This life (my life so far)

People tell me it’s easy to reach forty

I waged a war to get here

At 10 years old I ran away

a post man found me

and delivered me back to my mum

At 16 psychosis blew my mind

always out of step with time

At 18 I found poetry and rhyme

but suicidal tendencies stuck in my mind

At 21 I climbed a mountain in foreign land to see the Dawn

At 25 I wrote a letter to myself at 16

Because although I saw stars I still bore the scars

from my breakdowns

At 30 I pressed the reset button

and found myself in hospital again

but my life twisted and turned my heart burned

I found creative writing course which inspired at 32

I recited poetry on the radio too

and fought for community projects

to advertise and endorse

At 40 I live my life

I show love and remorse

I fight to live but that’s what life is for me

but in between moments of pain and work

Is the happiness I desired and the freedom I planted like the seeds that formed a tree

I sit in their shade

One day my body will fade

but I will be a soul free in the wind

guiding others my kin.

The woman with many faces

In the darkness and light of a daydream from a distant heaven. The woman with many faces but one soul. I have looked at legends and myths. She is a gift. To live many lives and still remember some of them is her curse.

I remember she woke my kaleidoscopic mind like in the song porcelain by Moby. A conversation between the two of us. Her timelines spread across mine. Her heart and soul a beacon for mine.

Giving me a reason for life and seeing beyond the illusion of separation. She has been living all the lives I see through the collective unconscious the Holy Spirit is a girl a woman a mother a sister a friend a lover and so much more. Life would be a mistake without her music. She speaks through the crowd words of wisdom that guide me.

I have been labelled schizophrenic but I can see her spirit in all things. The way the wind moves the trees leaves she is one who guides us all. Oneness is what I have found I am her protector I love her darkness her light some may say I have lost my mind. And all the unkind things but those people are blind.

Book of shadows

Magic can be drawn from

the spaces under your bed

where there are night and shadows

there’s magic instead

like the stars that burn

dark energy forms

we are the universe born

scribbled chaos in ink

sinking into depths of imagination

and sensations

magic that is a promise

yet to be made

An obsidian blade

that protects us from harm

cuts through curses and dark arms

unseen

we need the shadows as much as the stars

for contrast is what we are.

My God

My god won’t fit in my veins
won’t fit in this skin
she doesn’t wear a skirt
she has shed her skin
She is a soul
she wears many faces
Many races worship her
she has many names
and cannot be tamed
my god is a woman
she’s the soul of the universe
clothed in darkness and white light
and the many shades of the rainbow
and she knows wisdom we all seek
and sometimes she sends angels to peak
through the clouds
and sometimes she is quiet, whispering, loud
and she speaks to me in dreams
and carries the weight of her universe
in her purse.

The writer

The clatter of screams
as vulnerable as a photo in time of the ill
looking inward to madness for the pill
looking for scape goats
to coat our sadness in grief
the way out temperature of relief
we are the haunted hungry ghosts
from an island mentality
caught in avarice like animality
the bleeding hearts couldn’t hold back their pack instincts
the writer keeps his thoughts succinct
but the light is where we are all linked
Hope must shine a light to scare the darkness away
we need the goddess to shine her rays
Wisdom is in the creation myth
but lies can’t paint the truth
the artist doesn’t need proof
the scientist his heart speaks louder than the rhythm in his chest
The door way answers the key with a rest.

Grumpa (about a Grumpy Grandfather)

Grumpa

Sitting in your old arm chair,

With a devil may care,

Attitude.

Talking about the ingratitude

Of youth.

Watching TV,

Eating microwaveable meals,

Grumpa,

I still love you,

I remember the times when I was young,

and you helped me,

when I was stung,

by a wasp,

or fell over.

Life is hard,

it makes you,

grumpy and 

lonely,

Please think of the things you’ve shown me,

Rather than talking about the things that make you despair

I know behind the passive aggression you still care,

I know I sometimes take the Mick,

But really Grumpa,

I can see all your tricks,

There is still, to my surprise,

magic behind those eyes,

And bedtime stories waiting to be read.

Grumpa, 

Don’t lose the thread 

We all need a grandfather like you,

For you have all the experience,

You will know what to do!

A mother to her child

They took your innocence
and they left you with a hole
they made a pretence
and then took your soul
you were made to bear children
they made it your occupation
they made you want to be beautiful
attractive to the eye
they made you need a man who could protect you
but he controls you and makes you cry
this is not a verse which lies
make sure you keep your wisdom
make sure your beauty is kept in your souls secret garden
if there ever is frost in your heart make sure it doesn’t harden
make sure you pass on life’s truth to your children
it isn’t fair but your children control the future within their lives
A piece of you is in them woman don’t let it hide.

What is more powerful than a mother’s love

They will bow to your beauty
But they will miss your brilliance
They will worship your curves
But they will curse others
to see only that which they say is skin deep.
You will weep for your wisdom
The fire in your heart
In your veins
It pains me to see you hidden or vilified
Within his story
You are doomed to be perceived as second fiddle
But you gave birth to this universe and you are the riddle
Sophia wisdom is knowledge and power
it is sour milk to men
and when they drink it they cry
For women make this universe
and men who hurt you die
But you hold my cards
and power
and the watcher I have become sits and waits
Watching you hour by hour
Love and wisdom flow
from streams which flow underground
But women who are powerful
Must know that they can change the flow
and sound out
for what is more powerful than a mothers love?