loss

lost journal

~ extraplorer ~ 2 Comments

lost journal

I lost my journal on the plane
flower print, ditsy,
‘she dreamed of diamonds
and life on the ocean wave’.

My blue-biro pen loops,
curls and lines and dots
are orphaned.
How will they manage
without me?

Tiny hand-drawn to-do boxes
will be half-unticked.
forever.
Scribbled inspirations
may never see
the light of day now.

I feel fortunate
I forged a bond
with the crew of
BA0589
from Milan Linate.
But how much was
just politeness?

And anyway, perhaps
it was an unknown cleaner
who discovered treasure
under the Financial Times?

I hover over the
lost luggage website.
It seems my life
is now in the company
of Macbook Airs, Dubai dates
and an antique firearm
(Business Class Lounge,
Lufthansa).

I slip poetry into
every non-drop-down-box
of the standard claim;
perhaps a small serenade
might lure Juliet
to her balcony.

I send the form,
and wonder.
What will they send me?

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Our hearts are dying,
crushed under the
weight of all our
pain.

Buried
by a thousand
homicides.

Starved
by all our
compromise.

Crying frozen tears.

Forbidden to complain.

Forever claimed by clamour,
we are slowly
wasting
away
to
O

***

Our hearts are living.
Crushed, they
bear the weight of
all our pain.

Weeping
for a thousand
homicides.

Feeding
on all our
compromise.

Warming frozen tears.

Daring to complain.

Never claimed by clamour,
we are slowly
gathering an
everlasting
radiance.

in the goldsmith’s workshop

~ extraplorer ~ 1 Comment

Last weekend, tucked away in a corner of my city, surrounded by beautiful handmade jewellery, a goldsmith friend and I worked together to create something in writing about her work.

A goldsmith’s workshop is a metaphorical and literal treasure-house.  Scattered all over the place were tools, little bags of silver wire, strange little ladles and dishes.  As we talked, she showed me gem stones from distant mines and pearls from seas in far flung places. As our conversation explored the events and moments in life which are marked by things made in precious materials, the goldsmith told me a story, one of the many secrets of the workshop…

The goldsmith had a customer who had recently become divorced.  Still distraught, she brought her rings to the goldsmith; could they be remade, she wondered?  Hidden in the liminal space of the goldsmith’s workshop, the customer and the goldsmith worked together to melt down the engagement ring and the wedding ring that had symbolised love, and commitment and hope and friendship.  As the metals turned liquid, so tears flowed down the face of the customer.  Something was dying; pain, disappointment and loss seeped out of the cracks of the broken heart.  In the crucible of the molten gold, impurities from the former life of the rings burnt away.

And then the process of re-creation started.  Moment by moment, the customer and the goldsmith designed something beautiful from the raw materials of the old.  What had been was no more; what was left was a becoming.  Slowly the customer watched the goldsmith work with her designs and her hopes to create something new.  Wonder took the place of tears, and then joy and hope and delight.  The new ring slipped onto her finger and with it new meaning, shaped from the wisdom of experience, for a new life.

The fire crackled, the conversation went on…