Between the lines of letting go

The morning sun has been elbowed again
And a dry, cold wind scrubs our faces
In the sunken April cloud.
Funny though, even though I yearn for May sunlight
(And the warmth that goes with it)
I have found a space between the lines
Of letting go, arriving fully in the present
And the pink blossom, against the gun grey sky,
Dances carefree in the wind.

The beach

These past few days that beach has kept company with me. For several days now I wondered why.

Then it came to me – I had planted a dream on the coast.

My mind’s eye easily travels back. Its footprint lies in the sand. It is also formed of a memory of conversations in the driftwood and the seashells, the small snatched moments of visits, the embrace of a time with a shared childhood.

The roar of the waves in their forever, drawn in the night, meeting the dawn. No picture of the beach is ever the same. Yet the familiar has a feel of a forever that will go beyond my time and space – when I return to the dream planted and the light falls out of the sky.

You walked by this morning

You passed through early this morning -
I woke from a dream.
There was no light in the sky.
It's winter here.
They say - is it a comfort? - that darkness is important so you can imagine light
But when in the middle though I am not able to bear it.
As you called by this morning
I heard you say, 'See you in the future' -
That light you gave, big and broad, wide
Filling the room.
Before, I - we - had no warning of the coming darkness.
Now, the future is not what I thought it would be:
Something for which we had
No preparation - a massive body blow really
Beaten up by the news, black and blue.
And yet - as you walked by this morning
I saw your light

Photograph used by kind permission of allysoally.wordpress.com

Only healing

I lift the bonnet of my memory on you:
The voice on the phone telling me the terrible news of your death.
The Autumn leaves turn away from green
Hardly believing the deepening sense of loss
Of your sparkled energy of life
That was a sign of hope;
The hope is different now - I struggle with this - 
Turning away into something -
Not sure what yet. I have not found my footing.
There is no cure for it,
Only healing.

The inevitability of the thing

The anticipation is like the bark which is way worse

Than the actual arrival of the thing – the bite, I suppose.

I lie awake all night thinking

Of the morning cold, the dark sun, the coalface:

The absence of birdsong and the full throated cry of the alarm clock

Intrudes into the dreamless sleep.

A scratch and the yawn and then the arrival

Which is covered in the inevitability of the thing.

Eyes on life

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We were wildlife forever, singing and dancing –

Let us not forget either the crying in anger or fear

On the savannah.

Not all of it was fun. The usual suspects lurking in the scrub,

props like lion and the odd boomslang

to keep our attention and eyes on life – which we prized:

Wild forever, seeped in flora and fauna.

I can still feel the ancestral sun on our backs.

We fooled ourselves that winters of discontent

Were only stored up for those to come after us.

Walk through

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I want the time before now and the end to be done properly

And, if a I am lucky, joyfully.

The stuff we deal with has to be walked through and not around.

It is painful, and not to be taken lightly.

Walk through – a slight shuffle or a stagger through

– maybe a wobble through –

But a get-through

To the end, properly.

I have arrived at this place

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I have arrived at this place – don’t ask –
It’s not quite what I expected. It has no shape or colour -
but it is a place, at least.

It has space and time
Not quite like a Little House on the Prairie kind of place.
Not a Hotel Budapest either.

(Odd examples, really)

Neither, if any, that can be pinned down.
Not a movie kind of place.

This much I know,
the throbbing has gone.
I am in this place with space 
between the lines that
are both said and unsaid.