To cool down after a hot shower, I sit with my flesh exposed.
From the open window, a cool Spring breeze caresses my skin.
I feel delight in the simple pleasure of air, of space, of me.
Seagulls squawk and voices mumble across yards. Cars roam.
Hanging baskets of white and pink blooms sway.
I seat and soak it in, swelling from the inside out with love.
In this moment, I am beautiful. I am all I need. I am enough.
Ted Blaine, musician
After Gabrielle Calvocoressi
I journey back sometimes
and remember when I was riding
up front in that hot metal can.
I could see her in the rear mirror,
patting down here hair
and fixing her lipstick.
I should have done things
differently, little things,
like carried her bags
into the service elevator.
Let her know that I didn’t
think it was right, the way
they treated them Negroes.
One time, I heard her humming
while watching the world whizz by.
It was awful sweet the way
she could drift off into the music.
My mama was the same when she
had breath in her body. Sometimes
I dream of singing. Mostly
it’s that Billie’s comes back.
We’re traveling in the hot tin bus
but we’re upfront together
and she’s telling me
a thing or two about improvising
as the trumpet runs off
dancing with the piano.
water. sea. ocean.
the black body. from Mother stolen.
learning to swim. for freedom.
foam. air. white.
the black body. walk back home.
Learning to die. for freedom.
And here, we begin our ascent.
Please be careful of your footing.
There are loose chippings.
Look up. See how the sun graces
her face. Depending on the time
of the day or time of the month,
she may greet you with her broadest
smile, inviting. Other times, shadowed
and closed. You have been warned.
As we advance, observe the lumpy,
bumpy terrain, discoloured in places
with distinct dark spots. She was born
with these. And here, stop, examine
the outcrop revealing her core. Layer
upon layer of flesh: emotions
and intuition and wisdom. Years
of neglect has made this particular part
almost impassable. Look away if you have to.
And here, finally, we reach her peak.
Or should we say, peaks. Sagging
too far into the clouds. Inexcusable.
But, we are blessed to witness her
during the fleeting blossom season.
Enjoy the cherry clusters lining the path.
Careful as slippery when wet. And we
wouldn’t want you to loose your chance
to prod and poke and objectify this
rare and formidable mountain.
Listen.
Trees have
the whole story.
They
balance their
roots and canopy
So
every fibre
is provided for;
a
solid base
nourishes every thing.
I’m
going to
copy the trees.
I’m
going to
dig in deeper,
look
after my
foundations, to grow
tall
and wide
and bloom resplendent.
I sit on the bed, cross legged,
window open. Hearing a kid
scream, a car engine revving.
And there, just then, a seagull
flies by carrying bunch of leaf
and twine in its beak. Say you,
what you building? Stealing?
It’s now I’m aware of the trees
trees outside coming into leaf.
Buds unfurling like green ton-
gues with beard and feathery
flower clusters. What tree are
you? And why do you reach so
to the sky as if all that matters
is to grow and thrive? Zooming
traffic, loud, draw my attention
away from nature, from inside
But that’s usually the case with
modern life: a distancing from
our true nature with incentive
of moving faster, go anywhere,
produce anything of fake worth
as if our life depends upon it.
After Anne Carson @carsonbot
The misty fret rolls
in from the North Sea
covering the bay
like a shroud.
There is no silence
when everything changes.
Grief strips the skin
from your body and leaves you raw.
Down along the shoreline
terns are turning and turning.
A question coaxed from your throat,
And this is how we love ourselves?
Onwards. There is so much beauty
in the world which you fail
to notice on a frenzy.
But if you allowed
each breath to be a prayer
you will enter the museum
of God and already
be inside of your body.
a spongy carpet;
clusters of green stars
holding water
storing carbon
amongst cotton grass
big rosemary and cranberry.
Curlew, Steng Moss Bog
peatland upland graasland.
blue stockinged long long legs
wading curved bill down.
I miss the air
against my skin
flicking hair impressions.
before they breed
the male bubbles a call
high pitched across the greyish mist.
threatened they skim
mudflats and dig for shrimp.
this closeness to nature
of cream of buff
of feather is like love
being ripped out
from the roots and fashioned
to fit the narrow folds of life,
yet still being golden and wild.
1. My DryRobe – This is a must have for when I’m going on a sea visit. I just slip my cossie on underneath and I’m out the door. Sometimes if the sea is far out, I’ll wear this robe right up to the shoreline, snuggled into the furry lining, soaking up the last few ounces of warmth before I throw it off and dive into the cold North Sea. And then I know it’s waiting for me when I come out, to soak up the wet and keep off the wind and rain and get me all warmed up. This was a gift to me from me and it just keeps giving. I love my DryRobe hugs.
2. My footed mug. – It was a special red, hand planted one with birds from Anthropologie but I broke it the other day. I was mighty upset. Making do with this little beauty from Tesco’s for now. But hot coffee on repeat. Just the ritual of making it, popping the kettle, rinsing out the cafeteria and putting in two scoops of decaf coffee and pouring the water on and allowing it to brew. The smell in the kitchen, the rising steam. Small simple pleasures.
3. My turquoise plush blanket. – When I left my last teaching job they brought me a gift voucher for Debenhams as a goodbye gift. I took it, I think £30, and bought this comfort blanket as it was a luxury item and I felt I’d just gone through a few months of hell teaching full-time and deserved a little treat in my life. This blanket is super cosy and has been my hygge go to ever since then.
4. Books and more books. – Growing up I used to hoard books. I used to buy them thinking by just having them in my possession I would be intelligent and knowledgable. I now know I have to read the books to gain their insight and message. And this is what I love to do. Anywhere really. Sitting room, bedroom, the bath is a favourite. And I love my physical books but hells bells if I’m going somewhere and packing is tight, then Kindle books will do for me. I just get lost in books, and inspired and cheered up.
5. Paper and pens – Yes I like my fancy journals and fountain pens. But when it comes down to it, just give me any scrap of paper and a pencil and I’m happy. I can then create. Lists are my go to in times of trouble or doubt. If I can brain dump whatever I’m carrying around in my head and body onto that paper, I feel better in the process. I can get things organised, I can let down my load and walk away feeling lighter, calmer and happier.
What is your Bliss List for April? Give me 5 items or more. just follow your bliss and see what you come up with. What makes you happy? What makes you glow from the inside out?
Living Wild Studios 