my mermaid soul fears the sea,
the depths from which she came,
but the time is now to tumble turn,
to dive, to lose, to gain
Just when I’m about to give up on a creative life,
things from nature remind me of who I am and what I’m here to do…
The pale, pert optimism of spring daffodils
that always come up, no matter what, each spring.
The rustle of breeze against branch, a shiver of nature
that brings goosebumps when I’m aligned with my truth.
And a sudden, surprising deer, stopping in its path to pause and stare:
An emblem of creative spirit come to visit.
Remember what it’s like to sew your heart:
when you feel alone, yet yearn for love.
Stress will charge your fears, your pulse,
you forget to attach to what’s above.
A sewn-up heart has self-righteous thoughts
of revenge and shame and guilt,
the threads of life tie you up in knots,
you forget the power of your patchwork quilt.
Remember what it’s like to open your heart,
when you’re a blanket of multi colour,
resplendent in your everyday weeds,
ready to clothe and soothe the other.
Be forever open to heal your hurts,
undo that stitch, untie that knot,
challenge the feel of being hemmed in.
Don’t let life be a chance forgot.
The pattern of stars in the sky above my head –
as I lie on my patio chairs, feeling the evening breeze –
is scattered and twinkly,
but not distinct.
I ask them for an answer.
The lights from planes on their way to
destinations far and wide, flicker
and flirt with the stars,
evidence that another flight took off OK.
I need to know my purpose, why I’m here,
and why I keep messing up my life.
I look to the stars for an answer.
What seems to be a plane
is a star that shines bright,
that is having its moment
in the firmament.
I pray for an answer.
I look away, look back,
The stars in my night sky,
above my patio,
into the shape of a heart.
My heart that I must follow.
Stand tall, stand true.
Find balance in what you do.
My four diamond holes
to help find what you extol.
My three central blocks
to stay firm against life’s knocks.
The column at my core
to align with what you adore.
The security at my base,
to remind you to live with grace.
Tides come, tides go,
time shoots its arrows.
Stand true, stand tall.
One day you won’t be here at all.
It’s the quality and direction of light that tells me
of presence, of a beam, of something greater than me.
Like torchlight from an invisible source,
it pools between thick leaves, through autumn cloud,
illuminating the darkest part of my garden.
The new-grown laurels have taken root,
wildly, greenly, not caring they’re uneven, mismatched.
They huddle around the scraggy old wooden bench
with its rectangle feet set firmly in the shingle:
a bench with a view, that leaves you with a sore behind.
The cheeky red berries shine crimson in the sunshine of youth
amidst the demure and dappled undergrowth,
their cherry fire and beaded little heart in full-bloom denial
of any future state of wither or decay.
An so shines the purity of that insistent beam of light.
my blocks pop up in colourful ways
sometimes when I least expect,
and often – when I’m pulled
by that crazy creative force,
that desire to put my words out there –
the opposite has to exist:
primed to put a stop to my course,
to cut me from my source.
the horizon may be dewy,
the breeze may be blowy
the potential stretching out
may be incredibly alluring,
and yet a part of me,
a stubborn and relentless saboteur
wants to stub out
the scary unknown.
what I’d like to do is
kick those blocks aside,
send them scattering
off the pier of fear,
and to open my future
to run wildly, wind in my hair,
trust at my feet, sun in my dreams,
and strength in my belief.