Archive for March, 2012


I saw you there at days end

Colours golden
You brushed against my skin
I saw myself in you
Lost and found all at once
Changing as the wind blew
Indecision lifting pieces
Of everything you are
I watched you falling into segments
Diverting the traffic of dreams
Your words betrayed you though
Your mouth against my lips
You spoke only of love and tomorrow
No matter that yesterday had slipped away
Burnt Orange
Fire yet fragile no need to become solid
For I watch you only from this distance
Waiting for your heart
To fall into my hands
We will change then
Our worlds collide to music
I trace your name upon my flesh
For you imprint there
Sienna coloured ways
I smile at you with pink and yellow longing
Dusk too long a stage
For I wait to fly into your arms
A sigh escapes
Scatter across the earth the two of us
Adrift amid loves breath
We see rainbowed promises
Outside our door we show ourselves
Forever changing
As simply as this

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The Art Of Being Lost


When I woke up this morning it looked like a beautiful day

I can’t seem to escape clouds of late though and though wanting to wear floral harmony I seem to be eternally dressed in a grey cardigan

Standing in a field of daisys whos bright yellow smiles lure then turn away as I go to gather them in my arms

I have the strong athletic legs of a dancer for some reason painted into black gumboots that come up to my knees

I was at peace here once in the garden growing vegetables pretending I don’t miss city life

Another time another place in a world I barely remember yet yearn for daily I was strong and free and wore an Angelic smile

I miss reading the paper in inner city cafes where they serve good coffee and unpretentious peices of art romance the walls

I miss being in love and holding hands over well worn wooden tables that whisper secrets

I miss loving lyrics that pull at my heart instead of turning down the radio and pushing hard on my accelerator

I wrap my grey cardigan around myself pulling it closer to the body I no longer love as its frayed edges dangle against the boots

All I ever had to love about myself was what you told me I am

Without that now I spill from an empty cup like vapour no substance no dreams nothing to offer those that gather and choose a different blend

I decided to find my paintbrushes today

So many peices of me lay making love in the old wooden chest at the end of my bed

Photgraphs paintings poetry and pale pink ribbons…my pointe shoes remind me of a dream before gumboots and bare canvas

There is so much of me here yet I fail to recognise who I am in amongst who it all tells me I was as I wonder who it is I should be

The smell of the ocean wakes my memory yet I know it as so far away

Like the feel of your lips as they brush mine the anticipation of that kiss so perfect yet intangible in the sense it will be lost as we drown

Neat rows of water coloured options stare at me yet how could I ever be brave enough to try and imortalise us

I can’t even find myself anymore let alone even remember how to sketch your face the one that loved me and held me to earth

Outside the discovery of a fushia behind a pumpkin reminds me that with enough darkness and light I could be beautiful

I watch the wind blow the tiny blossoms as I marvel at how many times I have tried to grow this that now self seeded and thrives alone

The huge green vine of the pumpkin will strangle it of course and I stood barely knowing what to do to save one without the destruction of the other

I miss having those long conversations that are random and crazed and so very me

In all my insanity though I am somehow sane enough to know I make no sense at all except you listened and feigned acceptance for so many years

I run an old paintbrush along my arm and wonder what defines an artist

I have no talent other than to jumble words that fall from the gaping hole in my heart that I lost the stopper from somewhere along my journey

I lay back on my bed and stare at the garden and feel like I don’t know where I belong

I have a vision then of an inner city terrace far from the country I thought I yearned for and being old and still crazy and still missing you

Then I wondered where you were and if you were lost too or where you dead had I killed you in my paining and smeared you with red

The urge I have to carve my name across my thigh so I may find myself is strong enougy that I mark out the letter L

Of course this was all more romantic in the dream so that now I am pale and blotched and scarred with madness and a half formed notion

I curl my hair then.. the tongs so hot I burn my fingers then wonder why as I am spending the day alone

It is raining now of course or are those tears and why is the glitter falling through my fingers from the bottom of the old wooden box that is meant to love me

I try and define myself in my head as I walk down the stairs

Am I anything worth knowing or caring for and what would someone say about me and would anyone defend me and why in Gods name do I even really care

I am meant to be a mother a grown up a sophisticated woman with the world at her feet

Yet this is sometimes like fiction blurring over worn fingered over absorbed and believed pages that someone designed against my will

I don’t know how I got here and I want to start screaming because I have no idea how to get home

I am of old movies white linen collages of daydreams

I am of the sea and the meadow and violets and the rain

I am of storms that take your breath away yet give you reasons to want to return

I spent the day writing in old notebooks watching salty mascara stained pain blur all the words

Dusk falls over the thought that warm arms will wrap around me and help to reign me in

My thigh stings and my heart aches and my mind is jumbled with cement and birch trees and the smiles of babies that want dinner

I have to pull myself into that mannequin someone dressed and named me and told to be responsible and scolded for being needy

All I want is a hug I think

I am trying to discover who I am

Wanting to paint again and photograph the images and scatter them over my world

To find the girl and watch her grow and not hate her for all of her flaws that you hate her for as well

I think somehow

That I had all my hopes pinned on sunshine today

I just wanted to feel beauty

And have only discovered

The Art Of Being Lost


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Needle & Thread

I am the needle
I await your entry into my world in a still and patient fashion
Not because I choose such
It is so
In my dreams we are fluid
Constantly blending
Our seams eternally merged
Though choice
And that enviable bond of love
The realistic enduring endlessly painted kind
The masses speak of yet never wholly know
In reality
I am cold though
Steel as I wait
You are the thread
Sliding through my every thought
With the illusion of what could be
A coat of many colours
That warm seductive quilt
Fine and delicate embroidery
So many possibilities of us
I love you as such
The needle and the thread
One so much less without the other
Yet together capable of infinite stitches
Long and languid dreams
A binding of two worlds
Yet you slide through the eyelet
I feel you briefly against my side
Impossible to grasp
No desire for knots

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Violet Hues


I stared at the African Violets. I guess I am fortunate they don’t stare back… for as I watched them, motionless, at the end of their display I thought they looked tired. A week ago they were in their prime, beautiful and desired. I guess they symbolise change and yet, renewal is inevitable. If they stared back, what would they think of me?

I like the way the tiny fronds appear like frosting across their leaves.A simple yet all at once magestic adornment that has the infinite ability to capture the human eye. This to me is suddenly fascinating…opening endless doors leading to long and winding corridors in my mind. I would explore them all less distracted if my heart would be silent and not sigh so loud. I wonder if they heard?

I stare at their fragility. At any given moment one may fall. I blow slowly on an outer offering…it clings however with greater faith in continuity than I. They remain yet I could fall long before I ever learned such but then my heart is entirely disconnected from my head… And my world coloured by the violet hue that knowing you leaves sprayed across my soul.

The flowers exist quietly now. I watch some more. It is the tiny buds that hold the magic, tomorrows treasure…they whisper and I know they understand. Metamorphis is in progress and I will return to inhale its birth savour the view and dream . They looked tired to me a moment ago or perhaps that was my reflection for as I stare I see beauty and change and knowledge woven into contemplation and painted petals and more…

I could collect them. Gather them and tie their tiny stems together with a strand of my hair. A half romantic notion from the long ago memory of a girl… I lay them at your feet a testimonial to things I have believed as their velvety petals brush the dust from your boots and the shiny happy place beneath is you and I. Another sigh I close my eyes. Daydreaming I remind myself… is for the flowers.What do they see in me in my world or am I in their world after all ? Will they, long after I am gone, and will you… remember my name?


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Passion & Conviction

Some days are rough

Heartache comes in so many forms and if you’re an emotional sensitive person like me things take you by the throat until you can not breathe… in just seconds

Simple things to you – are painful memories for me. Fragments of who I am are there yet unimportant to anyone but myself… I guess.

I read something tonight that I want to share with you all. Written by a wonderful master of words and something that lead me to believe that today,although a rough and emotional day for me was but a lesson to hold onto Passion & Conviction and for this,right now.. I am blessed to have read at this moment and am truly thankful for new friends and all they bring.


As we share in the passions and convictions of others, so may we remain firm in our own – no matter the cost


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Rain falls gently at midnight on my mountain

Insomnia has always been my lover

Her gift is such

That I hear the music of your breath

Reach from my soul

And twirl my fingers in your hair

As missing you consumes me

Raindrops paint your portrait

Abstract form within my mind

Nature on glass

Sleepless impressionism

Watercoloured lovers grace my window

The taste of you

So familiar yet intangible

Remains and penetrates my skin

The smooth lilt of your voice

Whispers through the darkness

More enduring sedative

Than these long long nights

Rain falling gently on the mountain

While my body aches for our familiar sea

Torture as your hair slides between my fingertips

Impossible to grasp

Pull you closer

In a starlit dance of us

The gentle brushing of your mouth

Across my yearning naked flesh

All a construed dream

Insomnias aphrodesiac

Momentary comfort

Then nothing

The earth sighs

As the rain falls harder now

Insomnia and I

And you

Too far from reach



© EssentialSoulPoetry

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