November Day

You said the most beautiful thing

about that day, was me,

in a Saturday pony-tail,

woollen jumper, and jeans,

and you said it didn’t matter how many times

you had seen, all those dresses and

heels that I wear – you told me you loved

when I was really there, as gentle and soft

as the autumn air, and all the wisps and spirals

of hair that, untamed, sprang forth,

from a hat - that,

you said,

was the diamond, the pearl:

and how your eyes could skate

across the curve, of the serpent of my lower back – and oh, you waxed

lyrical

about the nip at my waist that was the

pinnacle, of joy amongst November trees,

all in filtered sunlight and falling leaves,

and the sight of my soul, you said you

could see, was smiling, like the light

in my eyes:

laid bare, we wore 

no disguise, only a promise

that all words here

were true. And I whispered, that yours were wrong, because,

what was truly beautiful

that day,

was you.

   

Shelter

   

Take me by the hand, and lead me amongst my scars:

touch every one

and it is reborn, a star at your fingertips, each fear,

all harm; nought but sweet air now,

in the safest of

arms, and feather-pillows,

deep, soul-cleansing

kiss –  and you can ask me never,

to live

without this, or the whispers

that all shimmer

and bend,

as it falls from your lips: “my twelve,

out of ten”,

and somewhere

inside me, spread wings, as doves soar,

behind all of the blinds,

and the skin,

and the tightly closed

door, on those predators, circling,

out there: because none of it matters with

your breath

on my hair,

and all of your fragrant

warmth,

at my back – here, there is nothing I

could want for, or lack in the depths of my soul:

- no panic,

 - no holes,

can exist

when you say what you see:

strong, brave, beautiful me, no damage,

inside or out:

nobody’s prey, no doubt

I have grown

like a Guelder Rose,

covered in thorns

from my head to my toes, but

bearing more petals than you ever

might know without equal wounds from the spikes – and I beg you now please

don’t

 turn off the lights,

for you make me

 more woman

than I’ve ever been – and I want to remember

all I have seen, tonight,  

in the truth of your eyes,

neither one of us

with need for disguises, nor pantomime masks;

for here lies the sacred moment,

we both

were shelter

at last.

Don't Panic...

 

You know that fundamental thing, at the base of you? Whatever it is that makes you feel grounded and safe in the world? You got it from your nurturing; from your childhood; from your mother, perhaps…a safe base to explore the world from, a basic trust in other human beings.

  

You know what I mean, right? The thing that gives you a place of peace inside of you, that says it’s ok to wander away. It’s ok to roam and most things are safe to touch. And when they’re not, and you burn your finger, there’s someone, somewhere, to return to; to be held close and be comforted; and it’ll all be okay…it’ll all be okay…

  

It’s that thing that’s always grown within you, - go on, you can admit it, you’ve taken it for granted; didn’t know it was there, until I showed it to you – that thing that means you’ll always find the courage and the confidence to go back, to explore again, despite the thorns and the nettles that stung you.

  

Well, here’s the thing - I’m going to take that from you now. Not a bit of it. All of it. Every last internal attachment and scrap of core security – gone - in the blink of my eye, a single click of my fingers. Gone. Just like that.

   

And without it, see how nothing is true or certain anymore, how there is no feeling that anything is okay, or ever will be again, and how you will panic – oh, how you will panic, that you will not have to seek the thorns, but instead, they will come for you.

   

See now, how you hesitate at the menace of the first night of sleep in a strange, new bed, at the person who bumps in to you from behind, and sets a lump in your throat, a sea-sickness in your stomach…feel how your heart will hammer at the noises unfamiliar radiators stirring into life will make, at creaking floorboards on an unknown landing…not dangerous once, but now, horrifying - certain harm…see how sweat beads on your neck at someone walking behind you in the dark, at a firm knock on a door you cannot see through. Feel it grip you, like a claw to the chest, beyond any thought or rationale – nothing there to call upon to settle yourself, to soothe you – when the threats come close. And then, come closer... And they are everywhere.

    

I’m taking that part of you that knows, in those moments, that there is no danger, no peril. And you will not know, and you will panic so hard, and tremble with so many internal terrors that your core understands are nothing, nothing, nothing …but they’ll be everything now, everything that might…that WILL…get you, won’t they? Aren’t they? Every slow and sneaking thing that might creep up on you in the middle of the night, or on the bus to work, might pounce and grab you and back you up against stone prison walls, skin scraping, mouth suffocating, stomach nauseating…they might…they might…they WILL.

    

But you won’t be able to tell. No. No. Don’t tell. Don’t ever tell. Because all the world still has their safety, their nurturing, their born, human courage. And trust. And they’ll laugh at you. Laugh until you shake and sweat, and stand naked and terrified before them. And they’ll mock and pity you, all because of the things that I took from you tonight.

   

So, find a way. Find a way right now, to push it down, down into the dark, depths of where the safety used to be, where it dwelled in dead calm, inside you, before I had it. Yes, where something cold and shivering, now sits instead. That’s it. Push it there, and hold on to it. Live with it; right inside. The quaking, the churning…the fear. Yes…because I know, none of them mean you well now? Do they? Not without it. And I have it: I have it all for my own.

   

Paper

So what if I told you, sometimes,
that you walk in my dreams? That
you float like paper amongst the
cotton-wool trees, that pepper,
the mountains and gentle
streams, as you stretch along banks of bright fire?

And what if you lay, as the flames lick
higher, and tell me all the woes of
your day? Do I reach out my fingers and
trace them away, as the catkins that swing
in my mind?

Do I turn and roll over,
and stiffen and hide,
again,
for all the times I have willed you to stay? For all the
right things
I have not heard you say as the swimming
night becomes intrusive day, and what way
do I find
to give
as you take?
Again.
And quiet this yawning soul?

Just to be still,
and to need.

I
am the one, made of paper,
today,
is all.
 

Unfaithful

This could be

any love story,

if I whispered about your eyes,

if I brought tears to mine

and cried out about the sanctity

of your arms.

This could be

any declaration,

any abject devotion, if I honoured

the shining temple of you,

left offerings at your altar like

a stupid pilgrim seduced.

It could be any

tale of tender worship, any yarn of salvation,

if I prostrated before you, and polished your

ruby-studded wings…

It could be any of these things,

if it weren’t for the sacrifices

and martyrdoms of your cross

born upon a back so beautiful

and the tears of blood I let

weep forth

from their host.

So come, come now my deity,

entomb me softly in your

feathered embrace

and mark my emerald eyes, 

remind me of the moment

we decided

it was better this way?

Remind me why,

my faith grew weak,

and I promise,

I will let you go.

Velvet

Profound grace

and utter harmony

Beauty, light and

palest ivory.

Silken sheet, fairest pearl,

All but call my name.

Scarlet lily, bird of paradise,

follow a trail of coolest ice

Whispered from ear to brow.

How now if butterflies land there

do I believe them yellow

not blue…?

Ah, but you…

angel, glory, starlight,

fever, desert night.

Violet sunrise, silver sea,

Hear my velvet tongue…

Believe me,

And give me what I want.

Requiem for the Ghost of Forever

A ceiling above us, and a floor below,

don’t touch, don’t touch,

this forever-ghost,

watch the cracks

 as they spread and flow,

all mine for the taking,

if I want it,

I know. Stop.

Stop, at the edges,

put your hands out now,

and knock me, tender, to the floorboard-ground,

roll me beneath you and without a sound,

speak the words, say them over again.

Listen, listen – can you hear

the rain, on the slates,

down the chimney shaft? Raise an eyebrow, make me

laugh, like the water

as it scurries through drains – watch the forever-ghost wax

and wane, like a moon in the window pane.

Lay, lay,

lay my head

on your shoulder,

so much time now;

past and older, so much tomorrow

and yesterday grown colder,

so much ‘sorry’ already…too much.

All passed,

all is trust,

in your eyes as you smile and make plans;

and the forever-ghost sits down

on the

bottles and

cans of a barely contained future,

she bows her head, as a weary creature,

for she knows

the awful truth.

Those words are spoken again,

and I cannot answer - because it isn’t you.

And the forever-ghost fades away to nothing,

leaving behind her,

a deepening blue.