The Burning & The Self Edge

heart-form cups, encloses, softness of brittle dryness.

the edge

the very edge

touched
by warmth

turn turn the other cheek turn again

fold in.

selvedges that aren’t so neat
brink of senses feeling

a roll of cloth flies open I cannot gather it all into my arms

that which I can
I crumple
crease.
wrap round roll in bind tight
my edge held tight
covered tight

mmmmmistake:
mmmmnow my inside is wrapped around my outside

the selvedge is to stop the unravelling
the edge of the same, the edge of the self

scar tissue isn’t so pretty
best to unwrap, fold flat,
concertina
neat
slip this that other inside, hide
smooth

splitting yet bound

A scalding creature has slipped inside my skin
It threatens to explode scatter out and screams
to be held tight.

or perhaps it is an icy creature
under skin, into ribs

the soft creature deep inside
stretches out a shadow hand
and places it over a left lung high on the ribcage
a thumb touching a sternum

skin spring

blossom time again, unfolding, veined so like skin, so brief, heaping up like snow on branches tumbling down.
Thinking of skin, perfect imperfect thinking that when April is done and dusted perhaps I can fold up some more grief to put aside. But every day waking to renegotiate life and loss. When will it not feel like loss or does that just keep going on til one is lost gone dead? shedding shedding skin adding to the blanket of dust that surrounds us - the urge to be horizontal to muffle all the living. Wonder where the edges of the body are - they seem never to be as clear as one might like to image even in a concrete phisiological way.
So many small wonders float away on the wind, are never recorded, three swallows scuffle in the air then almost seem to hang there. The scent of apple blossom late at night, petals luminous on the ground



Wonder why on earth I embarked on a losing weight diet some 12/13 days before Easter....

not true beauty, a fantasy skin

needing a touch

hot

the estuary roses are coming out. the bees have buzzing frenzies inside.

it is too hot for me today, I stay indoors mostly.

It will be a day when I know that I am in the public eye - I wish to veil my face. Unhappiness/dissatisfaction with body is so stupid so difficult. Besides the weight gain I now have little thread veins and often tiny spots - they are nearly invisible - on my left cheek. The thread veins are not going to go away. and two red scar type marks on the right side of my face. I don't think even Dr. Hauscha can help despite those promising (dispiriting) words I found two years back

will I just find misery in everything? I listen to the Dalai llama talking of honesty, truthfulness, transparency. Of accepting what is; if it really is that bad what's the point of worrying?

Today will be what it will be and I would like to have the goal of acceptance, but should I have a goal at all?

I had a wish this morning....but it's pointless, it doesn't make me feel any better.

willow - not the pussy/puppy willow fluffs and floats, baby blackbirds in a woodpile and in a huge huge rose bush, chirrup and suggest that they are maybe ready for the big world.

The grass has grown so fast.

bud

SAINT FRANCIS AND THE SOW
Galway Kinnell

The bud
stands for all things,
even for those things that don't flower,
for everything flowers, from within, of self blessing;
although sometimes it is necessary
to reteach a thing it's loveliness,
to put a hand on its brow
of the flower
and retell it in words and in touch
it is lovely
until it flowers again from within, of self blessing:
as Saint Francis
put his hand on the creased forehead
of the sow..........


for the full text buy or borrow: Soul Food, Bloodaxe 2007
amongst others. I'm not sure about writing out whole poems unless they are on an online publication as poets make their living from the sale of books......

true beauty

"True beauty comes from within; the skin reflects and mirrors this beauty."
says Elisabeth Sigmund in the Dr. Hauscha skin care brochure; in fact it gets a whole A4 page just to say that.

It doesn't make me feel too good; a slight sense of lacking true beauty. Ok mostly my arms and from the waist down the skin is fine..... Am I not trying hard enough? Good enough? Etc etc.

Do people realise the affect that words, especially stressed and printed, can have on others?