The Woman with the Straight Back

woman standing tall

 

I am the woman with the straight back,

Straighten after years of bending, yielding,

Fragmenting my spirit, folding myself

As I carried the burdens,

The baggage, the rubbish that comes

From begging love to others,

From being unaware that I am my sole source,

For I am the wine and I am the cup, and when

It over flows, I tender love all around, enough

For me and the universe, so immense is the

Fountain within. So, I have learned to feed myself

The love I never received, and in so doing

I have created a new path for my feet to walk in,

A different song for my voice to sing,

And tall and limbered I stand,

Ready to fully be who I truly I am:

The woman with the straight back.

A bit cracked, somewhat smashed,

Weathered, bruised, but unbroken.

 

 

Advertisements

Thursday Afternoon

mujeres-esperando-el-cafe-coffee-waiting-for

 

And she was gone.

A good-bye kiss, a last hold

Of hands, eyes veiled by a

Dewy mantle of old tears,

Ready to fall as rain.

Forgiveness.

Ungiven. The hurt too much,

To deep, too like a knife

Ripping her heart,

Shards falling with the promises

Once offered, the second chances

Bestowed, the betrayal, once more.

And love shrank back to a seed

And then to dust and the day came

When she refused to listen anymore.

No more lies, no explanations, no

Siren songs. Gone is the

Wide-eye girl who trusted,

Who believed, who breathed in

Love every morning, as she woke

By his side, when he was hers,

When he was tender and true,

As when they first met,

When their eyes reflected each

Other at the small art’s café,

Where she entered to escape the rain

On a Thursday afternoon.

 

UBUNTU

 

diversity

 

Ubuntu means humanity;

I am because we are.

This African philosophy says

That to be human is to be part:

Of something bigger, something better,

Something that gives meaning to how we

We walk and live together,

Come together, to grow and heal,

And be the zeal which begets

Community, fellowship and camaraderie;

An embrace of different ideals,

And views and beliefs, interwoven

Like braided ribbons, creating rainbows

For you and me, for my song needs

Your ear, your print asks for my eyes,

My mind wants to tango with

The dancer of your mind.

And bridges are there to be crossed.

And fingers are there to intertwine.

And by myself I’m only part human,

For to fully be, flourish and expand,

I need the challenge, inspiration and warmth

Of my fellow human kind.

So Ubuntu means humanity.

I am because we are.

And in community we hold

Each other, in the sanctuaries

Of our hearts.

 

Sometimes I Dream

woman in bed crying

 

Sometimes I dream of your hands,

Climbing the peaks of my arms, gliding,

Softly, a subtle caress

Awakening every inch of my skin,

With its promise of love -of

Bodies interlocking, souls

Merging in a melting pot

Of kisses, sweat and hugs,

You and I, one. You and I

Branding each other with

The heat of our touch, our desperate,

Hungry touch, wanting so much more.

And then the chill of the night

Awakens me, my hand empty,

My lips dried, the void of your

Body holding your shape

At the back of my mind. And I wipe

Away the tear and close my eyes,

To dream you back, back to me, next to me,

Like we were before the fights.

You, by my side. At last.

 

Holding On

moon_peeking_behind_clouds_by_shells-d9nb74l

 

I ache for your words, you touch,

A sign that says I’m your love,

Your dream, the reason why you get up,

Take a stand and face the world.

If things are supposed to be such,

They are not.

And I should go, I know.

But I am not that strong.

I’m just a whisper

In your storm, a drop

In your sea, and I wish

I could walk away

From the coldness of your being.

And then on those days

You become the sun,

Bathing me in your warmth

And all the pain melts away

By a single act of love.

And then you are gone.

Here, yet so far, that

You would be closer were you a star.

But you are my moon peeking through the night,

Barely visible, completely unreachable, but there,

Almost there, for this heart, surviving

Out of the dew of love left from the

Last time you acknowledge me as

Part of your life.

And I wish I could go.

But what’s a drop without the ocean?

A whisper without the storm?

Your pale face shines in your night of cold.

And against all odds, my crazy, weak heart, holds on.

 

ON A SPACE CALLED LAND

woman-walking-awayK. Barratt

 

And so it happens that we are all walkers:

Runners, joggers, skippers;

Trail blazers, some of us.

Path finders.

And that is the answer of the ages.

Of the “who am I” and “what am I doing here.”

We are machete wielders, creating

The path unique to ourselves,

To our laughter and our tears.

We are charterers of the unknown

Jungles that our lives are, similar

To many, yet different in every sense.

We do not travel the road less travelled:

We create the way.

We build the bridge, draw the maps,

Write the memoirs that the

Next generation will forget or

Misunderstand, because I am not

You, nor you I, and my yellow

Brick road is  blondish, buttery white,

Whilst yours is coppery gold.

And so, like the Spanish poet

Said, dear walker, there is no road.

The road is rendered by your feet when

You start your walk.

And that is life. And who you are.

A walker of dreams on a space called land.

 

 

 

Fossil at the Museum

human fossil

 

You know the party has gone too far

When you make a tiger cry.

When the monster eating the world

Looks so much like you, that

You doubt, for a minute or two,

Wondering if you have turned into

A sort of Dr. Jacky and Mr. Hyde.

And you have.

Your foot print has transformed into that

Of the giant running after Jack. Squishing it all.

In your sleep-walk you have become

The black swan of death, and in the spices

And oils by your hob, is the orangutan’s howl,

The shattering, woeful moan for its lost home.

You have been dancing far too hard and your

Feet have started the fire that’s burning the world,

That will make the rhino and the elephant

Legends like the phoenix and the unicorn.

You are the bogey man to baby seals and bees.

Mother whales scare their young by imitating your face,

And in the future to come, evolved alligators will

Visit your bones at their swampy museums, and wonder

How you did it: how you ended it all?

How you ate the beauty and spat out desolation,

The wasteland that would be your ultimate end?

And they will laugh. Some of them.

And when their alligator kids misbehave,

Acting truly stupidly, no Dodo will be mentioned.

They will call out your name instead:

Oh you, destroyer of worlds,

Oh you, slayer of your own race,

Oh you, Master of creation,

Ending as a polished fossil

At the end of the corridor B, in exhibit eight.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

At the Labyrinth

laberynth

People will cross your path,

Some will come close,

Some will stay far,

Some will stop and interact.

Some will bow, some will ignore you,

Some will simply let you pass,

And some will walk with you,

For a short or a long time.

It’s alright.

Each encounter is a gift,

Each meeting a magical chat

Between former stars,

Wandering, curiously, in this adventure

Called Life.

Stacey’s Mum

@KaremIBarratt

woman-in-grocery-store

When Summer was at its heights,

And my life was still mine,

I had a name, I had a voice, I was

A girl with a plan.

With bridges to build and castles to conquer.

But Summer is over and I’m just

Stacey’s mum.

I am dear, I am babe,

I am Mrs Whoever, Lady X.

I am the invisible woman in the second

Lane, at the front of the queue, catching

A glimpse of herself

In the reflection of the vending machine.

And I know why the caged bird sings,

And the lonely teenager rips her skin

With a razor, and the town’s weirdo

Put his life at risk doing an impossible feat,

And the cat lady screams in the middle

of the night, like crazy.

They do it to feel.

To convince ourselves that we are real, here, still,

Ugly, fat, slim, old, grey, faded, strange,

Still here, our beating hearts still playing

The summer song that gave us flight,

That made us reckless, that made us dance

And dance, until that dance and we were one,

The dance still dancing inside of Stacey’s mum.

Summer shines in me, summer rises in me,

Flowers bloom in me, working their way up

To the cracks of my casing, to break the

Cloak of venerability, like dandelions

Pushing pavements apart,

The cement of the years, of Lady X and little dear,

Of the names given, imposed, baptized,

The mask I am told to wear, ripping at the sides.

But inside, I’m getting high, darling; stoned darling;

Intoxicated darling, with guitars and moonshine and life.

Singing in a red dress on the top of the bar,

In a smoky club to the notes of jazz, blues, a few

Suede shoes twisting and tapping in my heart.

And I’m not over yet.

I’m not done yet.

I’m not broken nor wrecked nor cracked nor shattered, yet.

I am older,  wiser, perhaps, but not obsolete,

There are still rainbows forming beneath

My cape of invisibility.

Summer is over, true, and outside autumn has

Painted the world red. But strawberries roll

Down my throat, and mead, and cheese on bread,

The green grass growing inside my oxford pumps,

Not just Stacey’s mum, but me, the me who had

A name, who had a plan, who had a game,

The me who held the sun in her hands and made it shine.

In aisle three I may walk, Lady X, looking for butter and eggs,

But inside I am surfing, writing my name on the sand,

Listening to the sea trapped in a shell, my shell,

This what you see, a fraction of myself.

Outside, the breeze is chilly, the autumn leaves

Whirling in the air, like a dreaming dervish waiting for death.

And I sit still, stand still, make myself still, in this role, still,

Pretending summer has come and gone,

And I’m just babe, dear, woman in aisle one.

Stacey’s mum. Still. Non-person with no name. Still.

But it’s fake news, darling, because in this half-world

I have been put in, like a mute extra in a play,

There is another side yet, another place yet, a time behind yet

Where Summer neve ever ends and the roses know my name

And on my motor bike I ride and I ride and ride, a bit of wild of

Sex on the side. A few blues, a little jazz. The crackling

Song of bonfires calling the early morning light.

And me. And I. Still breathing. Still being. Still alive. Here.

Ready to take flight, darling; to be, darling.

To birth a second summer from the depth of my heart,

My inner fire much more than meets the eye,

A person with a name, a woman with a game,

Stacey’s mum piling away all the crap, and making it burn.

JUST FOR TODAY

woman-climbing-mountain

Just for today  I will get up again,

Dust my knees once more.

I will forgive myself for

Breaking my essence like

A stamped-on shell,

Cracked to the core.

And for today I will clear my eyes.

I will believe in fairies and talking stars;

That I can make it; that I can fly.

That mercy is there for me,

Born from the depths of my heart,

Where I am loved, purely, as I am.

And just for today, I will shine,

Shamelessly, joyfully, in

The night sky of my life.

And I’ll have dreams, high and might,

Where all possibilities already are,

And I need to prove nothing,

No excuses to validate my existence,

For I am worthy, today,

I deserve all and every good thing,

Today, I will love myself, today,

I will cherish every quirkiness of my soul

And rise, up, to a place of light

Deep within. And I will no anger, nor worry.

I will trust, bloom, flourish.

Just for today I will embrace myself.

Every day of all the days

Where there is a today, I

Will adore who I am.

That’s my commitment from now on.

Just for today.

When it comes to myself.

I will love, love and love.

And then rise.