Hide and Seek

For those who love to play with metaphors – I wrote this hide-and seek – and FIND-poem some years ago.
Convincing
I challenge you to find me I said,
Behind whatever disguises I offer!
I will find you, he said, even if you hide
In the crack between centuries.
I turned myself into a deserted
Garden, rusty iron fence with croaking
Hinges, whining and complaining at
Human touch. Dry and brown spotted
Leaves on the ground, cracked flagstones
With tired yellow grass
I filled the sad house with mold and cold,
Dust and rust, and hid my heart in the cellar.
My disguise was so convincing that I
Disappeared into it, I became the deserted
House with coleoptera, spider webs as curtains,
I forgot it was a game
For eons I forgot
Then – one day the sky was filled with pink
Like a bed sheet of happiness drawn all up to one’s nose
And you sun-rained through the cracked roof
Into my creation!
You met me in the cellar stairs
And grinned
And I remembered that I thought I could be lost!
How did you recognize me, I asked
And you just shook your head at such
Silliness
What took you so long, I said
And you said: beloved, we just parted
My heart burst out in daffodils
We frolicked for quite a while
And then I wanted to play hide again
It feels so darn good to be
Found
And seen through
 Feel free to share, provided you give me credit for it:)

The Queen of Chameleons

The closed-off room

The fear of taking space – for my self

I closed it off when I had to, to adjust instead.

Inside that room was a compressing machine,

doing a truly magnificent job. The stuff that could have

joyed up a whole world now compressed into

one quadrate centimeter closed-off self

of atomic bomb power.

I closed the room and lived outside it as the Queen of Chameleons.

A true master: emerald green head yellow gold paws and violet/blue tail

***

This just came in to my mailbox – from Educare

There is an Order to life

It is not your job to create the Order.
It is your job to yield to It.
Observe, listen, accept and follow.
*

Thank you! All traumatized parts try to create order and sense. Now I have seen her and loved her -and maybe Poetry can do the rest?

 

Blackbird

 

Latest fun synchronicity.

I wrote a poem in my flash-poetry group.  The form is called ‘Specular’, after the Latin for a ‘mirror’, because the second half of the poem uses the same lines as the first, but in reverse order, as if the whole thing is looking back at itself in a mirror.

SPRINGSONG
 

When you don’t know where to go and what to do
sit down and do nothing.
Breathe the calm unfluttering air
and watch the blackbird sucking it all in and swallow it.
Then allow the song to be exhaled in a musical way

while you look at a little boy
and watch the happy dog running over the green green field
then get up and breathe that song back inside
you did a great job indeed,
tell yourself that you did a great job
breathing that joyful song out

Breathing that joyful song out
tell yourself that you did a great job
you did a great job indeed,
then get up and breathe that song back inside
and watch the happy dog running over the green green field
while you look at a little boy

Then allow the song to be exhaled in a musical way
and watch the blackbird sucking it all in and swallow it.
Breathe the calm unfluttering air
sit down and do nothing.
When you don’t know where to go and what to do

****************

You will notice that a blackbird stars in it. And the fun thing is, last week i took a hike in the nearest wood. It is a circular trip, I can choose which way I want to.  Just as I was about to leave the main dirt-trail and enter the wood, I spotted this black wonder.

The Blackbird is my favorite singer in the whole wide world – no-one touches my heart like it. And now it was just 2 meters away. I sneaked my cellphone up, and the minute I clicked the camera, she flew away.

Yesterday, one week later, same day, I walked the same path – but the opposite direction – just like the poem. And now, as I was exiting the wood, at the exact same place, by the exact same spruce, she was there again. This time I prayed to the god of blackbirds and managed to take a photo.

 

London Subway

Having fun today with London subway stations – and borrowing the first verse from Baccus Olypus , a poet friend:
 
SUBWAY
 
(First verse borrowed from Baccus’ poem: )
 
From an opposite seat
he stares when he thinks I’m not looking
He doesn’t know that I hear the bones in his neck grind
and his eyes swivel –
 
And there
They disappear into his head
That sinks into his shoulders
That slump and sink into
His belly
 
Brent Cross
 
My God
Now only his feet are left
And now a sucking black void
 
Gunnersbury – Ickenham
 
I bend down and look closer
 
Canada Water
 
And I am sucked in too
What a bloody sucker I am
 
Cockfosters
 
Too late
 
Epping
 
End station – Killburn
 
with sorry asses chained to their
sins and lamenting their guilt
 
“Welcome workers to
Crystal Bloody Palace
hang your hopes on the peg there,
here is much to do
and atone for
and we will help you with that –
scum!”
 
I looked for the sucking black void
I found it
 
Seen enough
Going back up
 
Sharing Cross
Mile End
Olympia
 
Temple
Embankment
 
Seven Sisters
 
High Gate
 
Green Park

Squiggly Dance for Sorry Asses

I have had the Hater’s shrieks in my ears constantly for over a year.

Writing a poem about it has been very helpful! And also making up new words.

 

******

Tis the voice of Green Hater. I heard him declare:
I am coming to shock you, now please be aware

that I could not care less, no  in truth do I swear

I despise your meek manners, your silverlipped tongue

and your drooping eyelids and songs long unsung

I will come in broad daylight and scare you  quite shitless

I’ll mock your big bum and your wit that is witless

You nincompoop sorryass, daftness itself

I will see you for sure in your innermost hells

where you mope and you moan and you scratch yourself red

and your innermost hope is to drop down all dead.

 

Tis the voice of the writer, I heard her declare:

Oh Hater, I say; be aware, be aware

of my silly-spun heart and my giggly air!

I will spin into rhymes every threat that you throw

ev’ry dullwinded shriek, ev’ry word tasting..OH!!

I will force you to dance with me, following steps

that you never have stepped in your life, little qweps.

I will force you to do what you never have done:

dance to your own silly threats – oh what fun!

I will unnerve your nibs, I will squiggle your goggles

And then then let us have us some heartily bubbles!

 

MOONSICK

 

Talking with Moon

 

Me and Mimsy and Terrible Dill
And Ma and sick little June
Were climbing the hill in the month of Aprill

To talk to the blistering Moon

Our June had mumpsies
And boils and fears
We all had scrumpsies
And buckets of tears
And that’s why we climbed
The old grassy hill

To speak to the Man in the moon!

Stop it! I said, and Ma yelled YES!
We are tired of boils and fears!
We want you to shine in green for a change
Since June is lergic to silver moon
And now could you please see to rearrange

That nasty old silvershine soon!

Then TERRIBLE happened. Down came frogs
And silvery lizards and slithery scrogs
The man in the moon yelled Nay, I won’t!

And we sat in the grass and cried.

And me and Mimsy and Terrible Dill
And Ma and sick little June
Sat on our bottoms and down we sled

Down to our cottage and went to bed
And Terrible Dill said
Ma, I know:
Buy super green Goggles for June instead
And Ma said I WILL! YES I WILL!

***

The photo is taken by Tuasmalo-

https://www.facebook.com/pg/tuasmalou/photos/

 

Everything Falls

Everything falls

Stones fall

Rumbling

Trees fall, slowly, creaking, crashing, moaning

Temperature sinks

Snow crystals sink and descend

Moods sink

Birds fall, but only if they are shot

Or attacked in air

Otherwise birds never fall

I never ascend in this body

Unless someone lifts me

Or I am in a metal machine that looks like a bird

I can’t even fly in dreams

Though it so happens that

Sometimes I just bend my knees

And lift my feet up

I fly forty centimeters above

The ground

And wave my hands rapidly

Just to tell you, you don’t

Need to fly to the moon and

Sing about it –

It is OK to fly low

With knees bent

Poemcrazy

What is happening for me now –

Sometimes – maybe twice a week or more – I meet somebody’s eyes and we both are completely present and awake. “Foreigners”, that is. And they all feel like the oldest bestest friends. We never stop, I’ve noticed – just a 2-3-second eye-soul contact, deep peacefulness and joy, and then the habit takes our feet away.

But the imprint of love and joining is as strong NOW as it was when it happened – just fully remembering Who we are.

In the night, the dreams are chaotic and very very unpleasant and tiring. But when i get up and abide as Christ, I ask what belief lies under all of that. Then i realize that earlier,this belief was helping me stay “protected” from saying something and causing dangerous situations – so I thank that pattern, own it. and see that it is not valuable any longer.

Today I sat like this in the five-minutes abiding as Christ  – which turned into 3/4 hour – and at some point, a river of toxicity left my brain through my temples or ears in two streams.

Afterwards I felt I had lost about 20 pounds

*
Today I got a new book by Susan Wooldridge:  Poemcrazy. When I was sitting with it, the doorbell started co-cooing like crazy – 6 times, and then a seventh while I was looking at it through the window. THIS IS FOR YOU. DO IT!

Oh yes I will – funny thing is. I have done so many of this word-games she describes in earlier workshops. And now, I am back -and I will find somebody to play with 🙂

Recent poem:

Choices

Left road:

Rain on Monday evenings between 19-21
Military marches for small men with big dogs on Wednesdays
Digging holes for manure Fridays
Flag rising on Sundays, only on municipal buildings
No singing on Thursdays
Whistling: never
Red clothes only Saturday evening after 7pm
Weeping and gnashing of teeth 10 minutes after 5pm each day

Right road:

Moonlight serenades by small insects with lighted bottoms
Checkered dresses and flowered suits whenever
Pink bubbly and chocolate mousse whenever
Nothing matters
Ever
Nothing changes
Ever

Turn around.
Wait for the little red and yellow copter
*

Scream and play

Last night, I wrote myself through a nightly terror:

The Code

When lungs are raisin-dry and dirty demons nibble at your feet,
when you can’t take a breath and cannot cry for help cause there is no-one there to meet
this agony with anything at all, you’re stumbling through the night
and stubbing toes on stones and hearing angry voices who just may be right
in their insistence that you’re not worthy of a life,
you have done something wrong and just this knife
is all you need, to put an end to it and plunge it in your heart.
Since then this pain will have to end, you think, that seems so evident and smart
if only you could find the code to tell you where you fail and sin,
then you could remedy your ways and calm the screams and din
of this old mind that never stops in finding reasons for your pain
-but as you seek for them, you know that trying to find rest will be in vain.
And trying to get out of it and feeling good again is doomed, you say!
Then Love says, now go to the heart and stay
there, child, just let it be, allow it space to breathe; that darkness is just shadow play.
Now turn toward it Sweetie, tell it, hey
old agony, old friend, what if we have some fun instead and write a pome
about it. The Muse is here to take you Home.
We may just recognize the simple truth right here to be:
The Code for healing agony is Play, you see

*

In the morning, I woke up from a reaction I have to something going on in the world – feeling the horrible energy from it.It feels like a global scream.

Exactly at the moment I notice this scream, I am reminded: this is just an energy in the mind that I haven’t forgiven. It’s not “mine,” it’s not  serious – it’s not a sign that I have done something wrong- it’s just this energy.

 

I turn toward it and say, “welcome! Welcome. Welcome” with a full heart –

and it’s just not there anymore

 

 

Sillybillywillyninny

Silliness – my sacred angel muse. You always bring me out of gloom and into smiling with all my cells. Here is one of many many many I have written. If i get more than three likes there will be more 🙂

 

Twinkle, twinkle, little Tsar

Little Nikolaj of the House of Romanov had a very sober mama, and the upbringing was English – so there was not so much twinkle in Nik’s early days. Maybe because of that, Nik felt a deep urge to decorate his horses with medals and jewelry he borrowed from his family members. One day his father Alexander caught him in the act of adorning his horse Freakin Awesome with Grand Cross of Unrelented Victory and with the blue diamond-necklace Tatarataaa from his grand grandmother. Or somebody. Alexander immediately understood the little boy’s need for bling and twinkle, and actually shed a tear or two, since he had had the same urge as a boy. So he simply removed the jewelry from Freakin and hang them on his son. Just this one time twinkle twinkle big time it was, and father and son bonded deeply.

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Please note that nothing written here is intended as medical advice. Readers who think that they need help with a physical or psychological condition are advised to seek a qualified opinion.

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