Haunted House

Sometimes the house still haunts me

Playing with dolls in the dark attic

Safe from hands and eyes 

Making my puppet friends

Ones who would love and talk to me 

I did not know when I was hungry or thirsty

Time spooled out, seemingly endless 

But the memories and dreams are jumbled

Thankfully so - and I am never jealous or regretful

Of how things could and should have been 

Now I have grown, moved away

Created my own safe space

A place where I can marvel at the moon

And the soft flickering of stars

The orange-aid bright sun 

All of which make me smile 

Now that the past is remote

I do not have to be scared - of myself or others 

Like a squirrel I can feast on nuts and berries

Gather in my bounty and then rest, content and well. 

For shay's word Garden 

A Perfect Afternoon

A warm summer breeze

Blows through the curtains

And kisses my bare feet

The sun burns bright in the sky

I close my eyes and dream

Of strawberries and magical lands

I read and write and giggle at things which amuse me 

How far I seem to have travelled 

Although the view out the window

Remains comfortably the same

The tree, the houses, a glimpse of sky

Nothing special- except to me

I wiggle my toes

Revelling in the knowledge 

That my mind and body are now connected 

But not in pain

I splash cold water on my face

Delighting in how I am fashioning perfect afternoons.

Yearning For Peace

I cup her blushed face

In my palms, try to soothe her tears

Her blue eyes like tiny flowers

Gentle and sweet

Her cheeks burning and blushed like apples

She has tumbled down far too many times

We have fallen together

Perhaps her tears are because 

We are digging ourselves out

Scoop after scoop of crumbling earth

I comfort her with hushes and love

And we swing, as if in time with a beating pocket watch

Sometimes we are tired, sometimes not

Boulders turning to pebbles turning to sand

As if the difficulties lessen with every step

Which ever gets softer to walk on

In our yearning for peace.

Clock

The clock ticks on the window sill

Measuring time like a gentle wave of sea

Coming and going

I wish I could catch it, time,

Place it in a museum 

It is one of the few entertaining things I need

I remember as a child I was glued 

To tick-tock sounds

My first clock - bright red, measuring night-times

Soothing me, protecting me from the madman 

Keeping me sleepy, as reassuring as the bells 

Ringing every hour at school 

Or my favourite records 

Played over and over

Limping me on until morning 

I am glued to my cheerer uppers 

As if I lose them

I will also lose myself

Become flat again, drooling and stuck to my pillow

As it is I am making nervous steps into the world 

My pulse tick-tocking

And inside it may even be described as terrific. 

For Shay's Word Garden

 

Anger

Is the taste of sugar the sweetness

Following years of anger

If so, I will feast on cherries and cake

Dissolve sugar cubes on my tongue

And watch the flowers bloom 

Under a cloudless sky

Anger hurts your muscles and bones

Always ready to run or fight

Teeth aching for something more

Never still, always worrying

Seeking the next escape

The next high 

Except that is not happiness

It is a raw emotion beyond words

Perhaps my anger is like a dictionary on my skin

Although that was done to calm and soothe

Not to scream into the emptiness

I like this feeling of anger dissipating 

An inner peace evolving 

A time and place for being something new. 

Grandma's Kitchen

At the end of the path is a cottage

Smoke rising through its chimney 

Inside the cottage is Grandma

A bubbling fire and the smell of cooking

She is in the kitchen, humming a song

And cooking a feast 

Perhaps we will visit today 

To taste her world and all the magic within her

Of which she wants to share, pass on

It is a cloudy day but there is no need to wear the cloak anymore

The wolf has been well and truly banished 

Head chopped off and burnt and buried

The only monsters are the occasional bad dreams

Nightmare clouds, not sugar-plum memories

We know that Grandma’s pot will be delicious

Even without potions or spells to make it so

In time, as we age, we will become the cooks

And our family will knock upon our door

Of which we will open gratefully and with love

For now, we hum a tune too 

A trip to the woods will indeed nourish our soul.

Iron Horse

The train pulls into the station 

It is a starry, starry night 

Perfect for the leafy trees 

To look like phantoms

The clickety-clack on the tracks

Enough to lull me into a nap

The rhythm calms my nerves

Makes the dark less frightening 

The carriages are empty

Save the voices in my head

Which are always there

Do it, don’t do it

Do it, don’t do it 

Familiar actors in my play 

Ones that I would miss perhaps 

Once they are gone

They are all part of this long poem of life 

Sometimes stale, sometimes fresh 

An electronic comforter of synapses colliding 

And so I drift along in this reliable iron horse

Cocooned, even for a short while

As the journey continues

With the comforting knowledge of an end.  

For Shay’s Word Garden  

 

Into My Arms

When I was stuck, lying down

I still had music 

A constant lullaby that would bring on tears

A relieving warmth

A silent sadness that cannot be expressed 

Perhaps I did not want the cycle to continue 

Perhaps I enjoy being alone

With glorious separation 

Only dipping toes into the waters

Of safe shores

Safe people

Safe sounds and senses

For awhile there was only one song

It has always been 

Looking for something to fill up the holes

Some made by others

Some made by myself 

Literally and metaphorically

I sat on the edge of the bridge

The water echoing below 

But I would never jump

Not for her

Not for myself

Into my arms oh, Lord

Into my arms. 

Inspired by - NIck Cave - Into My Arms

Birthday

My birthday was a quiet affair 

Of which I am very glad

Tea and toast 

And a walk in the sun

Another year ticking on

Usually I reach a darkness

At this time, one I needed to sleep through

I bought myself a birthday cake

Vanilla sponge with rainbow sprinkles 

It was enough for me

I do not need balloons and banners 

Although mentally they are pinned up

To the walls in my mind

As if I am telling myself - well done

Slowly, slowly learning and growing

Without the need of powders and pastes

Without the need for pain

I like that my birthday falls under summer skies

The blue and brightness fills up the gaps inside

And so I raise myself a porcelain cup

- with many congratulations Jae.

Bedlam

My calling was never to go to Bedlam

But there I was sent 

To cure the madness which I felt saved me

As if the carvings in my skin 

Were able to be erased 

Leaving me with arms and a face and neck

Faultless as smooth, silky cloth 

Of course it failed 

Because the jackpot they required

Was not mine 

Later there were other locked rooms and stained walls

Where I was contained like an animal 

On the the way to slaughter

A little white lamb with ruby eyes

The only way to turn the roller coaster into a rowboat

Was to find my ways of survival

The constant buzz of the radio 

Counting steps in the circles I walked 

The number of wooden fences 

And steel ones too

Hiding bent spoons and broken twigs

In an effort to claim back what was stolen 

Perhaps like a poet

I was gathering my story 

Describing, then explaining, then understanding the world

Which will always, uniquely be mine.  

For Shay’s word Garden

Something Small

I am very stubborn about manners

A well placed please and thank you

Shines as bright as a golden star

I am tired of being used

Like an old piece of carpet

Worn down by people who do not think

I would like to hold my head up high

Whistle a tune as I turn my back on things of the past 

I am happy in my world

Although it can always be improved and worked upon 

It feels like I am working from top to bottom

Making up for the building bricks

That I never thought were inside me

I would like new bricks of pale blue glass

So I can watch the world at a distance

Like gazing out at sea

And spotting birds catching fish

Waves catching shore 

And so I say to myself, please take care of yourself

To which I reply with a smile

I will, thank you very much. 

Contradictions

My little friend is quite contrary

Sweet as sugar, tart as lemons

But I love her none the less 

We are all at least two people

Mixed into one

With puzzles to follow 

And journeys to make

Sometimes the path is rocky

And sometimes smooth

I hope that the willow tree by the river

Is always the ending, content and warm

Feeling peaceful as a kitten coiling in her sleep 

But claws ready 

Just in case anyone pokes without invitation

I would like to see the sun shining on the ripples

Glowing like stars in a fading sky

Lighting up the way 

More and more days feel full

Physically and in my head

It feels nice, opposite to the cold and hard of the past 

That smothered me like a wet blanket

Stopping my steps into a brighter forever 

And so I brush her curled up fist

Smoothing it into my palms

And we both contemplate the silence within and without.