Poem: light to mine eye

through all of the storms that have tossed me to sea;

through fog, smog and hurricane,

and windswept cold quays –

this one thing I’ve known, I’ve known long to be true

these eyes that God gave me,

he gave me for you

through days of warm sunshine and whispers of truth

kissing the skin of the apple that youth,

long plucked from the top of God’s tree;

but that which is love is also

so wise – and love gave me eyes to see,

the youth at the top of his tree;

for though long the journey, ’tis not been unknown

and sorrow not stifles this constant heart grown,

for  hearts never hidden cannot be disguised –

and fear did not paint those starry bright skies;

tis true and cannot be denied

thank you God, for giving me eyes.

 

Poem: fairy tales

 

 

anxiety anxiety

crawling now all over me

am i dragon, fiery beast

feared till bled

from sword released

or just some foolish maiden

without head

who lay beneath the dragon

until dead

Poem: returning, unleaving

betwixt and between –

that is where I have been,

between the always returning

and the heart that anchored

as it cleaved;

 

love

oh love, have i always known you thus?

let it be, let it be

in this heart that bobs along the crest of

coming back, and yet

it never leaves;

oh please, let it be still and calm between

those sturdy lovers arms

again.

Poem: The Once-Me

I can still see the once-me,

at least from time to time;

the songs she used used to sing,

where voice and music rhymed –

the patterns of her movement,

the little rituals of time;

 

I want to keep that once-me

and the things that she could do;

and though she was afraid

her faith at least was always true –

she gave me that to keep,

and to share, with you.

The now-me, and the once-me

must go our separate ways;

I cannot have her back,

though my heart would have her stay –

(I confess the now-me trembles more,

than once-me would ever say)

perhaps that is a gift enough,

in its peculiar way.

 

Poem: Ghosts of Flesh and Blood

Am I ghost that haunts itself

spirit lost, like dust upon a shelf –

am I real

or

ethereal?

oh for a day to feel

solid

real

not some strange creature

half concealed

are you there

too?

or are we ghosts of flesh and blood

that haunts

where living still?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Poem: camouflage

hidden, yet still craving light;

do i convince myself at night?

or are these whispers who I am,

or will be, when light at last relieves.

 

hush! shush! do not speak it loud

but whisper quietly in the crowd –

but when, oh when, can i begin

to speak, at last; oh tell me then.

 

– till there, I must discreetly hide;

please, chide me not

if I should pray, and sorrowfully weep

to God, and beg forgiveness where i have not

 

forgiven self today;

 

i ache to speak the truth of all of me;

out loud

out loud

not hidden, still, away.

 

 

 

Poem: On meeting the poet

It is better that some meet me

written down;

In person I err on

slightly wonky,

apt to wear a frown –

for space is oft repleet

with tumbling of thoughts

that spin around,

and I’m told that lost

in space

i have not grace

(only a frown)

 

It is better that some meet me

written down;

for there are those

whose heart could map,

that lost-in-space

not-worried frown;

 

and those, who might suppose,

whilst briefly

hanging round;

how well I wish thee

is not for me

to quantify;

 

Nor can I guess

why you only briefly

came on by.

 

 

Poem: Songs of Raggedy Praise

There are Sundays when all I can bring, God

are the cries of a broken heart

a voice that is sore from the weeping

a mind that is flying apart

 

And I wish I could give you something of value

but its all that I have to bring

these songs of raggedy praise 

for my God, who is brother and king

Some of these tears are so bitter to taste

Can I give them to you God, please

I want to give more, but please take them away

for it’s all I have and can give you today

 

Oh I wish I could give you something of value

but its all that I have to bring

these songs of raggedy praise 

for my God, who is brother and king

God takes all these tears, now not bitter to taste

and these raggedy prayers straighten seem;

and the feeling suffice, so much warmer my heart

still raw from the ice, let it not make me hard

 

How I wish I could give you something of value

but its all that I have to bring

these songs of raggedy praise 

for my God, who is brother and king

Poem: cister, sister

You say hello to someone

and they say hello to you

You ask them what their name is

– and they tell you.

Why do you shake your head and say

“No I refuse to use that name,

I think I have a better name for you”.

 

Excuse me whilst I say this

But that’s really very rude,

for I’m sure that you would much dislike

the same thing done to you.

 

 

Now captors language you do speak

and most often too, repeat

when you justify the right

to segregate these ones from you –

“separate but equal” is fake news;

why choose you, now, to disbelieve

that this indeed, was always true?

 

It has always been identity –

seeking dominance and primacy –

that drove us, as it drives us

to the depths of cruel brutality,

White toxic patriarchy with which

we sought equality;

and now the captors tools are gripped,

tight gripped by both our hands –

this is not where we should be,

or where truth stands.

 

Though you would have some of

my sisters be transgressing nasty misters

and some brothers be

some poor unthinking fools to be relieved –

 

I’ll not keep my hand

where this harm be left to stand,

nor seek to keep

that separate state

we seek to leave;

 

No, saviour I am not

and will not be,

but liberations’ maiden I’ll embrace –

and fear not to speak loves name

or show God’s grace.