Heaven

Heaven is

the gifts of friends who see our mind prosper

who nurture our dreams

setting us free

unblocking our hearts and our throats

where gifts of our own lie dormant unseen

awaiting permission

– bound –

in fears manufactured by the poisoned intention of extractivist times


domineering the soft and the gentle

the human within us deformed

into hardened expressions of a broken,

twisted masculine

push

that seeks validation by attempting to force

all that’s around it

to service and serve self-anointed masters

embodied in women and men.

Heaven is

learning to set the self free

fearless

in expressions of gentleness

in allowing the tears and the hurt

of destruction by pushing

demanding forever

more

until no more is there to be given

demanding that Earth, non-human and human

surrender

more than there is to give.

Heaven is

open to subtle pulls, softness

the pull and the gravity of those who

refuse

to be pushed

who refuse to be hardened by a world

that was never built or intended for them,

never intended for them to prosper

or even exist.

Heaven is

refusal

to be bent and deformed into shapes

demanded by those failing to hesitate

in enforcing the structures

built to self-aggrandise

(those self-appointed masters)

built as towers of phallic significance

in which to elevate themselves from the lowly,

the rest,

the soft ones who permitted themselves to be pushed

ensnared by the narratives, fearful

of those oh-so-few masters of extractivist times.

Heaven is

finding strength in your softness

the slow gentle process of constructing a spine

which bends

but is never pushed over

at first merely holding

later reclaiming

ground from the extractivist push

poison transmuting

as push turns to pull

through integrity,

knowing

there is no more to give

pushers

because our home is depleted

and so are we.

To those who nurture me:

my mother, my sister, my grandmothers,

Valerie, Harriet, Rebekka, Rosi,

Annie, Andrea, Abi, Gaby, Lucy,

Anya, Tanya, Yana,

my ancestors and the Earth we tread on.

Summer of Love

Wild flowers out finding

space in cracked concrete,

taken by running

hot then wet torrents

through people so tender

sunned back to life from

winter caked in the heart.

Summer of love

with strangers’ smiles beaming

back

heart’s open feeling

love and desire

out

spilling and healing.


Seeds of wild flowers

the nights dancing sowing

coming to life in intensities filling

breathing life-love

in blood winter still holding

breath in two chests

by wild winds caressing

moving it warm

to hearts that crave pulsing

the flowering hearts of two wild ones so found.

Learning Love

A caged heart once

forgot how to love

loosing its skill under

thought, distance and time.


Who and what deserves love?

The world is hardly the place for a person with principles;

an environment where the ugly proliferates

and acts of kindness and love are treated as risk

but no risk is seen in losing love,

the lifeblood of the world I want to see.


Love lives deep in our being

so deep in fact our surface stiffens

– use it or lose it –

and lost it we have to calculating minds

which sever mind from heart

and elevate mind beyond recognition

in a world that needs heart to survive.


We claim that love comes,

treating it as granted inevitability

when in fact love is a practice;

to be practiced in each gesture,

word and the treatment of others.


We are trapped because our love is trapped

in structures that tell us

how to love one another,

who to love, when to love, for how long

what appropriate love is and what isn’t

and where love belongs.

Everywhere!

At home, in the street, in school and at work

(did you recoil when you read this?)

(did you recoil at my image of love which differs

from the twisted idea of patriarchally sexualised love

which we hold as the only Love?)


We must un-twist love,

reshape and form ourselves to its untwisting

so it may flow through us,

– the great torrent –

which flows through each of us

should we permit it.

The Felt Unseen no Longer Unseen

Deeper still

(snakes shedding their skin)

restricted, no longer

existence through spring

expansion demanding from

(inward to outward)

the self,

my-self,

your-self,

breadth it-self.


Childlike, I fear

the unknown

ubiquitous vastness;

all the knowledge not known

all the prior unfelt

all the felt unseen

no longer unseen.


The arms of my fear cradle me

surrendered

to swelling,

(it all starts from the base)

free in the fire that burns in that base

which life begins and existence contains,

raising the world, vision and might

child to child, the cycle passed through

forces prior unfelt

now felt unseen

no longer unseen.

How may reality turn so palpable?

How may it have been not so before?

How may we live through it all

expanding in spirit,

bathing in light,

like nature in spring

existence by fire so bright

permitting it swell past fear’s shell

wound ’round it so tight?

My heart is not with me

My heart is not with me.

It is out there, somewhere, with you.


It wants to break out, be free but

it stays out there, somewhere, with you.


Ensnared by your eyes,

the smile and glimmer they shine when upon me.


Release me, free me,

return my heart to me.


I cannot continue to live with

a heart that’s not with me.


I need my heart here beside me.

I need it restored, from doubtful thoughts drawn.


My heart is not with me.

It is out there, somewhere, with you.


Release me, free me,

return my heart to me.

Hearts of Love Forgotten

We walk and

we talk and

we cycle and

we flock


after months where we rested and

we waited and

we laid and

we missed.


Suddenly emerge and

we gather and

we bud;

ready to embrace and

to kiss one another and

to dance in the day and

in the night.


Forth with all the color and

the light and

coming thunder as

our hearts of love forgotten

to the early rays besotten

lustily we offer.

The first song of Spring

The first song of Spring 

through drips icy arrives,

a lone bird for one that’s alone in it bringing 

the seed of expansion which stillness so hides. 


Hard is the bud where leaves lie in slumber 

as all of us dwellers still inwardly bide, 

listening, there, the bud in its slumber 

to the first song of spring, expecting its flight. 


“Sing to me, Spring, the seed of expansion, 

for winter in silence must too one day end

and all must emerge from its still sharp embrace

which life doth protect from harshness and death.”