our harems

in the name of
tribe and community,
we look for harems -
mansions
where we can roam free,
feeding on a love
that cannot fill
those empty crevices
where we don't want
to cast our eyes,
feeding on emotions
that are too scary
and heavy
for us to carry alone,
feeding on our vanity
being stroked,
so we can purr
and strut
with more lives,
because
we are too scared
to die to this one life,
where we cannot live
this one moment
together,
alone.

unwrapped

your words cut through
like a string
slices
wet clay;
appreciation
unwrapped
to its core,
is a love
that is felt
without
being given
to a heart
that deserves it more.

Joy

I must remember
not to chase Joy,
for she is not
an enchantress,
who leaves me
in a trance;
she walks with me
in every step,
showing me
how to break free,
how to fall,
and how to dance,
whispering the story
of the sliver of green,
spreading her roots
in the sacred darkness
from where
she breaks free,
to live in two worlds,
as one,
always holding both -
the rose and the thorn.

this life.

I want to touch you
and feel the scars
on your wrinkled skin,
but you're not here,
and so I touch myself;
I want to look into
your wonder-filled eyes,
the way they moved
with your thoughts,
but you're not here,
and so I look into my own;
I want to watch your smile
light up your face
and the world,
but you're not here,
and so I watch my own;
I want to lean against you
resting my tired head
upon your large chest,
in a timeless hug,
but you're not here,
and so I hug myself;
I want to hear your voice
slide across the distance
and into every cell
in my body,
but you're not here,
and so I listen to myself;
I want to feel you
come alive once again,
and live all those
unlived moments with me,
but you're not here,
and so I live
and love
this life.

I saw a dog live life

the other day
I saw a dog
live life.

on the move,
in a car,
on the backseat,
with his head
out of the window,
I saw him smile
at life.

the wind
sloshed his face,
as he closed his eyes
in a happy trance,
his tongue hung out
to taste the grime,
the salt and aroma
of the urban-ness
in one moment
of the wild,

the other day,
I saw a dog
smile at
and live life.

it's all perfect

the path that winds
through to the sky
come down
to meet this earth,
the curve of the land
that holds both
proud cliffs
and languid waters
in its palm,
the shrill of the koel
piercing through
the dark silence
of a stirring dawn,
the posture of a rose
looking down
like a demure girl
flushed with this world,
the restfulness of a log
putrefied and left
to the ways of the wild,
the soft dimples
on the elbow of a baby
learning to move his hands,
the cry of a woman
outraged by a love
she could not understand
or find,
wrinkled souls
waiting alone
for their final call,
armies that build
and raze walls at will,
like lost children;
it's all perfect.

there's perfection
in every pore
of this most beautiful world,
learning to love herself
over and over again,
with every breath,
inspired by a longing
that can only be worn
imperfectly.

commitment

listen to the turns
of the earth,
feel her body
rise and fall
and twist
with the song
of the cosmos.

there's a time
for everything.

listen.
listen to that
autumn leaf
held
by a strand
of herself,
before her fall,
the way
she comes apart
in one perfect moment,
with love,
for love.

there's a time
for everything,
when you love
the way you love.

insecurity

wear cling-wrap
over your skin,
for the light
is too much
to breathe,
and so,
gorge on yourself,
save your pretty sheen
from the weathering of souls,
but only until
you've spent
your own breath,
staled in the shrivels
of your gut,
hissing with the cry
of a love
waiting to be peeled
and devoured
by the freshness
of a life lived
with you
and us
exposed.

on the other side

look beyond
the now
where you stand,
and you will see
only night,

the past is a day gone,
the now is a light
burning fast
and melting,
into the dark

where you make love,
where faith is born,
seducing you
to walk into a mystery
that only grows,

something you can
feel and smell
in the sweat
and breath
in every pore,

a faith -
where you can stand
in the blind,
happy to lose the key
to everything being fine,

not knowing
what doors will open,
to lead you
into the darkness
on the other side.

grudge

embers smolder
in the warmth
of a fire,
ravaged
by a storm,
unable to forget
the closing
of a doorway,
to a love
that could not
be found.

prayers

the air is still,
cold and heavy
today,
leaning against
the broad shoulders
of mountains,
feeling worlds
dismembered
and gorged
by hungry masks
that have no guts
to proclaim their love;

and then slowly,
a whisper starts,
as the flags rustle
their tattered seams,
weaving a song
with the world,
and hearts that lie
somewhere
in the dirt,
like forgotten seeds;

holding prayers
over lifetimes,
baring themselves,
only
to be torn
and scattered
by the wind
from beyond
those dancing mountains.

the messenger

and she was just
a messenger
who pecked at
your caked walls
that held it all in,
making you feel
your quiver of fear
whispering each time
that it's okay to love,
a little more,
as your fingers
now pick up
those love-tipped arrows,
waiting for you
and everyone else,
fired into the silence
of this heart,
heavy
with disbelief.

and a nightingale sings
into another dark night
looking for the moon
in the still waters
in her eyes.

the last leg

there's something
about the last leg
of every journey,
where I must go it alone,
where dear friends
stand by arches,
with wistful eyes,
and clenched byes,
where lights fade
into a depth-less blur,
wrenched by a love
that cannot be named,
where details dissolve
into insignificance,
like ants scurrying
along a dead carcass,
where voices deaden
into a breathtaking silence
that devours me,
where my skin comes alive
with the faintest touch
of a breath
lingering over eons,
calling me
by my true name,
when I am pulled
into oblivion
by something
that tugs the navel
from within,
and beyond....
yes, that last leg
with no endpoint,
where I am
entrenched,
yet utterly alone.

questions

questions,
let them in!
let them into your skin,
let them tingle
every pore,
let them jingle
your nerves,
let them sand your eyes
until they tear,
let them shake up
the ground
where you choose to stand
pretty,
let them dig into you
like splinters
you can feel but not see,
let them rev you up
like that engine
itching to smoke,
let them rest on you
like fragile dragonflies
waiting for the wind
to take their wings,
let them lead you
like the sweet fragrance
of a wildflower
somewhere forgotten,
let them pull you
like that tug on a kite string,
to taste the blue skies,
let them lift you
like dark clouds gathering
around unborn stars,
let them stab you
at your core,
breaking you open
to yourself,
and the pain and joy
wrapped inside your name,
let them smolder
like embers spent
after a raging fire,
and then,
let them linger like a lover
in your dreams,
taking you to places
you'd never dare to go
alone.

salt

there's an itch
in my foot,
with every step
taken or not,
drawing me over
to feel my skin,
to remember
to stop,
to look,
to not be blind,
to what is;
there's a leech
stuck to those pores,
sucking blood
that needs letting,
and a handful of salt
with eyes open,
soaking
smarting spirits
to close,
to curl up
and let go.

the breath of Life

under the soft glow
of a pearl,
content,
in the hollow
of her fullness,
I lay down
upon those dark sheets,
wrapping me
with their fidelity,
where skin feels skin,
where every pore
flares open to listen,
to suck in
the breath and bowels
of the earth,
and the warmth of stars
at their nadir,
exploding into
cells come alive,
lighting this skin
of silence,
burning me,
melting me,
into a blob
without a name,
dissolving cords
that stretch from every pore
into eternity,
as I call out every name,
every soul that's filled
this hollow,
offering thanks
for lighting a flame
in this pulsing heart,
that throbs with every turn
of this earth, this cosmos,
as every breath
moves beyond
the contours of this body,
and into crevices
and corners unseen,
resting, feeding
and releasing,
the breath
of my life,
our lives,
Life.

the warrior

there's a flame in my heart,
as I pick up my sword,
and a shield I have to carry,
there's a mantra that moves
my pursed lips,
as I draw one long breath
without a hurry;
there's a drum that beats
inside this ravaged skin,
leading me through
an ancient dance,
there's a vision that holds me
in these bloodshot eyes,
threshing me, shaping me
into a helpless moth
in a surreal trance;
there's a rush in my veins
as I take each step,
not knowing where and how
I ought to flow;
there's a whisper I hear
in my untapped ears,
speaking the heart
of a world
looking to grow;
'don't look outside
for that someone to lead',
she says,
'there's no one there
to lean on, or follow,
look within,
gather your troops,
and speak your truth,
resounding

from the walls
of that boundless hollow';
and so I go,
with my head held high,
always ready to bow,
for the shield I carry
is not to protect myself,
but to hold that vision
in this patchwork shell,
for an unborn tomorrow.

one love

don't you see
how your roots
go into my soul?
how you and I
are entwined
beyond reason?
how what you feel
carves my being
as much as it does yours?
how what you push away
comes to me
and so to you?
how when you reach
for the sun and the stars,
you draw me up too
through those veins?
and how when you leave
you pull out roots
that belong to us,
to this world,
leaving it with holes
that cannot be filled
with anything
but you,
your roots
into this
one love.

undressed

listen to the way

words are dressed,

with eloquent trimmings,

and spaghetti straps,

holding it all

in place

with one clasp,

one string;

listen to the way

words entice,

like that deep neckline,

tantalizing,

poised on the verge

of a cleavage

that can be seen

through seamless seams;

listen to the way

words snake their way

around and into you,

surprising you,

strapping you

to a fear

that you can feel,

that you can remember,

as your own;

listen to the way

they are clothed,

so you can drop 

into the abyss

of a naked silence

you can never own.

spellbound

look deeper
into the darkness,
where your eyes
cannot go,
but only your heart
and her ways,

feel into the bowels
of this sacred earth,
where silence reigns
those darker folds,
where seeds lie
pulsing
with the breath
of new worlds
waiting to mate with you,
and knit your womb,

a timeless waiting
to break open
their outgrown shells,
with the gentlest caress
of a love falling
with swords of rain,
into the writhing guts
of that darkness,
rising,
spellbound.

our song

inside
this shell -
cracked
yet whole,
are keys
black and white,
where sounds
of the cosmos
jar and chime
in a timeless
stretch of song;

which one
will you hear today?
which one
will you make our song?
which one
will move you to dance
to the one song
of this universe?

listen with your skin,
and you will know,
the song your heart
wants to sing,
with mine.

the song of defiance

you walk away
with your head held high,
choosing to find
your own path
to the sun;
'I follow my heart'
you say,
as you move on,
holding up shields
and swords in your eyes,
with a pride and a dream
that's hard won;

but some day,
when the moon
comes out at night,
and whispers
her heartfelt song,
you will come to know
what your eyes couldn't see,
through the blinds
that you'd chosen
to draw and put on;

for on every path,
there's always a moment,
when you can choose to turn
to or away from the sun,
when our eyes look away,
and we step back enough,
our backs bump against
each other, as one.

wings

and the bird
she finally spoke,
as she looked out
through the cracked shell
of dreamy blue
and flaming orange,
clearing the hollow
of her throat
sunk between her wings -
"my strength comes not
from this endless flapping,
nor the yearning
for a freedom
that I want to taste
all the time;
it doesn't come from
the passion that drives me
to seek one world
as I rest in the other;
strength rises on its own,
when I listen to the call
from the silence beyond,
that stirs this song
in my heart,
day after day;
when I rest my wings
in this moment,
in the knowing
that I am held
between earth and sky,
where I rise or fall
only upon unseen waves,
always silencing the why."

solitude

I love to live
in the wilderness,
where everything's
laid bare,
where the earth
becomes sky
in a parade,
without airs,
where trees meditate
upon the stillness
of a wind now tamed,
where a dewdrop rests
against the shoulders
of eternity, never slain,
where birds and bees
visit make-shift homes
on their timeless odysseys,
where the grass lies speechless
at the wonder of a world
that's always unfolding
in ways it can sense,
but never know,
where a lone wave curls
around itself
only to rush to a distant shore,
where my hands wrap
a throbbing heart,
pausing
to listen and to pray,
inviting the world
into my home
for yet another
welcome day.

moved by blue

like a compass turns to rest,
my eyes roll over to the blue,
the colour of oceans
churning out endless love,
the colour of remote mountains
naming things that are far away,
the colour of vastness and depth
in the ribbon of a spotless sky
gift-wrapping the earth,
the colour of aloneness
where everything else around me
either blurs or comes alive,
the colour of a place in my dreams
where I can go to, whenever I like,
the colour of a desire
that cannot be named
but only felt and borne,
the colour of a world
I know is out there and possible,
seen from here
where I stand and look,
the colour of this world
seen from somewhere,
where I dare to go,
the colour of longing
for all the places
I can never go to,
and for all the people
I can never own;
blue -
the colour of a truth
that must be worn.

lost

there are two ways of feeling lost
when you take a train
to nowhere.
it depends on which seat
you wish to take -
the one facing the front
or the one facing the rear.
I often take the latter
because it is not the one
that is often sought.
some people feel light-headed
and nauseous when they sit
where two worlds face off.
mostly.
'don't look at what's gone',
'don't live in the past',
is the usual refrain.
but I like that seat
where I look at where I've been;
to feel a complete loss of control,
as if the whole world
before you and behind you,
is dissolving every moment,
for it is a place
where you shed books,
friends, beliefs, loved ones,
and skin, like a snake;
worlds disappear within worlds,
memories are sucked
within memories,
pulling you, ripping you apart,
while you ride a wave
to a shore you cannot see;
where you are
neither here nor there,
where you sit by tombstones
flying out from your face,
laughing recklessly,
taunting you
to touch them, hold them,
as you are moved on;
yes, that's the seat
I like to sit on
as stations whiz by,
where I cannot stop
or get off,
for they are mere illusions
of a place where I thought I was,
a place where I want to be,
as time carries me onward
on her giant wings,
into a blue sky
I can only feel,
but never see,
for I ride this train
not knowing why;
lost -
that's a lovely place to be.

to somewhere, through nowhere

spirit drains
and dies,
swirling
into the dark hole
of an urban breath,
shallow,
nauseating,
mind-splitting,
playing havoc
with a gut
wound up
and spent,
in the white noise
and grey whorls
of heady traffic

what sanity
could I retain
in this busy world
too full of everything
and nothing,
but for the sighting
of a family of cows
lost in the daze
of this insanity,
resting against the warmth
of each other's shoulders,
right in the middle
of a busy road
to somewhere,
through nowhere.

from the womb

sometimes
you just have to lie
in your own womb

by the empty ocean,
far away from a world
that cannot see
the man
in the woman
in the child,
huddled
into the moistness
of the ground
upon which
waves play
and dance
and die;
an ocean
who always loves you
as you love yourself,
who always fills you
as you fill yourself,
for she is the womb
from where
the new man,
in the new woman,
in the new child,
is born -
to wake up,
to walk,
and to move on.

skins in touch

there is a richness
in the mud,
in the slushy desires
of this body,
bubbling up
from the inferno
of an underworld
we're too ashamed
to call our own;

there is a richness
in the mess
of these carnal
wanderings,
forever in conflict
with our moorings,
and yet bringing us
to our wild essence
every single time,

as we are peeled
to our humanity -
as we feel the splash of rejection,
the taunting waves of humiliation,
the swamp of helplessness,
and through that to reach
the cusp of pain and joy,
where mud, water,
fire and breath,
become one;

and to be the ecstasy -
all that it takes to live
this embodied,
insane,
volatile,
maverick,
naked
human life,
where sometimes
even love disappears
into the timelessness
of skins in touch.

yes, there is a richness
in the mud.

we will rise in love

when our masks
slip away,
and we stand naked
in the light
of each night,
and each day,
when the world
opens every pore,
and touches us
to our bones,
when the heavens
beckon us to join hands,
to walk together,
yet alone,
when we give away
all our cards,
even the one
closest to our heart,
when we share
with passers by,
our grief, anger,
fears and joy,
when we never pause
to hold them,
and trade them
without a ploy,
when we awaken
to ourselves,
and see the world
beyond just us two,
then,
we will rise in love,
not fall
for me or you. 

A thousand cranes for you.....

often, it takes
the deft fingers
of an old friend
who knows your folds,
to look through the cracks
in your paper skins;
fingers that feel
every crack
as worlds folded in -
worlds of emotions,
of dragons,
contained and hidden
in nooks
lost in the light
of this moment;
waiting to be opened
and set free
fold by fold,
like a delicate love story
of the folds of life
I've lived and pressed
across my heart,
waiting to die
as they grow wings
and fly into the blue -
a thousand cranes
folded
just for you.....

bloom

petals
in touch
with the wind
and the rain
and the sun
and the inner world
still folded in,
open
with a slowness,
with a gentleness,
that comes
when they've
listened
to the silence
within,
without,
resting
in the stillness
of a day
that's forever filled
with a patient
spiraling love.