Dripping with Curiosity

The door you can never enter,
intricate patterns carved into the door.
A child should be seen and not heard,
so you dared never enter the wooden door.

Older, you arrive at the house from long ago;
no longer a child, yet you have the heart of a child.

No longer afraid, you are dripping with curiosity.
To hell with it, you whisper,
then turn the handle and walk into the room.

Your Grandmother sits at her desk,
within a room of dreams and magic,
‘I wondered when you would join me.’

You smile and take the stars within your hands;
now you are ready for your mother’s secrets.

‘You have always been a witch, and now it is time to become one. Welcome to the heart of our coven, my beautiful Granddaughter.
I wish your mother could see this day, yet you know she still lingers.’

Anchored: The Wolf and the Man

My mane is unbrushed and dirty,
there’s no snow for me to roll in.

My matted mane disgusts me;
once I was snow-covered, clean.

You saw me padding in the snow;
paw-prints, fur shaking, a look.

You caught me in your embrace,
free to be, yet anchored to you.

My soul remains free,
yet the cage you gave me is cosy.

I will stay if you take me back to
the snow, brush my mane clean,
and say the words you must say.

A Nomadic Heart

A spade and a bucket,
togs and no worries.

Once I was so young,
close or far from the sea.

A travelling heart,
genetically programmed.

Longing for the journey,
dreaming of many lands.

A chance to take a journey,
you tell me you won’t come.

Hoping you would come,
knowing it feels right to go.

Travelling near and far,
many roads and white lines.

A haiku a day for life,
a haiku a day to feel your love.

Sounds of different lands,
the sounds connect memory.

We saw snow-covered peaks,
salty warm seas of aquamarine.

Rainforests with bitey beasts,
and deserts so hot, breathless.

A call from you is a gift,
hoping to see you again soon.

A way of saying you’ve had enough
of my hodophile heart.

Longing for a love we don’t share,
a love I could not see.

I said love is an eternal thing,
you said, ‘come home and be with me’.

I said, ‘I know, love, yet we are worth
the misunderstandings.

I said, ‘only if you promise to come with
me on a journey’.

You said, ‘I don’t understand you, yet…’

Leave a Note

One day I’ll forget
you,
me,
mum,
dad,
my sister,
my brother,
what we did,
what made me,
what made us,
this unique land.

Leave a note here,
place a note there,
post-it note me
like I’m a fashionista
from Paris, if you must.

Leave enough notes,
stick them on the fridge,
place them on toilet rolls,
put them in my shoes,
hide them in the undies
so I can remember
you and
so I can remember
me.

Being Different

stengchen – sanitorium – deviant art

A suppressed longing,
sitting quiet and numb.

The clock strikes eight,
prodding and poking.

Emotions feel fluid,
a free-flowing river.

Jumbled emotions;
medical instruments
seem to be colder.

Every hole examined,
nothing remains empty,
anoetic consciousness.

Unknowing becomes
knowing, as you move
into thought and action.

Stripped naked and bare,
as white-coated figures
take what you love away.

No choices remain,
being different is a sin,
you’d rather be dead.