Climbing trees, juicy mangoes
pliant flesh and ashy elbows
to be running free through the long grass
and burrs sticking to legs, gaze widening
no thought for shiny brown skin
causing hate, no thought for others
just green
running free
healing
Grief
grief shedding like leaves
appreciating the magic and sorrow
as it should be –
surrender and transform
Draft- Flipped inside out 002
I learn to be here, becoming,
as each riding curl of water,
rolls towards my toes
and retreats.
Nothing stays the same here
– liminal layered space/ place
Black Sea – Sea black.
Night is my skin …
These sands must testify
for the desires of the masters
and yet I stand here breathing
not doubting my back toes
digging in, claiming healing
All of Nature is Connected
In case you’re a kid who doesn’t have the right equipment,
and just in case you’re growing too big for your bones and
have to walk around in second-feet shoes,
take a moment to nestle in the autumn chilled grass,
lean in close, breathe in the slack conker smell and squint.
You might not have a magnifying glass but you can still
recognise kin. Ladybirds, beetles and ants.
Creatures of the earth. Overlooked and taken for granted,
caretake as you learn to nurture yourself into bloom.
Compassion for all parties involved
In a gondola steered by a bunny with pink
ears and white feathered wings, I rest.
Serene and floating upon a turquoise body of water,
I keep my eyes closed, keeping out the light,
keeping out thoughts of failure.
Let me just drift into the unknown
where there may be green shoots to suck
and damp grass to tinkle my toes.
Who knows, what’s around the bend.
All I know; I’m wearing my favourite bow,
my rubber giraffe is sinking like a ship
along with my rocking horse of dreams.
A Million Tiny Sherees
I feel like I’m holding a million little Sherees
in my arms and each one with a need to be fulfilled.
I’m lost, not knowing what to do for the best,
who to listen to the first. All are fragile and in pain.
They’re little me’s at different times in my life.
The little puffy afro-ed toddler.
The dreadlocked housewife.
The first school bunchies kind of kid.
The jet black straight haired newborn.
The baldy divorcee.
Mini Sherees all making noise
vying for my attention, craving love
wanting to be seen and healed.
I’m afraid one will slip through my fingers,
or I’ll break the neck of another.
It’s a huge responsibility to carry myself
alone. And not allowing one single Sheree in.
How have you managed to stay here?
craving and restless
at a loss
knowing my medicine
and not taking it
to suffer; a tradition passed down
through our bodies
attempting to work against it
sharing time
with water helps to heal
the wounds, silence the cries
Honouring My Wholeness
It’s nearly been a couple of weeks now since we, Olwen Wilson and myself, completed facilitating our online visual journaling retreat called Honouring Our Wholeness. For three sessions spread over six weeks, we created space for a self-care visual journaling retreat for women, feminine and non-binary people who are Black, Indigenous or a Person of Colour.
This was a unique and well-needed safe space for us to come together and just be. To let down our loads and know that we weren’t going to be judged but held. It was such a nourishing and nurturing space that without it, I feel a bit remiss. This space came along at the right time when I needed to take things slow and lean back into my visual journaling practice. What I need now is to remember what I learned from this experience and continue the journey; this healing journey I’ve been on for over six years now.
Six years ago, I started my visual journaling practice through a virtual course run by Lisa Sonora called Dreaming on Paper, at that point. It came into my life when I needed to explore my voice. When I needed time and space to get in touch, probably for the first time, with my true self. It provided me with an anchor when everything around me was disappearing, had been destroyed. Visual journaling kept me afloat, when I could have easily drown.
These are the things I need to remember when I do get a bit lost because of outside demands, or when I’m being far too critical on my own arse. Self-compassion. self-care and self-love are waiting for me when I open my journal and just play. Just try. Just turn up for me.
It was such an honour to be gather with these beautiful and generous people during Honouring Our Wholeness because that’s what we did for each other and ourselves, we showed up and offered ourselves compassion, care, grace and love.
All I can say now is MORE. I WANT MORE.
Living with the seasons
“The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.” – W. B. Yeats
