Poetry (words)

Sunday morning. 


Sometimes when the days are too full to catch my breath I long for Sunday morning. In the room scented by a fresh bouquet of hyacinth and freesias. 

My thoughts untangle here, without force, without having to try. The map for the day ahead unfolds before me, but I choose no particular route. 

Silence, the conductor of this symphony, this treasured time. Like a walk in the woods at dawn. Contentment remains at my side without the blinkers of promises from yesterdays past. 

I hope for the planet, that better days will come, that the cruelty and anger will somehow fade. I hope that mankind will see the simplicity of peace amongst the rubble where children once played. 

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Poetry (words)

Scattered thoughts.

Sometimes it’s the scattered seeds that grow the stronger roots. Perhaps it’s in settling where they choose to be that they find strength. 

To plant a seed and see it grow is (I believe) as awe inspiring as any of the seven wonders. How with care and attention the soil thanks us with the sweetest of perfume, where insects dance on pollen filled buds. Survival of the species at war with our neglect. 

To lay in the shelter of the air that we breathe and not be humbled is a display of the ignorance that led us here. Step back and take a look how far we’ve come, balance that with the destruction it took to achieve our goals.

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Poetry (words)

Cherish or discard 


Moments of peace on the edge of chaos, will Spring ease this troubled mind. Can the depths of the journey that brought me here survive now the path has changed. I’ll find hope in the delicate beauty that through frozen ground still seeks the light. 

Is it faith in the unknown that entices our footsteps on, do we replace what fails and can that replacement ever be anything more than a temporary solution. Lessons are the seeds and we can cherish or discard, nurture or fail.

I am so deeply in love with these moments of reflection. Safe in the knowledge that they are infinitely at home in my heart until the storm abates and the oceans grow calm. 

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Poetry (words)

Minefields 


Time to heal, to hear without being told. A bend in the path built by time and footfall, a shelter for the growth of spring. Sunlight still low, still blinding when these shadows yield. Its warmth welcomed like the spark of cherished memories.

The scars of humanity are scattered here, sight and sound of our discarded past. Minefields of the future now these signs we leave behind. These emblems of all the things we have. 

“Money doesn’t grow on trees” so let’s plant satellites instead and choke the land with our incessant culture of waste. Let’s chop and burn, let’s climb ladders built by bloodthirsty corporates. Let’s immerse ourselves in the monster we’ve created….or

We could walk a different path. 

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Poetry (words)

Riddle 


In the silence I responded to the day, I took the view and filled my lungs with its beauty. Although I spoke the words fell unformed like riddles on my lips, splintered lines of a poets soul. 
As the days lengthen and the light returns, I am braver…again. Fluent in understanding, a master class of lessons learned.

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Poetry (words)

Of the mind. 


Whilst my eyes were closed every throb of my pulse reflected memories soaked with resonance. To own these feelings, to be the place where they belong. Heart and mind fragmented, but pathways built between. Whilst my eyes were closed I walked in spaces unreachable with footsteps, bridges crossed and laid to waste with a single breath. Whilst my eyes were closed I lit candles in every corridor, lighting the silence like a perfumed rose. Whilst my eyes were closed I watched the ocean engulf the sun in cloudless skies embellished with time. Places once loved I loved again. Hindsight now the hourglass of knowledges found. Whilst my eyes were closed,

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