Sunday, 10 July 2016

the only sane response is to glitter in return

it's the rain quenching the thirst of the parched earth. it's the morning bathing the world in gold to see it all shine back. it's the shape of the outline of your body and all that is unspoken, and therefore holy, in it's lack of vocabulary. it's an ecstatic devotion to all that's worthwhile. it's the mergence of drum beat and light circling and circling and circling your heart in a room with no mirrors, only your eyes looking back at me, beauty from the inside out, and in the learning to embody all that you believe. it's believing that neither your light or dark need be hidden. it's knowing it may or may not be where you came from, but it's where you're going. and you'll get there. it's in the gathering of the pieces and loving each one. and in the standing back and admiring the view. it's the beauty composed of more than the sum of it's parts held together with the glue that is you.

"life exists only because of a myriad of synchronicities that bring us to this particular place at this particular moment. in return for such a gift, the only sane response is to glitter in return."

~ robin wall kimmerer, 'gathering moss: a natural and cultural history of mosses'


Sunday, 26 June 2016

hungry tongues of fire lick
the skin made of glass
of the vessel
holding everything
we could never say,
but hold
in the black lungs of blue bodies.

and then air, breath, life.
the long exhale.

summoning dark angels
with smoke and mirrors
and hands
that hold loosely.

flesh and bone reflecting
that which has no edges.
or us. the light and shadow
dancing, but only in peripheral vision,
shadow concealing teeth (sharp
behind lips that speak
a language of their own)
and the marks left behind
in the flesh of the moon
who holds still in the dark.
holds us all in place
burning in oceans of night.

and within the two way exchange of energy lies the potential for transformation....


Thursday, 16 June 2016

will you know me when you find me?

chewing through the ropes
and picking over the bones.
an epiphany -
the way out might be the only way in.

the mouth moves,
but you've got to want what you're asking for,
so kiss me
through my smile
and relearn all the ways to speak without words.

wrists hold tight to the memory of lips
and your morning eyes
lit by a slice of too bright light
don't look away.

Monday, 23 May 2016

the light rising in the sky tells us we're back here again and you pull the absence you can not/will not identify tighter around yourself and make no attempt to name those things that should not be limited by vocabulary.

Saturday, 21 May 2016

in that soft darkened alcove drinking the last of the light
poised on the edge of sacred boundaries,
redrawn and torn to shreds.
you wont like what you're going to see
dwelling here in the shade reflecting back your life
somebody should hold me back,
still moving from and to the point of origin.
and carnivorous.
you need not breathe through me,
or hold yourself in,
your stars were never lost.
but these monsters sleep lightly beside the holy ghosts
patiently fading in and out of focus moving beneath my skin.
watching the moment create itself
in more than fractal patterns when i close my eyes ,
but they're wide open to witness the unfurling,
to look my shadow in the face, to find the path to the centre.
so roll up your sleeves we're going in
after an abundant swell of quiet noticing. let me introduce myself...

Sunday, 17 April 2016

like a dervish spinning with the stars shaking in the dark
breaking through your salt circles 
attentive to what the body knows.
you need not shed your skin or beg.
" love is the opposite of gravity", someone once said. 

i meant it.


of them all. three

on being possessed

shadows beckon the amber light dancing arias across their greedy skin.
white sage burns and burns unable to rid my heart of it's hauntings.
it's ghosts.
and the sword i swallowed just catches in my throat from time to time
on the days i almost sing.

under dust and dirt, all this

i guess i would be a strange place to bury any kind of treasure. still, a few have done it. planted their gold deep in this house of music where evolution and regression are witnessed on a daily basis. places among the tiny ruins caused by damage done before, but where growth occurs ripping through the tangle of crossed wires and the pre-made blueprints they had thought i would measure up to with passionate indifference. you see my shadows but even they change depending on the way the light shines. perhaps the way emerges when we realise that we're all haunted. haunted, but not doomed. how can we be doomed when we each hold the key to doors already unclosed? so, like a book you open me. you open me because i let you. because you come in my sleep when i sing in prayers laced with the scent of the night's own hunger. your skin i will paint with fingers. decorate with X. and show you how it happens so slow, the blossoming.. and yet it happens...

shape shifting

the night
amplifies the quiet noises
where nothing
only my certainty falters
and i swim through stars
too big for you to swallow.