Voices of the abyss

The faceless voice that follows me around.

It is the nameless power that fills everything.

An anchor that roots me to my upbringing, to the places I lived, where I survived.

I want to share it with you.

Palindrome

How did this story unfold, let me tell you…

A pal in Rome took me swimming, she said she liked to be afloat, gliding with the current.

Now in the depths of the river; water flows lowly and in this place it was lifting us softly.

Neither strong nor solid life’s liquid fed the luscious growth on the river bank.

As we swam, it occured to us that water is the universal solvent, wearing away at everything it meets.

How we laughed after our day; laughter bubbled up spontaneously like a hillside spring.

Drown

Ice struck hard. Cracked mirror melts. Sea levels rise. We all drown.

***

What could happen between us. If we could watch the tide. If waves would roll over us. If we would never die.

Some people live on stilts, knocked over by the breeze, the lapping sea gently lilts, as we fall to our knees.

Not one of us is in control. Never acting out our intent. Don’t worry for what you can’t control. Your iron will is still there hell bent.

Trees

Planted by squirrels, we march to life’s whistle

Together in mud, we tower above

Spring bulbs below and birds in our hair

We all have some bark but make no sound in the air

What goes on beneath anchors our feet

We bind the land is how we play our hand

Leave us breathing well and oxygen we will sell

For we are the trees that build your society’s deeds

Hazel

Three lifetimes ago I was born.

I came from a strong nut, one of many, my mother groaned as I fell from her grip.

My name is Hazel and I am 200 years old. I live by the water’s edge, where I drink and swim, stability my pledge.

I feel my dear old Russell run his presence through my hair, day to day, a familiar face of nature’s affection.

Seasons come like a day night cycle.

Polly rides past on her bike and stops by me for some shade, deserved mind, she just isn’t fabulous yet, dahrling.

I will feed and shelter until my day is done, be it lightning or blight, my day will come.

Observing the woodland is a hobby of mine, we tend to it’s upkeep, bird’s homes combined.

When I was young I didn’t know myself but was full of potential. When I was mature I peaked with doubt but was rash to show my strength. Now I am old I know all that matters and what happens, happens.

You are the Lily in the pond and I am Hazel in your reflection. Treat me well and I will reward you.

Small Hope

Amid pandemics, corrupt governments, mass inequality, mass poverty, mass fear, unprecedented climate change and ecological damage. There is still hope and there is still love…

That’s what I’m living for

The Strength of Water

The cow stood alone, crunching on the cud, one field away from beach.
Dividing the field from the beach were wind carved dunes; obscuring the sea from view.

The sound was immense. Crash after crash.
The cow didn’t know what it was. It came again and again. Like the never ending tide of love between two lovers exploring what they could be.

The grass was long enough to rasp a quiet rustle in the breeze. The cattle’s table spread. Yet there was only the cow around. Night rolled in. Thunder struck.

As the rain fell the cow sought refuge in a rocky cave by the lake at the top of the field. Only to discover an inhabitant was already there. A weight was lifted from the cow’s heart at the site of a bull.

The bull was neither young or old, he was in his prime, not extraordinary, not plain, he was unremarkable. The bull stood next to the cow in silence for some time until the rain stopped.

An almighty torrent came from the back of the cave. Both the cow and the bull were swept up in the water. The lake had burst its banks. They clung to each other for dear life, carried along towards the dunes and the beach, they were dropped, wet to the bone, to the sands of the beach.

The cow mooed at the sight of the waves, seeing what caused crashing sound for the first time was a revelation. It felt like her brain was alive with discovery. The bull stood and gently put his head next to the cow’s as they watched the sun come up over the roaring sea.

Water fills every empty gap. It is the universal solvent. It always seeks the lowest places to lift us up. Natures bounty bringing the cattle together.

Show off

Flexing my self worth to my friend showing off 15 years of momentos.
I’ve never had a time when inspiration don’t stop the flows.

When I walk down the street, I don’t turn heads, I turn hearts.
So polite and so kind you’ll never to smell the odour of my farts.

I laugh and I joke but am real when you want me to listen.
And if you look me in the face you’ll notice my eyes always glisten.

Be real to me, I’ll reward you with your dreams, that’s a given.
When we touch and you go; you’ll always wonder what you are missin’.

Ok, so maybe I don’t believe this but you can fill the emptiness inside.
So, be true to yourself and live your best life on the outside.

Ex musings

Does the sun make a noise?
I can only but wonder as her silence speaks volumes.
Broken promises and a broken mind.
There is no fixing but we continue living.

Hush. I hear rain. I hear the onset of autumnal hope.
A cool breeze makes a warm hum on the window pane.
Traffic planing on lying water on the road.
A whoosh of joy as memories warm my heart.

The same horizon; the same place.
Things are somehow different.
A catalogue of comfort is no help.
Too different. Too unknown.

A carrot can be a treat for a hungry deer.
What I’d give to hear from the trees.
Living a slow life, perfectly still.
I can only be ponder what life has in store.

Living young is full of strength and unknowns.
Maturity brings adventure and misplaced confidence.
Old age brings acceptance and certainty.
I feel old before my time.

Sleeping aged 15 in a room full of heroin addicts.
I can appreciate the kindness of the inn keeper.
The night before in the cells did me no good.
A life of deserved mistrust for those in authority.

Fast forward eighteen years and I walk past the shops.
Police racially profile black children for a stop and search.
I walk slowly so they know I’ll be their witness.
We cannot let our friends live with this injustice.

Gathering bilberries on the moors is therapeutic.
A small handful may take five minutes to pick.
A five second chew, an explosion of juice and flavour, they are gone.
Time well spent.

My Disabled Heart

Why did her words mean so much to me?
– Were they empty?
How do I fall out of love?
– Do I really want to?
When will I feel like this about someone again?
– How will I trust them?

When will this pain ease?

Is she in any pain?

Let’s forgive each other and forgive ourselves and live our best lives.

Unnoticed Potential

I feel like a Nissan Micra with a Ferrari engine stuck on a 20mph road.

If I start I’ll be stopped and if I stop no one will notice.

Playing with the constraints of my mind.

I can keep hope but it seems only of use to spread.

A Damaged Cord

I hold on to cords of my dream.

Fraying fabric felt through my fingers.

I’m holding tight but gently to the memories.

As to not to sever the bonds.

But they cannot compete with reality.

A dream is a dream. Nothing more.

Yes, dreams can be real, and it was.

I need to repair and make new cords.

Healing my connections to the outside.

Untitled by Ася Орешкина

‘I’ve never been loved like that’.
I’ve heard that before, somewhere.
A refrain after every disappointed verse,
You loved me. Does that make it better or worse?

‘You’re a lesson I needed to learn’.
The well-worn silver lining of mine,
That will not keep me warm as I walk all alone
Through the storm I have summoned to never get home.

Lovelost poet

I will fly my kite atop the heather filled heath. The wind will blow my fear across continents. And turn it to love. The thrill of suspending reality in the sky.

My home is where I am happiest but I get lost here. I know the moors like the lines on my hand, yet the wilderness is no home for love.

Transformation exists in every element. Change in every concept. Doubt cannot trap truths that might tear us apart but it keeps us safe. Safe in our homes where nothing can be permanently wrong.

Happy Birthday Rosie!

Everything gets better when you’re 30
You can stop worrying about things out of your control
Anxiety is less when you’re 30
You’ll feel like things are easier to accept

Now that you’re 30 you don’t have to be ‘cool’ anymore
No one will care if you don’t know the score, for sure

Your friends will still love you when you’re 30
You can stop worrying about things out of your control
Pain will subside when you’re 30
You’ll find everything easier. That’s all.

Now that you’re 30 you don’t have to be ‘cool’ anymore
No one will care if you don’t know the score, for sure

The Dust Hare

Everything is particles and waves: Energy. Dust.

A conscious thrust. A conscious thrust.

The dust hare kicks its legs and forces are transferred.

The pull between us is what it preferred.

Thank you Dust Hare for working in mysterious ways.

You keep the sun burning, even at night.

If anyone sees you they are in for a fright.

For you are beyond comprehension, these words not enough, to describe your beauty, to talk about your dust.

Adjustments

I need to adjust how I see you.

You came to me with love.

I’ve never been loved like that.

Now it’s gone, or on hold, or changing.

I hope this is just act two.

There are things I haven’t said.

Things I haven’t done.

Maybe I should look for someone else too. It will not be the same. That scares me.

This is my life

I’m powered by tea.

Fallen dreams and new realities.

Corruption and lies is not exclusive to governments.

I hold my head high.

A new caffeine start.

Self care is my priority now.

This fleshy husk on a rock in space needs a shower and a walk.

I will always take a new leaf over the ending of the book.