Thursday, 6 August 2015


There, my love, help me take off
my armour, all tarnshed

with old scars and lost blood of innocence.
It aint mirror-like, this
but then, perhaps it is.

Here, my love, let me take up
your chain, broken links

with arrowed heart and fire of new knowing.
It aint peaceful-like, this
but when, perhaps it will be.

I saw him again today, my boy,
in the yucca leaves painted
Tardis blue, my love.

We shared in brief dimension,
through the portal to the garden.

The world is eclipsed, turning
but these moments are ours
and we must lift our eyes
to see.

Allowing the only subjugation to be
one with love.

Thursday, 30 July 2015

The Book

Of Bloody Reflections, has been leavening in its file since the equinox/eclipse. I've hardly poked at it all, see, last time I finished in 2013 I was all caught up in project completion and I submitted too soon. Way too soon. I committed a cardinal sin, one which must clog up the slush piles of agents and publishers world wide. Sorry about that, dears.

Thing is: I'm serious. This is my career. I am going to, after years more to come of building audiance and polishing voice and skill, make a living. This takes time, and wit, and luck.

I aint got luck. My wits are healing. I'm giving it time, I'm working on my patience. I listen to advice.

In this time I've let the poetry flow, on paper, in performance, and read others, and worked on marketing ideas. I've created a bit of promo material that people responded well to but needs further development. I've been poetry busking and made £35 in a couple of hours, leaving me with an actual profit from poetry (astounding). I've met a lot of wonderful poets, writers and storytellers. I've jammed poetry with musicians.

I've begun the second and concluding book, Refractions of Fire, and worked more on the synopsis for that and pondered the themes.

I've drafted my submission package. I've begun to draw up a list of suitable agents.

Now it's time to open that file again. To give it a thorough, critical read through. To tidy up loose words and threads, and I suspect to pull The End into a better alignment. To ask myself honestly and without fear of failure or narcissistic grandeur: Is it ready? Is it viable?

Events in my personal life have left me with little confidence but I can not and will not let that hinder progress. Resilience is a major factor of success.

Then it will be time to polish that submission package and get rejected again...with hope, with acceptance, with a willingness to get stronger.

It's almost time to burn.

Saturday, 4 July 2015

Body in the bath: Meditation #2

I make rainbows of my self.
In the water.
In the sunlight.
Lips bitten and words
dripped in kisses.

Thursday, 2 July 2015

Pain Management: Meditation #1

Do not fixate on any one thing.
Fixate on nothing.
Be the one in nothing
Until the one in everything.

Sunday, 28 June 2015

Small Hand

Most days I feel I'm living
half a life
lost out on those moments that make,
the sacrifice of worth,
pending through the doubts,
the asinine assumptions and abuse
that empties the damned cup
with nothing, of nothing.

A life half loved and longing,
for that something that brings
the laughter to lightning,
to resume my mantel of motherhood:
not to bow beneath this
ceaseless weight.

Waiting. Pending.
Not to break beneath silence
but in stillness sense
the path
back to you, back to me.
I tried. I lost. I love.

Thursday, 18 June 2015

Love Poem

(swapping poems, Pablo Neruda came and I read his words for hours for a reply, but inspired this instead...)

Though the world met me with cruelty
and I turned my face away,
in drear dim days,
you summoned a light there
once again
blazoned fitful flames
and hope
and hands
touching the new smile you found there
and I met you on the shore
and saw the lines of grief
   in your palms
in your quick chewed nails
so I kissed your lips and
we held the truth
between us.

Sighs of softness in the chaos

My life has very much gone through the rabbit hole, the reality of which is grim.

Dawn is approaching, the sky lightens as the witching hours fade.

I have intentions.

I need sleep.

The world is turning change.