ongoing work in process
each stroke valuable to
the whole of the picture

I will not become trapped in
the grooves of the past
repeating like a record needle stuck

but remain fluid, ever evolving
moving onward, constantly
recreating myself anew

Copyright © SB 2008

The Mask Cutter

Carefully, bit by bit
I will dismantle the armour
you did not know you wore.
For I am the mask cutter
I prospect for gold.
I will be your light in the darkness
Your port in the storm
Your mirror of all you do not yet
recognise in yourself.
For I am the mask cutter
I prospect for gold.
Lean on me as you discover
the courage to seek the essence of you
Your own shining light
The gold under the armour
you did not know you wore.
For I am the mask cutter
I prospect for gold.

Copyright © SB 2008

Winter Sun...

Winter sun burnishes my world.
Late afternoon glow.
Golden lights pick out natures shadows.
The world is alive beneath my feet.
The air dances with energy.
The giant fireball in the heavens
bathes me in liquid yellow streaks,
as it tumbles lazily onto the horizon.
And as I honour my journey,
as a living breathing piece
of a universal jigsaw.
The power of life,
overwhelms me.

Copyright © SB 2008

Is a Tree.....

Is a tree any less beautiful in autumn,
when the springtime blossom has passed.
The fruits of summer, now gathered,
the harvest, long since passed.
Or is that when the richness of colour,
that is lit by the afternoon sun,
makes the leaves, all shimmer like firelight.
With a beauty, that’s second to none.

Copyright © SB 2008

Art is Everywhere

I see beauty in things.
The peeling paint, of an old garage door
moved me with its artistic splendour.
A work of art, created by the wind, the sun, the rain.
The scuffs and knocks of passing life,
had created wonderful delicate colours and forms.
Beautiful contrasts, as layers of paint
had bubbled and peeled back,
to show long forgotten layers beneath.
Human hands could not have reproduced this masterpiece.
For this was a canvas, on which
time had signed its name.

Copyright © SB 2008