Knock and Seek

I move through rooms,        

Through different doors

On different levels,

Different floors

Of consciousness

In flightless mode,

Testing ground

On different roads.

Tapping surface just ahead

With sightless eyes

Within in my head.

Earthly tremors

Make me shake,

In moors of mire

I do quake

And flounder,

Drowning, gasping air

For evil monsters

Hide down there.

They grab my legs

And pull me under,

Spirit, mind

Are torn asunder.

Hands reach out

And pull me up,

Then offer me

The golden cup

To sip of life,

Not gulp so fast,

To savour it,

So it may last

A lifetime of

Exploring meaning,

Cherishing,

While also leaning,

Heavily,

On others’ might,

Struggling less

With what is right

And wrong

Or bad

Or good.

Implicitly,

They’re understood.

Some doors are locked

For my own sake,

May open when

Sleep does take

My soul to

Regions unexplored,

Found by some

And so, adored.

If I knock

And no one comes

I’ll figure this

Is one such one

That hides its truth

For later days,

When, creaking,

It will open wide,

Revealing treasures

Now to hide.

Through this mansion

I explore,

Tapping each

And every door.

 

 

My Love

Lost in contemplation of your eyes,

A smile escapes, then followed by my sighs.

You lie with me and pools of liquid gleam,

I snuggle close and close my own to dream

 

Of love we’ve shared so many years like this,

Of passion, slowly followed by such bliss.

In dreams, you run to me and hold,

To warm a heart, once frozen so with cold.

 

Your trust in me fills all I am today

And makes the woman work at keeping all this way.

For none should take such precious love for granted,

It’s effort, work, combined with seeds we’ve planted.

 

If dreams turn other thoughts to mind,

Remember, in my life, you’ll always find

Arms wide to welcome all you are:

My lover, friend, my constant shining star.

Here and There

It’s midnight here

And worlds apart we sleep.

I’m smiling here,

While other people weep.

I’m wishing here

For better days ahead.

Still smiling here

As thoughts roll through my head.

I’m playing here

With visuals in my mind.

Contemplating here,

A video on rewind.

I’m resisting here

The sounds around I hear.

No silence here.

 

You’re wondering there

Why no one seems to care.

Shuddering there

At danger in your air.

You’re crying there.

I hear you far away.

You’re beseeching there.

I’m wishing as I pray

That, over there,

Change is on its way.

Video reading. https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?v=1430688390489666&set=vb.100006455577938&type=2&theater

Coming Out Of The Closet. Mark 2.

For as long as I can remember I’ve hated having my photograph taken. I’m not entirely sure why, although feeling awkward in front of a camera and some hellish looking pictures over the years may have had something to do with it.

When I joined WordPress I had no intention of putting my face or own name to my site. I’ve already done a post on my reasons here ‘faceless, not voiceless’, so it’s pointless to reiterate. But something has changed. Maybe not hugely. But significantly enough.

OM did a rant on his post, the-right-to-opinion, regarding Project O, which I took part in. I mainly took part in it because of his rant. How dare I not express my opinion when it may be of some benefit to others? As pointed out by OM, some people – many people, way too many people – do not enjoy that basic right.

I said, quite truthfully, in my post for Project O that I would fight for my rights. All of them. But, especially those I value highly – like free speech, self-determination, freedom to worship in my chosen way, freedom to be me.

And then it occurred to me that fighting means putting yourself out there. Oh, I do that in my life but not in public forums. I’m actually quite shy in lots of ways and the main one has always been any public display.

This sounds a bit stupid to my own ears, coming from someone who has sung in front of hundreds of people and in pubs, in front of strangers. But, I was so much younger then and probably had a different sort of confidence. But mostly, my mum had drummed it into me that talent was a gift and self-effacing bashfulness disallowed use of that talent. Talents are to be shared. Otherwise we insult God. And waste our gifts.

Anyway, all I had to do was stand up and perform. Performing is one thing. The idea of ‘being myself’ in any sort of public display embarrasses me.

I’m the person who would use a nom de plume if I ever finish a book. I would shun publicity if it were required.

So, what kind of righteous militant am I when I can’t face people but ‘hide’ behind my voice?

I don’t feel I’ve been hiding here. I’ve found kindness and understanding and approval. For my words. But, most importantly, as my words express me, for me.

It may seem somewhat pathetic but maybe we’re all a bit pathetic. With or without faces, we’re all seeking something from WordPress. From each other. Otherwise, I’d still be writing, dating it and filing it.

So, coming out of the closet Mark 1 was putting myself, in words, out here. Not on Facebook, not on Twitter or anywhere else.

But that has to change, I feel. Coming out of the closet Mark 2 has been required. And I did it yesterday. I did a video reading of a poem I’d written and opened up a scottishmomus Facebook account so that I had somewhere to post the video to. I had a hellish time trying to work out how to connect it from Facebook to WordPress but, with a little help from my friends, thanks Cubby, I did it.

At the moment, all that means is that I’m ‘performing’ but I’m putting my face with my voice and my words on display. For public perusal.

I am kacking it slightly but I see no reason to go back  – unless, of course, Facebook people are horrible to me!

I don’t know what Mark 3 will be or even if there is one or should be one. But, my ‘getting over photophobia’ and fear of public display begins. I am adding a page to my site for video readings of some of my writing. My face is there, my voice is there, my words are there.

OM asked what we hoped to expect or happen from Project O. I never expected this. I’ll be running around naked next through the town, shouting to passersby that I’m no longer shy or afraid. Well, maybe not naked. I do have some modesty left.

Little and large things can be changed in so many subtle, unexpected ways.

Something special is occurring here. I can feel it. I know it. OM’s Project O is not just for me and my little foibles. It’s for everyone. To give over an entire month on a forum that has over 23,000 followers, to allow all of those linked in this way to share each others’ minds and opinions is huge. It’s momentous.

I don’t know what it is yet. But, I’m pretty sure OM has an idea and hopes. I’m really beginning to think that ‘Ohm’ would be more appropriate as his catch-all.

It takes someone a bit ‘bolshy’, a bit questioning, a bit pushy, a bit ‘get in your fucking face’, to raise awareness. He’s doing that. And not, I believe for himself. Oh, he may get something out of it. There’s usually splendid payback when you do something wonderful, And, really, this has the potential to be full of wonder. My stomach’s fluttering at its potential. Insights and understanding of others could go a long way in making the world a better place for all of us. For all children, no matter where they are born. Namaste.

 

My videos will be ‘warped’ somewhat to protect myself, I hope, from mammies and daddies of weans I teach. If any of them come on here and see my full face and name I might get into bother for letting ‘fuck’ and ‘wank’ and other such niceties slip from my pen. I try to do so only when it seems fitting and I’m pretty sure lots of people (including mammies, daddies and some school kids) use them. But, given some of the odd things that happen in this crazy world, I’m looking out for my job.

And, if anyone recognises my face that knows me as Mrs. ******, school teacher extraordinaire! – I’m blaming OM. He made me do it! Well, you know what I mean.

And, if ever I make it into print and people slate me, I’m blaming him for that too.

And, if I burn the dinner today – well, I’ll blame my husband. I’m too busy writing to cook!

Thanks OM. It’s only taken 52 years! Where have you been all my life? Oh, that’s right, you weren’t born. 🙂

Many Ways

Speak love;                          hold fast my fascination,

Into my mind;                    ease such sweet frustration,

Tell me;                                 in words of dedication,

Show me;                            end my sublimation.

Please me;                           in ways of deviation,

Take me;                              release each rapt sensation,

Mould me;                           with tender observation.

Sing to me;                          another soul rendition,

Own me;                              I hear your plea’s petition.

Wonder not;                       no obvious solution,

Forgive me;                         I need your absolution.

Forget me.                          A hopeless persecution.

Hopefully, it should make sense reading right across or down either column. Maybe even bottom to top? Just noticed.

Are You Important?

Are you important?

Well, are you?

Can you control a ball like Beckham?

Can you sing like Annie Lennox?

Can you act like Jack Nicholson?

Do you look like Hugh Jackman? 🙂

Well?

Do you?

Are you, at all, important?

 

Well, fuck me, excuse my French!!

You’re here.

You’re alive.

You breathe.

You feel.

You think.

You give.

You take

And so, give others

The opportunity to give.

You are a child

Deserving of cuddles

And love

And you are

Worth

Treasures

Not held

In banks,

Or bonds,

Or offshore,

Or wherever.

I see you.

I know you.

I hear you.

I believe

You are here

For a reason

As am I.

Are you important?

God damn right you are!!!

Go you!