POEMS ANTHOLOGY
ANCIENT REST
I am metabolizing something old
Ancient
My ancestors running through the red carpet
Of my wrinkled mind
Telling me it’s over
That they did the running
So I don’t have to
And my frenzy is a dishonouring
Of all their gifts
Their sweat and tears.
The echoes of their fast footsteps
Jolt me back
Into my body
Remembering the world where I stand
Where I needn’t hide
Nor flee.
Their old fear rises through my bones
And speaks through jerks
Twitches in my core
My heart aches in my ribs
And I stretch my fascia so wide
That any stale blood will surely pour right out
Clean again
Or perhaps, clean for the first time.
I want to curl up in a ball
And I realise
Perhaps it’s safe to do that now
Perhaps my contraction is a deep bow to my ancestors
My rest is their rest
Let us rest.
SAFE
Words amidst a world in crisis
We were never safe
Walking over land
Across seas
Building impermanent homes
No sapphire eyes
Or golden hair.
We were never safe
Saving our pennies
Building our communities
Thriving despite it all.
We were never safe
In our land or yours
From your weapons or your words
We were never safe then
And we aren’t safe now.
They weren’t safe either
And neither are you
For if one person is unsafe
We are all unsafe.
Warring against each other
Dividing
Conquering
Killing
Blaming
Tearing each other apart.
Forgetting that the apple of our eye is shared
That our breath is shared
All of us seeking safety
Making it more illusive every day.
May we reach into our hearts
And speak the truth:
We were never safe.
We want to feel safe.
THIRD LIFE
And then there was nowhere to run
No need to run
No urgency to run
And my third life began.
The one where it was safe to let the joy in
To open my heart
Even at the risk of it breaking
To play freely
To receive freely
To create freely
With no hook
No perpetrator
Waiting in the wings
To fuck up my world in the worst way
Or in any way at all.
In my third life
I am living in a land of freedom
The forgiving yet stable soil beneath my feet
And the spectacular horizon
That reminds me of my sovereignty
Every. Single. Day.
I didn’t just wake up here
I’ve been building the walls of this new world
Since the day I drew my first breath
Even if I didn’t know it
Yet it always seemed slightly out of reach
A moving mirage
But I kept on building anyway
Laying the bricks
Raking the leaves
Planting the seeds
Watering flowers
Believing (at least partly)
That this world would one day be for me
Even if the voices outside and inside my head
Told me otherwise.
And when it was really ready
I stepped in, through the veil
Planted my feet
Expecting it to vanish
Feeling the guilt of my own pleasure
The supposed sin of my own pride
Those intergenerational knocks
Inside my bones
They became so loud
That one day I said ‘enough!’
And bought all the inner judges and naysayers inside me
Into the courtroom of my mind
And I presented the facts.
This is my third life
My peace
My power
My freedom
My abundance
My joy
And I have earned every single bit of it.
There was no contest
So the judges and naysayers shut their mean mouths
Perhaps temporarily (let’s see)
But all my selves agreed
It is time to walk the world of this third life
And so, I do.
THE LOST YEARS
The Lost Years
They come rushing up my 40 year old throat
Flowing out my eyes
A time warp
20 year old me
Translucent
Wondering what happened
As I claim now the sweet life that she yearned for,
yet couldn’t really even picture, or dream about
Not then.
I stroke her hair in my mind’s eye
As she weeps
The unfairness of it all
I remind her
She is with me now
Sharing the ripened wine of our wisdom
Together at last.
I can feel the colour rushing back to her cheeks
As she walks through the decades
Sitting beside me for a time
Soft whimpers
Processing the journey
She leans her head onto my shoulder
And slowly slides into me
Integrating.
My heart swells with gratitude
I can feel her
Helping me to take up a little more subtle space
My legs yield safely into the earth
Stronger and softer
Knowing there will be no more years lost.
GROWING PAINS
As I destroy the structures of my world
I disperse into a million fragments
Waiting in the womb of what’s next
No mother to hold me
Other than my own inner elder.
She’s not quite sure;
None of us are.
As I cease to exist
The urge to claw into creation
Sends shivers and shockwaves through my system.
Destruction calls.
Force calls.
Soothing, satisfying, settling
Harder these days.
I remember
I am at once the seed in utero
And the cocoon itself
This time between the world before and the world to come
Is precious
And it’s here I must wait.
The term of transformation takes its course,
Only in our scared holding
These growing pains are my right of passage.
And as I claim them, they are immediately sweet.
Oranges, roses and sandalwood smoke.
Bitter coffee
Morning light
My senses take me from one world to another.
Transcendent.
Many Worlds
As I sit in the unknown,
I feel all the time lines spreading themselves out before me
So many that I could skip right into
Each one with incredible futures
Each one with losses…. Some of them too heavy to hold in my mind’s eye
Straddling all these worlds
Leaning in
Repelling back
Not sure which world I belong in
Catching the fear rise in my throat and swell in my belly
Then letting it go again
Again and again and again
Remembering the nest I have built inside my heart
And the net of the folks who cradle my cheek and give me a swift tap on the butt to propelme forward
Remembering that I don’t have to choose just one.
That I am meant for many worlds
Weaving them as I walk towards the things that bring me alive
The things that bring me peace
And the people
The ones who remind me who I am.
Wildflowers
I learned to be a lotus
To grow beautifully
Emerging from the mud
An exception to the rule.
I transformed into an orchid.
Elegant, graceful and exotic
Withstanding the elements
An unlikely swan in the dry desert.
You paid homage to my beauty
And I learned that love was easier
When I held such a pleasant form
So, I stayed here for a time
A muse; an object of admiration.
While you saw me in the wild
I felt like dried rose petals
Pressed within the pages
Of an old heavy book
Preserved; somewhat unalive.
As I watched the world
Through the looking glass I had constructed
I realised I was really a wildflower
Or at least, I wanted to be.
So, I stepped through the veil
replanted myself in the earth
Some place ragged
Robust with all the elements
The unending vitality of the earth.
Resting, dancing, drinking
Unkempt and primordial
No need for admiration
To contort to a pretty form.
Surrounded by my fellow wildflowers
Learning to live all over again.
HEALING THE MATRIACRH
The voice of the patriarchal matriarch
is far more damaging than the patriarch itself.
Disguised, hidden
under eyelashes
pearlescent lipstick
and sweet tones.
Tricking us into yet another form of submission,
self-abandonment and subtle shame
every time she tells us we will prosper if we do it differently.
If we close our legs
cover our breasts
smile sweetly
or let our ferocity lead.
Her signature is the sound of a wagging finger
the smell of the perfume section of that fancy department store
and the way she blends into the beige female sea.
She's so familiar that we don't event notice
until we feel small and insufficient.
Before we call to the patriarch
let's understand
he is now living inside her.
Here in the hearts of women is where revolution lies.
May every woman remember:
as we invite each other to full aliveness and unbridled splendour,
we all heal.
LITTLE EARTHQUAKES
Little Earthquakes
Cracks beneath our feet
Only felt under slow foot or conscious eye.
Lost through speed
Or denied through Band-Aid obsession.
Patching ourselves back together
Stitching up the ground, our skin.
Cotton wrapped hearts
Walking in foreign lands
Holding the broken world above our heads.
Little earthquakes
Whisper the way to us.
A compass of cracks
The lay lines of the heart
An invitation to surrender and sovereignty.
Tickling our inertia
The wrinkly lines of our inner elder
Beckoning us towards
The most splendid unknown fields.
TIME TRAVELLERS
We are all time travellers
Carrying the past in the present
Weaving futures from our grandmothers’ baskets
Weather they were empty or laden.
Russian dolls
Many mothers hidden inside us
Children too
An endless unfolding of kin.
We walk with their pain
We walk with their gifts
So often forgotten
Amidst modern world din.
Our ancestors call
Yet we cannot hear
Our grandchildren
Still stars in the sky.
They beckon us
To peer forward
To look back
To stand still.
To rake the soil beneath our feet
Discard the muck
Plant new seeds
Dance, pray and bless our crops.
Farmers of the future
Our hearts beat through the ages
Drumming away our pain
Wisdom through shared rhythm
Time travellers remembering.
RECONCILLIATION
We are all masterpieces
Projects in progress
So busy making beautiful brushstrokes
Or painting over our mistrokes
Filtered, flawless, fabulous.
We forget that we are also trees
With roots that travel all the way back
Innocent babes
Waiting to be watered
Lit by the forgiving sun.
Working hard
To give ourselves what was lost
Lost nonetheless
A living paradox
A projection of our best intentions.
As we run from our roots
Manifesting new realities
Ignoring the quiet knocks
At the old wooden door inside us
Whispers calling us home.
To hold the world above our head
Project a pretty painting
To become the light we seek
Seems favourable
Until we can’t feel our feet on the ground.
Our roots are calling for reconciliation
As we walk to water our garden
And sink our feet into the mud
We may realise
There is no longer a reason to run.