bedtime

Tired, my eyes

Hang lower,

As my body tries

To sleep. I pray to

A God I’m unsure of

And hope I’m his

To keep. I ask for

A new day dawning

And for things to stay

The same. I ask for this

Shady awning, to blanket

My fear of change.

Familiarity breeds contempt, but

It also blunts the sword, that stops

Me moving forward, from severing

The safety chord. 

weak?

Image
image retrieved from thatbohemiangirl.tumblr.com

And what hurt me most,

About that whole affair

Is when you said to him,

Handle her with care.

She’s weak, you see, despite

That strong veneer.

That hurt, my friend,

Like a fresh cut, etching

A new label into my flesh.

You’ve known me

Through it all,

Though so easily you forget

Those moments I sat with you

Bare boned and bloodied,

A mess of tears, and fears,

Without reserves.

And yes, I falter, and yes

I still despair, and sometimes

I feel fragile, but the evidence

To contrary lies in my still

Standing here.

Deign to call me weak,

My friend, come on

I dare.

enough

I offered you my love

Yet that was not

 Enough.

I offered you my friendship

Yet that was not

Enough.

I owed you, you said,

Yet I paid in full

In silver coins and

Crumpled notes,

In tears of hurt,

In the words of advice

I gave and gave,

In the dutiful silence

To your rants and raves,

Yet, still, that

Was not enough.

I owed you, you said,

And finally, I said,

“Enough.” 

Reflection

A beautiful debutant,

In her own glazed, lined eyes;

Shy of the admiring glances

Yet fully aware of how she

Holds court amongst

The young men,

Fool hardy and keen to

Impress.

 

She can’t understand

Why they don’t ask her to dance

Or they don’t steal a kiss,

When the sun comes down

And songs play out.

She often preens,

Pinching at her sagging cheeks,

Gazing in the mirror,

Wondering what her man,

Her one true love, will

Be like, when he finally shows his

Face.

 

Sometimes, though, she startles

When she catches a

Glimpse of her glistening silver

Hair, and her sunken eyes, and

Her drooping mouth, now lined

And unfurled, and she doesn’t know

Who it is that looks

Back

 

But often she sees, quite clearly,

This lady in the mirror- her mother?

Grandmother? -she’s familiar,

Like someone…..someone,

Whom she used to know.

She’s beautiful, still, though time has

Ticked past.

Possibly more beautiful now,

She thinks, as she sees her own daughter

In this skin and bone,

Her beautiful little girl-

Debutant, new mother, grandmother

Now, herself.

It’s such a shame, she often thinks,

That many only recognise beauty

Within certain

Restraints.

 

And it is a shame, as they

Will never see what this lady-

This debutant, mother, grandmother, old lady-

Sees in the mirror,

Or in a window pane or in

Her mind’s eye,

For it’s all the

Same. 

first kiss

I run my hands upon the

Cluster of scars

Across your face.

You flinch

Yet your shoulders stay

Rigid as a contract.

Never have I come,

So close before,

Inches within reach.   

Don’t. Don’t you pull away,

My eyes plead with fervent greed,

Like Pandora and her god-damned box.

I cannot tell your breath

From the smoke you draw,

Urgently, from your cigarette,

That thin line I dare to cross.

I press my lips against yours

And I wait. 

Louise Bogan (1897-1970)

 “She is a compulsive poet first, a stylist second”

Richard Eberhart, New York Times   

Juan’s Song

When beauty breaks and falls asunder
I feel no grief for it, but wonder.
When love, like a frail shell, lies broken,
I keep no chip of it for token.
I never had a man for friend
Who did not know that love must end.
I never had a girl for lover
Who could discern when love was over.
What the wise doubt, the fool believes–
Who is it, then, that love deceives?

hiatus

 

 

It’s good to stop sometimes, and take a step back from daily life. The horror of the mundane or the drama that we create, or find ourselves in the epicentre of.

It’s good to get away, physically and mentally, from all the places and people that seem so familiar, and to get away from the person they want you to be, or who you want to be, or who you find yourself becoming.

I was lucky enough to escape to Cataluña, Spain, close to Tarragona, on a yoga holiday in the mountains, surrounded by beautiful scenery and the bare bones of myself. I went alone with little to no expectations, and I was greeted with a group of individuals, who not only welcomed me to the campsite, the yoga deck, the pool and casita, but who reminded me of the beauty, uniqueness and courage that people encompass.

It puts everything in perspective and reminds me to open my eyes and my mind, reminds me of my personal values and to practice gratitude.