Category: Poetry

The Rule Book

I used to believe
That my rule book would keep me safe
And when things got bad
I would grip it tighter

Knuckles white,
Shoulders tensed,
Don’t. Let. Go.

And when things were painful,
I would write more rules

#737 Never call a friend more than twice before they call back.

And then somewhere along the way
In the messiness of life
I broke the rules and tasted the freedom of rule-book-less living.

I danced in the streets and things got better.

I thought I was totally free but then realized there was more.

 

I want to be free
The birds don’t carry around rule books,
They’d never make it off the ground.

So I’ve spent the last year editing,
Going back,
Finding what I’ve written,
Changing clauses,
Crossing out.

I don’t remember half of what’s in the book,
Or why it’s there.

And as I learn to relax my shoulders, my neck and jaw,
The rules begin to fall right off the pages.

As I learn how to dance,
Some pages fall right out.

And as I learn how to live,
I find a knowing that one day the entire book will drop.

The Dancer

The warrior of my heart is a dancer.
As she dances she weaves the invisible threads that create all that is.

She weaves the warmth into a mother’s voice as she welcomes her child into her arms,
She weaves pale blues and pinks into the sky as the sun sets behind the mountains,
And on a summer’s evening, it is she who weaves the freshness into the breeze.

She weaves compassion into our hearts when a friend is in need,
The harmonies into our voices as we sing together with love,
And as I sit alone beside the lake, she silently weaves the peace into the stillness.

It is she who weaves the healing into laughter,
The joy into love,
And the softness into my heart.

She is the weaver of the stars at night and the light at the break of day.

And she is always there,
Ever dancing,
As she weaves the miracles into each moment,
That are just waiting to be seen.

Intuitive Warrior

The Intuitive Warrior,
Strong and Fierce.
Hears the call and prepares for battle,
Slowly.
Calmly.
She knows that this is a war that must be fought,
That her work will not be in vain.

Her hips are wide,
Shoulders broad.
She oils her leather armour with love,
Singing softly to herself.

When you look her in the eyes you see,
The intensity of her fierce heart,
The fire of her passion,
And the depth of her love.

Her children know that she is fierce,
And that she loves them fiercely.
But their fear is little,
Compared to the fear of her opponent.

Fighting her on the ground is like,
Fighting a tornado.
As she leaps and spins,
A whirling mass of kicking legs and sharp elbows.

She will only stab you once,
And it will be in the heart.
She wields her dagger with precision and grace,
And there is no more suffering than is necessary.
For she knows her work is sacred,
Not to be done carelessly but with honour for the opponent and the task.

I am this warrior of the heart,
The most fierce variety because I know that my convictions are true and that justice must be served.

There is no stopping courage that comes from the heart.

There is no hesitation when intentions are true.

Mountain Love

DSCF0380

My love for you feels like a mountain.
Slow and stable,
Strong and solid,
Dense.

It has the qualities of silence and great power.

And typically when I’ve encountered this type of power;
Particularly in a situation like ours where romance has shifted into friendship,
The intensity of this power would terrify me.

From this place of fear I would try to destroy it,
Leaving my hands bloody as you would expect if trying to squash rock with bare hands.

And there is still an entanglement I am trying to better understand.
This entanglement of an intimate sexual history and present sexual desires.
Sometimes I confuse this entanglement with the power and legitimacy of the mountain,
Although they are just vines on it’s surface.
And I know that their time is to be shorter than the time of stone.

The mountain is not going anywhere.
And I’m finally learning that my role is not to try and move it.