a door
you, who have come here
moved in, unlocking things
before I noticed,
What are you doing here?
Where did you find those keys?
and who told you where to find
those
locked up places?
Who are you to me?
Will you just unlock and leave?
leave all these rooms open?
for someone else to explore?
Are you a door yourself?
a key?
or a wide expanse of being, to discover?
a togetherness?
a depth?
a sea?
a time has passed, days
we are long acquainted, and yet
separate
desolate, oh desert,
dry of tears and dust of weeping
endless plains
pains
heat of long despair
nothingness of prayer
colonising silence
I struggle to give voice
to my love’s song
deep and full within me
bubbling, turbulent
sweetness, warm and cool
a rain stored centuries
for you, hope
a stirring,
yet prisoned
break through,
ancient hope of truth,
beauty and delight,
break through
silence, hard and fierce
refusal,
my love’s song,
discouraged
deepens
a stirring
yet prisoned
distillation of sweet days
flowers, birds and beauty
resdolent with meaning,
moments bathed in wonder
atoms dancing, molecules
in song,
renewal’s promise
eternal
a sea, a stream, a storm
a purity of force
suddenly a rushing
unbidden, a fierceness,
filtering a crack, sudden, sudden
silence
a spring
ancient spring
I effervesce my wealth
raucous with abandon
liquid laughter
embraces stale silence
to life
baptises austerity
bathes pains
flows, flows, flows
Note: this poem is a work in progress and, interestingly to me, encapsulates in its in-progress state the very tensions intended to be present in the image of the poem that came to me this morning. I hope to come back to this image and poem at point with greater completeness. But for now the very representations of my own inner state of fullness and frustration evident in the not-quite-working feeling (at least to me) of the poem are wryly comforting.
I am a sea for you, and all my
other realities, hang
longingly, waiting
an intensification of the waves, tender pink,
growing moody, faint mauve hues, rose absolue,
crimson interdit
almost red, almost dark, almost night, almost
dawn
roiling, I lurch another night
unknowing, other
to myself and to those who know me
daytime
a restless wakening, a dreamless
depth, a haunting utter knowing
beyond, beyond
the stars arrive,
intensification of light
patient, delighting
eternal, vanishing,
shine singing
vanquishing
the sea the sea, it wrestles
warm, hot, cool, chill within me,
I hope, I pray
Note: This poem was written in response to an abstract watercolour painted to a recording of myself playing Einaudi’s Divenire. I played this for the first time this morning having had no access to a piano for the previous three years. It was full of mistakes, hesitations and interruptions, but beautiful.
I am building a nest for you,
my love,
out of my hopes,
out of my dreams.
I am building it from sweetness,
that I allow to grow within me,
these sweet summer days,
on the threshold.
I am building a nest that will not fail us,
when you arrive,
and our hopes entwine.
I am building it from fire,
and longing,
a desire that will not snuff out
in cold winds.
I am building you a nest,
my love,
and when you discover it,
you will be amazed,
and you will hold me,
and we will be healed.
And new,
and at peace,
and whole,
and ready.
There are no small children in my house today.
I shall describe them: tiny newborn crying
baby tears and ‘needs changing’.
Eleven and a half month old
holding onto every edge, nappy hanging.
No dainty little girl, proud
with a ‘real haircut’, a red-cherry hair clip
and her mummy’s handbag.
There is not one serious little boy,
five years old perhaps, just started school,
new shoes a single scuff and
wants a knight sticker book and a playdate at Zach’s house.
I have, of course, held open a heart of hope
and my longing is so deep, so true, and there is so little time.
Note: This is from the ‘poetry retreat series’. We read David Hart’s ‘There are no chairs’ and were asked to write a poem about the absence of something in about four minutes.
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