Into and Beyond the Light

today
i want to light
one little lamp
in the quiet
of my temple.

not for visitors
to come in
and take a peek
and marvel
at the darkness
and light,
to take them
to that same void
where I've been sucked in
many a time,

today
i want to light
one little lamp
just for myself,
not to feel safe,
or trump evil eyes,
or hope to save the world
with the light,

today
i want to light
one little lamp
just for myself.

i want to feel
the heat rise and engulf
my parched skin,
i want to feel
every wrinkle and scar
light up and burn,
i want to feel
the heat get to me
in the closeness,
i want to feel
the urge to get up
and walk away,
to do something,
anything,

and then
in that threshold
of one inflamed silence,
i want to feel the flame
flicker and grow
and die
in the stillness
of my temple

and feel the desire
to light it
and not light it
again.

today,
i want to light
one little lamp,
just for myself,
in the quiet
of my temple.

Ring of Salt

there's a storm out there,
where bodies prowl
over haunting shadows,
scrounging
for a flicker of light -
anything would do;
while deep inside
in a temple,
circled
by a ring of salt,
a lamp burns
unattended,
standing
in an eternal stillness
that feeds its bowels,
where a fire
gives birth
to itself,
preserved
in the salt of the earth.

Endless Wonder

and while the world
watched shadows
play out
in empty fields,
eyes flitting,
unaware,
between
the stolid black
and unreal lights
on misshapen forms,
you and me,
we sat still,
under the vastness
of the night sky
rolled out
for all to see,
our eyes lost
in the endless wonder
of distant stars
dotting
the virgin canopy.

In Hiding

and even the sun,
in all her brilliance,
slips into the stillness
of her dark womb
every day
at twilight,
hiding herself,
away from eyes
that cannot hold
her ravishing beauty
for long -
eyes that want to
devour her glory,
tossing and turning
through long, dark nights,
all for a glimpse of her;
and then she arrives quietly,
without fanfare,
while the world still dreams,
burning shadows
along her way,
and fanning the flames
of those hearts
that fear not to walk
in their own light
and shadow.

Ground

and I must not forget
that I stand today,
not upon the shoulders
of those long left,
but upon their hearts -
who, though terrified
to look into the labyrinth
of light and dark,
led me into
the presence of things
that I can only add
to my growing years,
stitching up the ground
so I can stand
and peer into
my own roots
and wings,
of darkness
and light.

Can You See Me?

can you see me,
not in the cards
I deal out
for all to see -
what's taken,
what's rejoiced,
what's abused,
or what's rejected,
but in the cards
I haven't played,
what I've singled out
and held close to me?

can you see me
as I am?
where the glory
and the gory
are friends,
not warmongers?

can you see me
as I am?
where your heart
meets mine,
for in that seeing
is a knowing
of all that is me,
not what you think
is me.

Wall of Words

and you throw words
in the way
of my seeing,
so I can first
touch and feel
the walls of your heart,
so I can grope
and stumble
and fall in
through the black tunnels
of a love
that does not seek light
but only wants to live,
and feel
unapologetically
alive!

There is Something in the Silence

there is something
in the silence
in the kitchen,
while I stand there
chopping, stirring,
pouring, swishing,
tasting, smelling,
reaching for, or
putting away,
what's needed or not;

I hear the dry rattle
of paper thin wings,
that belong to
a golden dragonfly;
she was circling the light,
as if she knew
when to close in
or move out and across
invisible walls of light -
now resting, now dancing,
now changing course,
encircling herself
in that strange silence;

there is something
in the silence
in the kitchen.

Fire and Ash

tend to the fire,
throw in the logs,
stoke the flames
of your deepest desire
that rages in the heart
of all the darkness -
soot-laden logs
who, in their burning away,
feed the light
and the warmth
of a fire,
that's learning
to feel itself,
as it rises
from the ashes
of a life half-lived.

The Shrine

the pilgrims arrive
sometimes one by one,
or in waves
washing through
the silent corridors
of the shrine,
cleansing
every nook
and crevice
as they leave
with the light
they came to light.

In the Dark of the Night

in the dark of the night,
some people get away -
pinched skins
and powdered masks,
resting in the ashes
of long-burnt out sins;

in the dark of the night,
some people are spent
in the raging fire of what is,
stripped of their
insipid flamboyance,
without a fire escape;

in the dark of the night,
some people find
the signposts lost
in the glare of city lights,
guiding and marking
their long way home.

in the dark of the night,
is where I find
what I need to leave behind.

I'm not a Beggar for Love

I'm not a beggar for love,
but yes, perhaps I was,
looking for a fist of coins
in a purse drawn too taut;
no, I don't need Facebook likes
and smileys that stick out their tongues,
to tell me who I am
or what they thought they found,
I don't need wise owl comments
that drown the silence
behind the cloud,
I don't need favours, shares
or pats on my upright spine,
to make me stand up and count;
I only want to know
where you will be
when I am lost or scared,
and if you will perhaps shed a tear
at my funeral, not to be my au pair;
I don't need you to sell my heart,
or pronounce my gifts to the world,
for I sell my heart to you
each time I write or share,
because I am enough, I'm full.

The Dance of Death

Sometimes
all you can do
is to sit
and watch the moths
do their death dance
around the flame
they think is home;
perhaps that's how
they remember
they are moths,
seeking a light
that was never
their own.

Shadows in the Sun

I walked along the road one day,
eyes glinting in the sun,
wandering along a trail of thoughts
and dreams waiting to be found;
people passed me by,
some smiled, some turned away,
while some others hurried past me,
just another walk, another day;
up ahead in front of me,
a little child stooped over,
I stopped to see what she was doing,
and was completely bowled over!
she moved her hands,
her head, her feet,
and threw back her hair,
and with a smile
that streamed across my heart,
she danced with her shadows
in the blazing sun;
and I watched,
and I joined,
in that moment
of quiet serendipity,
to play with shadows,
hers and mine,
two hearts dancing to a ditty;
she made me stop
in my well-worn tracks,
she brought a song
to a sweltering day,
my heart grew and shrunk
with the changing shadows,
the long and short
of another restful day.

Strangers and Friends

don't stand in my light,
stand in my shadow,
so we can see
and know each other,
not of the flesh,
but through the flesh,
when the masks are slipped
from our darkened faces,
you and me -
strangers without hesitation,
friends without compromise.

Frozen

and while you lay
upon the bed of ice,
a forgotten teardrop
stood poised
upon the arrow
of your restful eye,
while a parting smile
drew the faintest line
across unexplored horizons,
and the breath of the cosmos
waited for the pompous arrival
of a haunting silence
now awash over the sands
of your shriveled silken skin,
all held in faith,
within a timeless pause,
lingering somewhere
between
an unspoken sadness
and an unexpressed joy;
and your glowing face
engraved a poem
upon my stone-faced heart,
frozen forever
in growing circles
of light and love.

Step into the Darkness

and I step into the darkness
not looking for a light,
so I can touch and feel
the darkness
and myself,
and then,
quite suddenly
I touch my light.

In the Dark

and I wondered why
the whole world
looked for light
in the name of oneness,
when it was darkness
that made things
look the same.

The Fire

there is a fire.
in your belly.
you burn.
burn all of yourself.
slowly. gently.
there is no hurry.
it is your burning
that fans the flames
of the whole world,
which looks for light,
where there is
only darkness.

Steps and Wings

when all you see
around you
are stone walls
and defined steps
that promise
to lead you
into the darkness
that thins your breath,
may you know
that darkness is where
light is born,
where stone steps
become roses
with the kiss
of your
love-filled breath,
for you are
a butterfly
with gossamer wings
who stops not
for well-worn trails,
but rides the fragrance
of the haloed wind.