sometimes I fantasise about disappearing. not death.
just checking out. take to my cosy cottage in the shadow of a mountain.
grow pumpkins and squash. swim in a lochan daily.
write that novel. for me. not caring if anyone reads it.
i’m {BEING} on my own time.
slipping under a liminal moon. free.
picking my way through the gravel and stones, downwards,
making progress, slow and with care,
thank you, i would have missed their passing, across the path ahead
one stopped, unperturbed, still and erect, checking me out
checking them out
Unto the deep, the deepness of calling
stepping out as a battered sojourner,
into the beauty and stillness of autumn,
strength comes from struggle and speaking the uncomfortable.
Anger but also grace in the refusal.
the beauty of autumn is scars
and well -worn wounds,
a weathering soul and willing heart
landscape on the turn
throws me back to another time, another place
in the mountains of Lazio
we gathered to write
taking inspiration from the changing colours
we gathered to share
visiting the ruins in Rome
ice creams and coffees
we gathered to create magic
raindrops on petals
a delicate caress is
felt within the soul
A fellow creative called out for submissions for a collaborative, community zine while she took compassionate leave after a death in her family.
Sarah Shott @ The Compost Heap made the call and I answered with a poem. The theme was hope.
You can read the full version over on Sarah’s website.
My contribution is above along with artwork from Nicole Madonna (Pennsylvania, USA)
Enjoy.
you can not say i did not give generously.
you can not say i did not give openly.
you can not say i did not give my truth.
you can not say i did not give my care.
you can not say i did not give my sweetness.
you can say though, i did not take your shit.
you can say i did not take your childish ways.
you can say i did not take your attention or care
and i most definitely did not take you heart.
peony, oxeye daisy, foliage and rose.
i practice their names like i practice how to breathe
without you. i smell you still upon the covers, upon my skin.
citrus, moss and burnt wood. your magic seeped under
my skin into the blood. hypnotising my senses and made
me light, made me forgetful and soft. no regrets.
i only wish, i had kept my eyes open in order to see your guise slip
like a big blousy peony petal to the earth.
Living Wild Studios 