There are times you need a mother's love.
And a time you need a mother's hug.
But, you know she'll never be back.
And you feel closed in, shut up and the hurt starts to attack.
It's always nice to know, that there is someone there to hold.

CMH

winding wool is mindless

she said, well maybe madam,

yet look at the lovely machine,

all red and cream plastic, that

winds in a way we cannot do

by hand.

look at my work which evolves

while working this and thinking.

i folded her goods tidily, packed in a

nice paper bag, said nothing

except mere politeness and niceties.

then got on with winding.

mindfully.

sbm.

Wake Up
To the simplicity, to
The essential stillness
The natural breath
The calmest force
Weaving
Weaving
Dancing

Skilfully
Delightfully
At the heart
Of the heart
of all


MChallis @ 2015

I’m right at the end of an endless road,



My story is written never to be told,



I sit in the middle of a dry rivers flow,



The earth above the sky below,



A maelstrom inside a tranquil lake,



Step on the gas only to brake.



From two dry eyes, flow a single tear,



I’m everywhere, no-where , somewhere, near.



Soaking in sweat, chilled to the bone



Messages seeping through the phone.



In a box with three sides, silence in sound,



People are everywhere, no-one  around.



I saw again the man, who wasn’t there,



Next time I don’t see him, I will not stare.



I am full, yet empty, a hole inside,



As vast as the universe, I ride its tide.



I bleed from memories, hide in the light,



Let me step into the dark, to make things bright.



Waiting for Godot, the message futile,



My mouth tastes sweet as it pours forth bile



I am awake in the infinite dream,



I could scream, do you know what I mean?

.
Empty paper swaddles the wanting babes,
Pages crying fill me with thoughts so clean
And light comes down exposing low sages,
Though soiled hands bleed virginal to deem.

Paper casted with doubts on intrepid limbs,
Bleak as the innocent page is scribed black,
For all crowned hands have writ but whim,
To this, their epitaphs reign what pages lack.