Environmental Eros
Over the years I have written “fragments” (I prefer to not call them poems) and some of these I refer to as ‘Environmental Eros’ – collected moments of interaction with ‘the other’, in eros and love, through the four stages of the human sexual response cycle, and desire for union with the spiritual in all of its form. They aim to reflect some of that kinetic energy, the meeting and movement of our prismic selves with the infinite other.
The quiet sea’s skin disturbs
hairs on the back of my neck.
Sitting-pretty clouds sing of
twisted things in thin voices.
The heat, my breeze, the comb
that rakes blue skin
and me, is dancing, up to something.
I will not crack my lips or kiss
the day unknown. Tell me.
*********************
FOR FEBRUARY 14th (and every other day)
I will love you until age
has had his way with you
has crumpled you in his knuckles
and kneaded your heart into butter strings
when every gray hair curls
with the weight of borrowed years
and the glaze of eternal love
cataracts your touch.
Atremble, akin to the clutching leaves
ready to fall or clinging tight,
I will love you while the wind and light
unfurls your wrinkled sail
and takes me with you, to heaven.
***********************************
SEALEAF SONG
(UK Mother’s Day March, 6th and for mothers every day)
The wind in the leaves is almost as loud as the seas’ throat breathing waves of hushed hope, repeating shush, repeating shush. Be calm, be still. Listen to me, don’t move. Licking my ear, repeating shush, resting dawn’s warm paw on my chest, hush.
My love, wind whispers, don’t move, relax, let us hold you, for today. Let water weave its way and float your heart. The feeding fish are gone, scattered by our sound, and strength. Shush. Sea only me, and us. Sea leaves and grass glitter, repeat gilded patterns around you. You are safe. Let our breath be yours, as you kiss morning’s frayed lips. Let us hold this moment in you, for the day.
************************************
HAPPY WOMEN’S DAY!
We will walk and dance and swim together, flying into freedom born of us. Palm to psalm singing, fingers weaving, safety between our skin, we walk together.
Good God of Love and Light we have lost our senses. No words grace mouths or pen, our bodies numb, skin thin.
Lead us by the chest, pull us through this melting darkness. Paint people in our souls with eyes that can see closed, ears to catch unspoken sound. Love let us feel the flight. Carry us through this softest night.
*************************************
**************************************
From the beginning of the first sliver of light on the horizon – I was waiting. It grew into the most magnificent veiled sunrise. It spread, for a moment, all of its soft glory on the underbellies of clouds that stretch scudding the whole sky to stack, asleep over the mountains. Through gaps, for a moment, I could see a clear day with all its promising colours. Glimpses of brilliance I have never dreamed of. Then the clouds merged, preparing to obey the order of a distant storm, and changed my palate, my meal. I give thanks though, for I have seen what lies beyond the day and even if it is unknown, even if it is just another fleeting glimpse – the beauty and power of it has fed me. I can live strong for this and more, now that I know my dreams are only as big as a beautiful sky that is hidden eternity.
****************************************
BIRDSONG (July 2016 North America)
Birdsong beat the morning blues
rise above the breaking news.
Feathered breast or bullet-proof chest
aim for my leg or kill with song.
Small beads shining while you sing
eye of the law vibrating
insanely trilling, chirping, riffing
ranks of bird feet marching. Your cry
a command, licensed
to penetrate any life or heart.
Birdsong fill the city streets.
