breathless
reckless
niggling thoughts
forgotten
stripped away
on a ripple
and a ride
duck head under
the water like
through a cold pane
of glass
salt invades
stinging nostrils
burning throat
cheeks tingle
and glow
I’ve always had a wandering relationship with water.
Called it curiosity as a child. Call it freakiness as an adult. To feel the curling nothingness upon my skin, turning once dry to wet.
I’ve always wondered where the water flows,
why it’s never the same sea twice and
why they keep pulling me back to dive deeper into their cores?
I want to send out a love that feels hard to the people so when they feel it they pay attention.
That they don’t dismiss it as soft.
I want them to feel it in their gut like a punch. Recall the power.
That they don’t miss the promise it holds.
Yes, I want to send out a love that feels hard to the world so they stop taking it for granted.
That they don’t forget to send it back to me.
calloused feet
swollen ankles
bloated calves
rheumatic knees
tumbling thighs
spreading backside
wobbling belly
hanging breasts
chalky elbows
constricted throat
wide open mouth
speaking blossoms
haloed Afro
Hey hey hey.
What’s happening? I’ve been on a social media hiatus. I’ve been leaning into Summer. I’ve been going slow. And it continues at least until the end of August. And then I’ll reassess.
What I have decided is that September is going to be 30/30. Thirty poems in thirty days. Why? Because I’m always thinking I’m not writing enough. Because I’m excited to write when I’m inspired to write. Usually through reading other people’s poetry.
If I’m not reading. I’m not writing. And I’m a writer because I’m a reader. I want to generate new work and what better way to do that than to get in amongst language and play. Work out a few issues and have fun doing so.
So I hope to see you back here at the beginning of September to share in the creations.
i acknowledge my self-worth
I come to the page not knowing what I’m doing.
I might have disrupted the page already with paint, or marks or collage. But this was done to eradicate the blank page. And this was done with that one purpose in mind and then left to see another day.
I come to the page not knowing what I’m going to do. Will I make a mark with paint, pencil, piece of paper, what? I just know I need to start.
I might want to cover the white spaces. I’m drawn to colour. So using colour excites me. So I drop a dollop of paint, red maybe and then I know I need to move it across the page. But how? Finger, card, roller? Each brings a different texture to the page, each brings a different coverage to the page.
So now I’ve started but still I have no idea what I’m doing or where this piece is going. But I start responding to the mark that has just gone before. What do I need to do next to work with this last mark or interruption? What would speak with it? What would speak against it?
If I have no idea, that I pick up a pencil and allow my hand to loosely move it over the page, making circular marks. This gives me a moment to think, to look at the page and see what is missing, what is needed.
But when I say thinking, I don’t mean conscious, logical thinking. Let’s call it musing or dreaming instead. As my mind is empty when I’m in the creative process. The outside world falls away. My cares and worries fall away. I’m just focusing on the page in front of me. And not in a concentrating way, or a hard stare kind of way. Just like my hand is holding that pencil, in a loose kind of way.
I come to the page not knowing what I’m doing. But I’m listening. Being attentive to what the page, the piece now coming together wants from me, wants next. One mark, then the next, communicating to each other and then the next.
At some points in the process, I’m up close, working on just one corner of the page. At other times, I take a step back and allow other parts of the page to come into my line of vision. At some points, I fall in love with just a section of the whole. I give it some care and attention. I bring it up and out further. I make it sing, because in the process, I sing through it too.
At this point, the rest of the page needs, deserves this care and attention so I start listening elsewhere. Keep coming back to the places I love and savouring their presence.
I come to the page not knowing what I’m doing but being open to the dance of possibilities. I make myself vulnerable to the process as I feel this it the only way I can move forward with the process.
I come with no expectations, no desires to make pretty art.
I come to the page to feel and express.
“In my longing for depth I have been re-rooting in the earth, in myself and my creativity, in my community, in my spiritual practices, honing in on work that is not only meaningful but feels joyful, listening with less and less judgment to the ideas and efforts of others, having visions that are long term.” Adrienne Maree Brown, Emergent Strategy
Can you feel it? Change in the air. A change in the energy; the undercurrent. I can feel it. I feel a quickening in my blood, as I move out of wintering, slow still. But I feel a rising in my energy levels along with my excitement that accompanies it.
Spring is on the horizon. The days are getting longer. The light is coming back. And it feels so good. Because I’ve journeyed through the dark months and I’m still here. And I’m not trying to be dramatic but this last year, since we as a family went into self-isolation due to the Coronavirus, was not foreseen. When I was dreaming and making plans for 2020, being in lockdown was not on the agenda. The best laid plans went to the wall and a deep saddening grief followed.
I have a lot to be grateful for over this past year, the past few months, today. I’ve been practicing leaning in more to gratitude because it supports me in realising that my life is blessed on so many ways.
Now, I can see the light at the end of the tunnel on the horizon, I’m grateful for the experiences I’ve been able to have due to the pandemic. If it wasn’t for lockdown her in the U.K., I wouldn’t have experienced that there is another way of working a s being in this world which doesn’t have to be rushing about, producing something, everything, every minute of the day. I’m grateful for being able to slow down and enjoy my life more, deeper.
I’m grateful for all the old and new people I’ve met up with this hear. I’ve been able to attend so many cool and important events around the world from the comfort of my own home, this year. This has been nurturing a s inspiring.
Right now, today, I’m grateful to still have my health. Yes I keep beating on my body with negative self-talk, but today that stops because I’m alive still, and well and able to continue living the way I want to live and how I live.
Living Wild Studios 