Birthing Words

I feel obliged to write you with my reasons,

though they wane and wax with time, there’s constancy,

nothing can surpass the words 

if, even sleeping,

they drift and drone and beg, oh, please, choose me!

I shush them when, in real-life mode, I’m enacting

fulfillment of the roles I must obey,

I try to shun them, tell them, wheesht! I’m working

Do they listen? Not a word that I can say.

They tease, torment and test me with their pullings,

This way, that, o’er here, oh, Anne-Marie, please look at me.

Dismissal doesn’t work, I’ve tried, they never listen,

I jot them down for my posterity.

I’ll come to you, I say, when I have finished, 

the workload that demands so much of my time,

I’ll hear you better when the pressure’s off me,

Like children, they just sulk then whine on constantly.

I must admit, I’d miss them if they left me,

They start my day and end it with their charm

And even though they tug, torment and taunt me,

They never really do me any harm.

I love them, they’re my children, 

Add to seven,

the words that birth themselves and beg me, please,

feed me, fill me, love me, never leave me.

I resign myself to mother of all these.

You’ve got to love this place. Even when I’m ignoring it as much as I can to do what I have to, it sneaks in. Checking through a bunch of emails that I’m also trying to ignore till I’ve, at least, wrapped the feckin’ presents, I come across this one, leading to this one that takes me back to this one and spawns this one.

I can be accused of many things – a tendency to leaving things to the last minute being chiefly noticeable at this particular time – next year I’ll start in September, like some of the folks in my school. Who wraps Christmas presents in October? Does this mean that they have Easter sorted too? Booked their summer holiday?

I seem to remember that my essays always got in on time. But usually after an all-nighter. Each to their own comes to mind. But this might be why I’m still shopping, haven’t wrapped a single present other than the lucky dip for school, will hit some stores tomorrow, god-help-me, and enlist the help of my fourteen-year-old wrapping elf.

I can’t, however, be accused of being short on words – check my posts. Haiku? I wish. I’m missing my writing time so badly that I’m dreaming the bloody words again. Noted for future reference. Driving to work has become a memory test. Repeat, repeat, repeat till I can note.

Ain’t it great though, that words demand of us? That’s kind of what Charles was talking about, I think. It’s like words are truly born – and I know what that’s like! Including one emergency caesarian with the last. Some are easy, some not so much so, some require intervention. But, after the birth, you look and say, I know you. I’ve always known you.

My kids – my real babes – are sorted for Christmas. I just have to make sure to take time to tend to the ones that keep on crying. Love takes many forms.

Merry Christmas all you lovely folk. I may be back before you know it. Or I might be burning the venison, cursing the carols (don’t you just get sick of the same ones?!)

Feck it! When my crew are all sated, from too much of me, I’ll be loving my orphans.

Won’t we all! Mothers and fathers to words.

Your words are a gift. I thank you for them.

They’re also your gift to yourself. Open them every day.

Words are made flesh and live among us.

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Legacy

It’s okay to steal the flame and run

From gods, a-hunting down audacious

Mercy given, gift of heaven,

It’s okay.

It’s alright to burn your fingers,

Singe a little, give a little, carry some

To others colder, further back from fire,

It’s alright.

It’s fine, I think, to bend the rules, apply

Some tender leniency, pretender to immutable,

Withstanding all is fair in love and war, they say,

It’s fine.

Who will be Prometheus, provoke with daring,

Chased by thunder, run the gauntlet,

Be the warrior who casts the dice where risk and life

Are prize, those lives unknown,

Emblematic titan, punished, ridiculed, symbolic,

Messianic martyr for the mass,

Where carried torch, ignited gift, though stolen,

Given too, the drive a greater need to give

Than to survive.

It’s okay, alright, it’s fine to steal

The spark bequeathed.

With forethought,

Feed and favour,

Fan,

Now keep it lit,

This legacy.

 

Quirinus

Go quietly now,

rest

on ancient hill,

oaken spear

by side,

duality still.

 

Go gently now,

God and man

divine,

temple to

empire,

fruits of Sabine.

 

Go wisely now,

from state

to ruin,

once seven hills

from lupine

bloomed.

 

Seek counsel now,

imperious

oblations,

no mastery,

twinned stars

guide nations.

 

Go bravely now,

new knowledge

understand,

with hope we sow

wonders from

godly hands.

Hope

All-gifted, all-giving, the gods did provoke,

Relinquished the right, them so to invoke.

Promethean crime, aid for mankind, aroused ire,

Retribution, from gods owning fire.

First woman among us, moulded from earth,

Bestowed by all deities, heavenly blessed.

But cursed by the gifts duality knows.

Determination, Zeus overthrows.

A gift bearing ills in a jar or a box,

Pandora relents and evil unlocks.

But hope still remains for good or for ill

Perception is all when hope does instil

Belief in the story of why god would choose

A mixture of gifts, some evil to use.

Is hope then a curse to action instead

Or essence to reflect on when life’s all but dead?

My hope is a blessing, that hope is a gift,

Enabling souls to elevate, to lift,

When all feels too empty, like box opened wide.

Let hope be the light that remains still inside.

 

By And By

I dreamt of you last night and again this morning

In slumber’s sleep and early waking hours,

I lay with you in darkness through till dawning

And pondered love as deeply held as ours.

 

My dreams are full of wonder at all loving

How gifted we may be when it enfolds.

I treasure them, eyes closed, then on opening

And expose heart to all my love beholds.

 

There’s magic in my dreams of love unfolding

And passion in my soul for who you are.

I whisper into ether, song rejoicing

You lead me, fill me, guide me, northern star.

 

Should dreams enhance all hours alert and watching,

Perfecting every moment to arouse

Splendour in the passion we are holding,

Eyes open always, never more to drowse.

 

Should life supplant all hopes of dreamers’ weaving

And build a barrier to all our plans,

I’ll close my eyes forever, hold fast to my perceiving

Of who we are in dreams, simply woman and one man.

 

In life we walk a path so often treading,

In dreams’ inertia fantasies unfold,

Collide in dreams, inhibitions shedding.

Come my love, in dreams, let’s both be bold.

 

Meet me in my dreams till eternity is ending,

In heavens purest realm I’ll find you, by and by,

I’ll know your spirit’s call so sweetly yearning

For miracles of love within mind’s eye.

Virtues

Hope will always arise.

Burnt ashes scattered,

Dispersed,

Blown on the breeze.

 

Faith will always find a way.

Infiltrating, revealing,

Soothing,

Uplifting on wing.

 

Love will always remain.

Welcomed, embraced,

Believed,

Gifted and rejoiced in.

 

Impossible to reject

The virtues,

Encapsulating all

In you.

My Space Cadet

Beautifully alien

And wonderfully bizarre,

From babe

To almost full grown.

Questioning

Strange anomalies of life,

And others,

I’ve never known.

Like, ‘If I was painted the same colour as air,

Would I be invisible to you?’

And, ‘ If the Clyde could be bottled,

How many bottles would you need that to do?’

 

And, others more usual, like,

‘Where does the itch go

When you’ve had a really good scratch?’

I look on and puzzle and question

From where exactly did this amazing boy of mine hatch?

 

I was there,

I felt the pain

And gazed at this gift in my arms.

Little knowing then,

That as he grew,

I’d succumb to all of his charms.

 

Eighteen years later I marvel each day

And wonder that I never saw

That my six foot Adonis

Had the soul of a child, a child full of wonder and awe.

My space cadet with questioning green eyes

And a mind with tremendous insight.

I know, in my heart, that this babe of mine

Is a child that was born of the light.

A Gamble

It’s too late in the morning for reason.

No excuse seems valid to me.

You dealt your cards, now use them.

Cheating can never be free.

There’s a tax on your woeful behaviour,

A poll to pay; you won’t pass.

There are dues you had to consider,

If you wanted our union to last.

The thrill you had in your dealings,

The hand, to me, that you dealt,

No thought considered the feelings.

Was it worth it for all that you felt?

I’ve thrown my cards on the table,

I relinquish the stakes that I bet,

I’ll take my pot to a different casino.

You stay with the one that you met.

Everything has to be paid for,

All gambles, consider the odds.

Luck, in life and at tables,

Lies in the lap of the gods.

The above is not a reflection on my relationship, as someone expressed concern that a previous one was. It is a combination of imagination and knowledge of people close to me who have had experience of the above.