Planning For Change

(source)

Poised and pointed skywards

Long time standing

Alive within the earth’s

Nourishment

Numbered with the angels’

Intervention

Gods join in

For actions with intent

Open to the seasons’

Rising meanings

Calling on the strength of

Heaven lent

Answers on the winds’

Nearest companions

Grateful for the 

Energy that’s sent

 

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Fuck Barriers – Flight or Fight

Cold Fence by Thomas & Dianne Jones CC BY 2.0

the other side of barbed

holds new horizons

but tangled undergrowth

and fenceposts bar the way

stout boots, stout hearts,

a motorcycle

no fucker’s gonna block us

come what may

Written for Mindlovemiserysmenagerie Photo Challenge #94

Quietly Departed

 John Wayne and Maureen O’Hara in ‘The Quiet Man’

Technicolor dimmed today

flame, temporarily, extinguished

as titian hair and fiery eyes

 bowed, quietly, out

may the wind carry you 

once more, mavourneen,

to rise again

free in fields of emerald fire

your light

to live forever

I was saddened to learn earlier this evening of the passing of Maureen O’Hara. I had been chatting about her recently with Cole, in comments, when we each discovered a mutual admiration for this fine actress who embodied strength in the roles she played. Aged 95, she had, as the saying goes, ‘a good innings’ but I know, from my own experience, that the loss of a loved one takes no account of their age. My condolences to her family. She will be missed by them even while she lives on for the rest of us in film and was rightly crowned ‘the Queen of Technicolor’.

In Poplin

(source)

satin smooth for sheets to slide on

silk for lingerie

delicates that catch attention

housed in chiffonier

chiffon wraps, georgette gowns,

lustring won’t wear well,

lame, lace or organza

weave their own brief spell

comfort cotton wefted through

warp of stronger skin

little women, heavy-dutied,

worked with worth in poplin

 

Conjoined

Indentured branches

Reaching sunwards, venous tied,

Conjoined strengthens task 

(Picture – Tree Veins)

Turn The Lights On

Turn the lights on, daddy,

there’s a demon and he’s scheming

and he’s lurking underneath my single bed,

I know that you can’t see him but I feel him

and he’s scratching round and hatching

awful thoughts inside my head,

I need you for my hero

and I trust you with my life

and I believe that you can vanquish all my foes,

So turn the lights on, daddy, please

and leave a little glow before you go.

 

Turn the lights on, mummy,

for the demons have grown larger and they’re looming

in the darkness all around and

I can’t see them but I sense them

and they follow

and they wear me to the ground.

I know that you have answers for you’ve lived a life

and carried thought and love

and won some battles in your day,

I trust that you will guide me and direct me

with your wisdom,

You’ll never steer me wrong no matter what I say.

So turn the lights on mummy, please,

And show to me the lightness of your ways.

 

Leave the lights on, darling,

to the demons of your darkness

in the night that come to steal,

let me see your demons dancing, I’ll destroy them,

we’ll be stronger when we fight them, both together,

we have power in the loving, can’t you feel.

We’ll spread it out and round and up and down,

we’ll cover corners, every base that comes along

and fight the fight we have to win,

we’ll vanquish ghosts and ghouls and demons,

terrors of the night and daylight hours,

every torment, everything.

So leave the lights on, baby, I’ll protect you,

You’ll protect me, we’re a team.

 

Turn all the lights on, fetch the torches

bring the candles, lamps and shining stars

and blazing sun,

the demons are retreating,

we have power all around us,

they are fearful and we’ve got them on the run.

All these demons, they’re illusion

and their danger is persuasion

and it’s fear all children fear along their spine

and it grows along beside us and defeats us,

all negation, all abstraction

and it subjugates our light to shine.

So turn the lights on, leave the lights on,

we’re all children but, together, with our beacons, we’ll be  fine.

 

 

Pressure

Do you bend under pressure or strengthen

As steel that’s forged in the fire,

Alloyed, allied to greater intention,

Striving, with faith, to aspire?

Do you buckle and break like softest of metal,

Non-resistance a foregone conclusion,

Or gather the girders supporting your mettle,

Fight on, to the end, for solution?

Have the fires of the furnace burnt out your heart,

Ceding the will to go on,

Or has tempered exposure, given will to impart,

Galvanised, proofed, made you strong?

Many there are who burn wth the flame,

Alight in their soul and their eyes,

Growing in number, growing in name,

Swelling to quell all the lies.

Many there are in smelters worldwide,

Sweating and toiling for truth,

Raising young blood to embrace every side,

Teaching tough peace to our youth.

Are you standing with armour of love in your soul,

Battling with right on your arm,

Wielding the sword of justice for all,

Ready at klaxon’s alarm?

Our shift’s almost over, done for the day,

An army awaits at the gate,

Legions of light who fight for fair play,

Vanquishing greed, poverty, hate.

Apprentices needed in yards by the Clyde,

In offices, in factories, in arts,

Tradesmen and women standing firm side by side,

Trained to know and to start

A war of attrition that smothers the power,

Extinguishes those who digress

From bringing the seconds of minutes to the hour,

Languishing in workers’ largesse.

If metal there is that runs in your blood,

Mercurial, when driven mad,

Strengthen its core, let thermostat soar,

Fired pressure, a cause to be glad.

It’s the strength of the ore that lies in the earth,

The power at Nature’s behest,

It’s Gaia calling a time of rebirth,

Listen well, Mother knows best.

 

 

 

 

Cogs

Just a very tiny cog in a very big wheel

As it spins and it spins on its axis,

Rotating, denoting what is truth what is false,

Woven with power raised in taxes

From the very tiny cogs, located at the hub,

Forgotten, though pivotal, components,

Grinding anew, as lubricant dissolves,

Fracturing framework, strong proponents

Of a different machine where each cog can now become

Part of a wider evolution,

Rolling down the road, in the ether, through the sphere,

A nuts and bolts reform of revolution.

Wheels of machine are hanging by a thread

Made of iron, corroding, cannot last.

Cogs now formed of steel have longevity, purpose new,

Collective memory of all the futures past.

Soul Seekers

Yesterday the only blogger I’ve ever collaborated with…sounds rude, doesn’t it?!…reblogged our collaboration and inspired me to ask for more. Watch this space!

In the meantime, one of my other favourite people, Mark, wandered out from Australia’s bush territory, haggard and drought-ridden, in need of nurture by a Scottish handmaiden – ok, get with the programme, it’s not called poetry for nothing! – and has been settling in to a new way of life with the promise of his healing gifts being used for the benefit of many.

We got chatting…as you do.

And lo and behold, something he said triggered a response in me that led us to this collaboration in the comments section! I’m chuffed as f…anything. There’s a little magic in the moonlight and some wanderlust in souls that seek to find.

Soul seeker,

journey far in waxing, waning moon…

 Heart healer,

words of healing, life in tune…

 

Believe then, in magic,

writ by silver’d stars…

 And belief within,

Life open, without bars…

 

Hush, spirit, listen well,

heed that aching need…

 To find the truth,

the beginning of a seed…

 

Be still, in the knowing,

Let silence fill your mind…

 A gift from up above,

a wonder you will find…

 

No magic be cast here,

Mere souls in perfect tune…

 With love and a sharing,

Perfect harmony with the moon…

 

Be faithful to the aching…

The voice that cries within…

 For in that understanding,

is a love that’s always been.

 

Balls Of Steel

I feel the need to justify this piece.

I don’t hate men. Far from it. There are quite a few I’d like to show my appreciation of. In my dreams!

But. I have a sister – two actually- and one of them has just had a kick in the balls by someone who calls himself a man. I KNOW not all men are like this.

 

OUR balls are made of steel.

WE keep them hidden inside,

Unaffected by temperature and treason.

Governed by reason.

And humungous quantities of love.

OUR balls allow hands-free penalties

And rarely swing with abandonment

Even while YOU think irrationally of

OUR reasoning

That broods on permutations

And shelters our most vulnerable parts

With drops of tears.

 

OUR tender parts need hiding from

The world of hurt we feel.

They need to rise and feed

The children, pack their lunch

And send them off with cheer and change

In pockets

That are not meddled with by hands

Fumbling for satisfaction in the moment.

 

OUR balls are mostly resistant to immediate gratification,

Tell YOU to ‘get them right roon ye’

When threat of compromise

Compromises

Those we love beyond OUR own balls.

We are WOMAN! WE have balls!

They hurt.

And then they heal.