work in progress [isn't it always?]

trees winter lace edge the land.

sharp thoughts of the unpeace
unwillingness to negotiate, forever binary.
I lose faith.

feathered voles and tails of wrens
deep under the spit on the inside of my wrist
a wish for rolling clouds, black bellied, rent

splat
onto into
mud
uncover the bones
stark
white
smooth as the inside of my wrist

slice under the curtain brief winter light.
shatter in my eyes.
shard through blood to heart:
I will not hear the unpeace makers with such distaste.
salt sweet

but give me chicory, feverfew
tongue turning bitter
tone of voice shaped by muscles in my throat

the lump in my throat
whose words stick stop?
My words stuck?
Or
I cannot swallow their tale?

tail of wren, winter bird, bloodied,
found land to the west facing east where lies the edge
of man, ire and whale – tipteerers all

find the cure or is it death?
just three stones later, that is no olive branch.
a martyr’s palm more like

mark my skin where the mud lies dinted.
they think they cannot lose face but they are skewed
they need to throw the towel in
not that there is enough land to allow the walk away
I talk away but still it is lodged a stuck laugh choke
I think it works both ways doesn’t work both ways
slick sticky mud stuck
suck my wellieboot
I am sunk in my socks

touch

Your breath slides silent * across this warm face at night * winter, my cold love

it's hard

It's hard feeling stuck, nowhere to turn, to reach out to. Cold frozen stone, unable to be shifted...then it thawed. When will it thaw for me?

Sometimes it seems the walls are almost touching my eyelashes, but beyond is vast and barren.

spring waiting

I hear a chaffinch sing and my heart falls apart. unbearable beauty and an inability to face spring myself.

And there is spring also waiting in buds, in the frost and snow.

a web

The entire chain is one. Down to the last link, everything is linked to everything else; so divine essence is below as well as above, in heaven and on earth. There is nothing else.

Book of the Pomegranate: Moses de Leon's Sefer Ha-Rimmon

cold

wonderful frosty morning. chase around with my new camera. more frozen rain with frost at first but about 10 when the clouds cleared again it became just misty, the humididty rose and drew up more white fronds. The garden is full of apples, happy happy blackbirds.

one day it will become too unsafe not too cry

solstice walk 2006

A looping long walk last December 21st, along the estuary and around the town.

rose, frosted

Something made me feel vulnerable, this unzips me and deep sadness opens out. I stand in my friends kitchen and cry, I sit in her red room and cry, she lets me, and gives me tea in a petal thin cup.

The sadness also makes me think about what is important in life, love and honesty. And my pleasure in small delights increases. Fresh filtered water poured into a glass decanter and left by my bed so that I can drink during the night. I watch the subtle movement of a shiny decoration and the tiniest of crystals, enjoying the brief catching of light.

withdrawn

I am not very outgoing at the moment. Communications with others are very sparse. Perhaps just a mid winter withdrawal, but I think also the aftermath of the summer and autumn. The frosts come and I feel alive.