Song

I have been the wind
in the rain
The continuance of the
breath of Taliesin
The cloud over mountain
The joy in dew

I have been tears in
the soil of Avalon
The ashes in the
death of the Phoenix

I have tasted the bile
of evil unmitigated

I have been the breath
of the hounds of hell
The song of the
angels before the throne

Before there was life
there was the Law
In me is every corner of the
Universe

I am the dust under your shoes
the purity in your heart
Though you do not see my
infinitessimal smile
I overpower you with
radiance

I am the Word of God
and the Voice of Separation

He played for me and
I became
a note in the voice
of the Bard
A drop in the awen

I loved him and now
I am the memory

(February 28,2002)

Advertisements

White dakhini

White Dakhini
 calling to my soul
 with voice of
 crystal chimes
 sounding out the pride
 and iniquity of
 my ego

I want to follow
 in your cold footsteps
 to the heart of
 the mystery of my soul
 Let me unravel the
 cords of karma and
 lay them softly
 at your feet

Hold open my eyes
 to the dance of death
 that all feet pattern
 on the green face
 of the world
 Cover me with your
 cool snows that I
 will not heed the
 inferences of my
 errant passions

Shine before me
 like the stars of night
 imprinting destiny
 on to the stretched black
 canvas of my
 shrouded mortality

Allow me to follow
 in your transparent footsteps
 past bodies of
 living death
 Show me the spiral
 of your icy grasp
 that will fling me
 into the nothingness
 that is the truth
 of all hearts

May 10, 2004

Black dakhini

Clothed in gold
 wrapped around the
 black of recognition
 She wields the power to
 destroy the worlds
 and enslave what minds
 are left

But instead
 what does she do?
 Dance
 move with the intricate rhythms
 of time
 weaving a tapestry
 of action
 and reaction

Through her destruction
 does she cleanse
 does she heal
 does she surrender

Nothing without reason
 will she strip from the
 flesh from your back
 No blood shed that
 has not been called for
 by another
 all accounting done
 all things made equal

Listen to the tale
 told in her eyes
 and let your body
 feel the jarring sensuality
 of her being, not flesh
 not other
 follow as she leads
 for you will move past it
 She will take you beyond
 the boundaries of your
 scarred existence

Touch and destroy
 raise up, build, create
 all is her legacy
 is distraction from the
 centre and if you
 follow the way of
 the Dakini
 she will lead you from
 your madness to
 the empty peace of
 your core

(April 28, 2004)

untitled 2

the broken man cries in the rain
the sun does not warm his arms
he cannot feel the love inside
he cannot touch his beating heart

he is a statue, filled with pain
a victim of his endless harms
he opens up himself so wide
but the sum is much less than the parts

rain cannot wash away the grief
cannot take away the tears
moon does not bring any relief
and cannot soothe away his fears

i see him there a wasted form
a face with pain in every pore
i want to hold him in my hands
and dry the tears that never stop

others pass, it is the norm
another beggar, what a bore
no one remembers he is a man
they see a beast just fed on slop

but god, if god there really is
you must hear my aching prayer
cleanse him of sins that are his
tell him you are waiting there

he and i are of the same
we are flesh and blood and bone
i shield him gently from the rain
while the light leads him home

Shine like it does

It’s times like this in the quiet of the night that I get to thinking about why it is that I’m compelled to write. What animal stalks the jungles of my insides? What hollow place am I endlessly trying to fill or express? And to that, I never find the answer.

I want to say that I’m one of those people who have a story to tell and feel compelled to tell it. But that’s a lie. I have no story. Oh, bits of story, certainly. But no living, brewing, bubbling plot full characters. I’m one of those bizarre creatures that can only fully express itself in half-expressions. In poetry. But … why?

What is it about poetry that shapes the soul? What is it about poetry that lends itself to music, to art, to lovers’ sighs as the moon slips behind the clouds? We cannot give voice to the transparent, ethereal stuff of thought. Not truly. Every time I have tried to do so, every time I have been given a poem most beautiful, seen the vision of it, when I try to write it, it’s hollow and empty. Each time that happens I know I’m a failure. I know I’ll never capture that essence. But still the Muse, the clever wench, steals in and fills me with compulsion.

In these hours I get to thinking about the writers that have touched me and influenced me. Tonight I’m thinking of the late Michael Hutchence, that most charismatic and wondrous lead singer for INXS before his death in 1997. Why am I thinking of Michael? I don’t know. He’s just there – a force in my soul. A voice forever echoing with words that have touched me and even saved me from myself. That’s the kind of shaping of the soul I’m talking about. Poetry does it – elegantly, softly, starkly.

In November of 1997, I had no TV or radio in my little apartment. I was living with my newborn son on $32 disposable income and eating crackers, tea and Mr. Noodle soup-in-a-cup. No one’s fault but my own. I made the decisions. But I didn’t reckon in post partum psychosis – a deadly and sickly phantom that steals your reason and your joy. Anyway, I was in a bad way. These words … these words saved my mind, my heart and my life:

The nature of your tragedy
Is chained around your neck
Do you lead or are you lead
Are you sure that you don’t care

There are reasons here to give your life
And follow in your way
The passion lives to keep your faith
Though all are different, all are great

Climbing as we fall
We dare to hold on to our fate
And steal away our destiny
To catch ourselves
With quiet grace

INXS fans will recognize those words from the song, The Stairs. They were my lifeline – who can explain why. And that last verse … Look you, how softly it holds its head up. How gently it takes you by the hand and wipes away your tears. Well, Michael gave us those words – gave them to me. His talent and his voice delivered them to my heart, although maybe his own heart had forgotten them by November of 1997.

I love many songs and many poems but only few actually belong in my core, down past the marrow of my bones where matter turns to light. Few touch me from the writer’s soul to my own. But when that happens, it never lets go. And maybe that’s why I write. Because if my silly, little words actually reach that place in another human soul, we will touch in ways the body cannot imagine.

Or maybe I just have excessive verbiage. Which is to say, excessive excess of words. LOL.

Anyway here are two INXS songs that I love. Even if you don’t know the melody, I hope you enjoy the beautiful phrasing – from my heart of light to yours.

“The Stairs”

In a room above a busy street
The echoes of a life
The fragments and the accidents
Separated by incidents

Listen to by the walls
We share the same spaces
Repeated in the corridors
Performing the same movements

Storey to storey
Building to building
Street to street
We pass each other on the stairs

Storey to storey
Building to building
Street to street
We pass each other on the stairs

Listen to by the walls
We share the same spaces
Repeated in the corridors
Performing the same movements

The nature of your tragedy
Is chained around your neck
Do you lead or are you lead
Are you sure that you don’t care

There are reasons here to give your life
And follow in your way
The passion lives to keep your faith
Though all are different, all are great

Climbing as we fall
We dare to hold on to our fate
And steal away our destiny
To catch ourselves
With quiet grace

Storey to storey
Building to building
Street to street
We pass each other on the stairs

Listen to by the walls
We share the same spaces
Repeated in the corridors
Performing the same movements

Storey to storey
Building to building
Street to street
We pass each other on the stairs

“Mystify”

All veils and misty
Streets of blue
Almond looks
That chill divine
Some silken moment
Goes on forever
And we’re leaving broken hearts behind

Mystify
Mystify me
Mystify
Mystify me

I need perfection
Some twisted selection
That tangles me
To keep me alive

In all that exists
None have your beauty
I see your face
I will survive

Eternally wild with the power
To make every moment come alive
All those stars that shine upon you
Will kiss you every night

All veils and misty
Streets of blue
Almond looks
That chill divine
Some silken moment
Goes on forever
And we’re leaving
Yeah we’re leaving broken hearts behind

You’re eternally wild with the power
To make every moment come alive
All those stars that shine upon you
And they’ll kiss you every night

“I need perfection / Some twisted selection / That tangles me / To keep me alive
In all that exists / None have your beauty / I see your face / I will survive”

… wow, I doubt I’ll be able to tell you where this takes me, but it’s certainly down deep …

Whoa

There we were giggling long after bedtime. I was taking Richard through the delights of exponents and like mathematical warthogs, we were joyfully square-rooting things. We moved on to times tables (hey, it’s always a good time for random times-tabling) and then he flipped it around and starting quizzing me on French. We got quiet for a while (French will do that to a person) and he gave me a big hug and said, “I’m so glad that you are my mom. You’re so smart, mom.”

Dude. Whoa.

It’s times like this when I come closest to crying. Really simple things will set me off. I’m so glad it’s summer holidays and there is no pressure to get to sleep on time. It gives us time to talk and get to know each other. I listen to his stories, I tell him stories, sometimes we make up stories together. We giggle and laugh. Small moments. Precious moments. Moments where I see the inner workings of his incredible mind. Moments to be proud of.

I always knew that being a mom was awesome. I just never realized what awesome really means.

He brings joy to his mother’s heart

My son is the King of Flatulence. He has identified no less than 10 kinds of farts:

  1. the Loud fart;
  2. the Soft, Squishy fart;
  3. the Musical fart;
  4. the Explosive fart;
  5. the Smooth fart;
  6. the Whistling fart;
  7. the Silent, Stinky fart;
  8. the Bubbly fart;
  9. the Fart that Doesn’t Sound like it comes from Your Bum; and tonight’s addition
  10. the Bum Juice Fart (trust me, you don’t want to know).

This research is a work in progress. The child is a connoisseur.