I’m tired of fighting,
I’m tired of living my life from the past,
I’m tired of putting myself through such torment and pain and fear and confusion,
Spooking myself at every twist and turn,
And then wondering what the **** happened
When it all turns sour, again.
I’m ready to start taking charge of my life and my destiny
Right here, right now,
I’m ready to step into the now.
But how?

Last night the other world came much too near,
        And with it fear.
I heard their voices whisper me from sleep,
        And could not keep
My mind upon the dream, for still they came,
        Calling my name,
The loathly keepers of the Netherland
        I understand.
My frozen brain rejects the pulsing beat’
        My willing feet,
Cloven like theirs, too swiftly recognise
        Without surprise.
The horn. That echoes from the further hit,
        Discordant, shrill,
As such a leaping urgency of song,
        Too loud, too long,
That prayer is stifled like a single note
        In the parched throat.
How fierce the flame ! How beautiful and bright
        The inner light
Of that great world which lives within our own,
        Remote, alone.
Let me not see too soon, let me not know,
        And so forgo
All that I cling to here, the safety side
        Where I would bide.
Old Evil, loose my chains and let me rest
        Where I am best,
Here in the muted shade of my own dust.
        But if I must
Go wandering in Time and seek the source
        Of my life force,
Lend me your sable wings, that as I fall
        Beyond recall,
The sober stars may tumble in my wake,
        For Jesus'sake.

Write a poem, he said,
It will do you good, he said.
I know not how, said I,
Where to start, what to say, what about, said I.

Think of something, someone, somewhen, he said,
Sit with pen and expectant paper,
Allow words to unveil themselves
From deep inside you.
So that I did, did I.

My first night
Experienced a storm in the woods, did I,
All magical and mystical.
Standing in the rain,
With a flash of lightening,
a crash high above.
Sensing tension in the air,
Feeling murmur in the earth,
Caught in the moment
Not scared was I.

Moved to tears of joy,
I was entranced,
enthralled.
enrapt’d.

I grabbed my expectant pen and paper
To capture the moment.
Words flowed from nowhere
Summing up
What I saw,
What I heard,
How I felt.
Something wondrous,
Something incredulous.
Something extraordinary.

I was finding my voice,
was I.

I am not broken;
It was just never safe to exist
In a world of abuse, lies and misogyny.

I am not broken;
I just wasn’t allowed to be who I always was
Underneath the armour I wore to survive.

I am not broken;
I don’t need to find myself or
Become someone new.

I am not broken;
I finally give myself permission
To feel and be the
Truly authentic me.

Over the horizon
Our dreams await,
Waiting patiently,
Patiently,
For us to listen,
Listen,
Echoing our soul’s desire,
Desire.

Dreams whispering
Between the mists of time,
Crying to be heard,
Screaming to be noticed,
Shouting to be paid attention to,
In order to not only live,
But to thrive,
To dance,
To have,
To be.

He noticed her as soon as she glided purposefully, yet gracefully, in to the centre of the extravagant feast, her elegant wrists and ankles adorned with tinkling bells and colourful ribbons, her vivid costume embroidered with decorative beads, sequins and coins.

The men were gorging on the remains of the sheep’s head which had been slaughtered, as was the custom, to celebrate the successful return of the sheikh from his latest raiding expedition.  The silver trays laden with sumptuous dates, grapes, almonds and watermelons.  The camel hair tent covered with exotic, lavish furs to keep the bracing desert winds at bay.

The desert dweller was hosting important guests from a nearby clan, keenly trading news and enthusiastically discussing the breeding of his famed Arabic stallion.  Yet his conversation ceased mid-flow, the words left hanging in the air, enthralled and captivated from his first glance of her.  Her elegant ****** features, high cheek bones, blood red luscious lips, and jet black hair, she was striking to all who gazed upon her.

"I must have her" he muttered under his breath, even as his four wives and six concubines were waiting in the wings to pander to his every need, anticipating which one would receive his undivided attention tonight.  However, they all paled into insignificance next to this manna from heaven, this visceral feast upon the senses.  Though this did not pass unnoticed under the watchful scornful eyes of wife number one.

The haunting Arabic music began.  The opulent dancer moved slowly at first interpreting her emotive gestures to the sound of the three-string rebab, coyly, coquettishly, teasingly.  Yet, she was anything but coy.  You could sense her wildness, her passion, her animalistic instincts simmering under the surface. She was untamed, and determined to remain so, yet aware of her allure on the hot blooded males.

The Bedouin stared at her, could not take his eyes off her, just as she captivated them all with her beguiling beauty while weaving her magic throughout the room.  All but one that is.

The mesmerising melody picked up, her hips shimmying to the Badawi beat, skirt tassels swirling, slender arms accentuating evocative gestures, creating sensuous shapes, texture and depth to the melodic mystery unfolding before them.

As the music paused so did she, directly in front of him as he reclined on the cushions, defiantly, passionately staring straight into his eyes, as she grabbed his just refilled wine goblet.  He watched the droplets enticingly trickle down her exquisitely defined chin as she devoured it in one, and ached to kiss those ruby red lips.

And with that she was off again, twirling and swirling, twisting and circling, tossing her head in synch with the frenzied beat, holding the whole room in the hypnotic palm of her hand.  The stirring rhythm rose to a crescendo and so did she, spinning mesmerisingly round and round, heart thumping, wild eyes blazing, and as the last beat of the darbuka sounded and faded away, she paused one last time, and so did the breath of everyone present, enchanted as they were with her captivating spellbinding performance.  Only he noticed the fear in her eyes, the pallor of her skin, the tiny beads of sweat above her top lip, as she slid silently yet elegantly to the floor.  Everyone was on their feet, applauding madly, demanding an encore, while he rushed over and held her in his muscular arms.  "My love" he whispered, passionately kissing her and thanking her for that all too fleeting moment of pleasure, ecstasy and bliss.  Too late.  Her last precious breath ebbed away from her forever.  Unknowingly, unwittingly, her life for his life with that one innocent sip of wine.

He was incensed.  His unfulfilled lust transformed into outright fury and rage.  His animated roar "I will find you, whoever you are and avenge her.  An eye for an eye.  You will not rest easy in your bed until you have a dagger through your heart" ringing in the perpetrator's ears as she, hidden in the shadows, slinked away silently into the cold dark night.

Shedding
Long since worn scales
Is not easy,
But that you must
To progress to the next stage
Of this journey
Called
Life

50 years acting defensively,
A shield against the attacks and abuse,
Barbed words, scorn and contempt.
Lashing out inappropriately,
The only path known,
A form of protection
A semblance of normality,
Instead ending up
Disconnected,
Lonely,
Alone.

Now discovering another way to be,
Dragging myself from the enticing
Well-worn familiar slippery path
Of melancholy and self-flagellation,
To flower filled meadows
And babbling brook
And choosing my own way
Through the long sweet grass,
To as yet undreamt
And unimagined,
But long overdue,
Pleasures, delights, and food for the soul.

Poems
are power,
They speak to the soul
From the soul,
Messages
From the unconscious
To the conscious.
Like dreams
Laying you bare open
Exposing your vulnerabilities, hopes and dreams
And your soul’s desire,
Leaving you lying naked on your back
Tied to a stone slab
Spotlight in your eyes
Glimpse of a knife,
Exposed,
Vulnerable,
Nowhere to run
Nowhere to hide

Look at yourself in the mirror
Truly see.
Look in your eye
Hold the gaze
And breathe in what’s there.
What do you see?
Who do you see?
Who’s the woman in the mirror?

Acknowledge who’s there.  
Accept who’s there.  
Love who’s there.
The woman staring back from the mirror.
Give thanks and
Gratitude,
For all that woman has been through.
For all that she has suffered.
For all that she has overcome.
For all that she is.
For all that she has become.
For all that she will be.
A fierce woman
Standing in her power.
For that is you.
That is your strength.
That is your power.
And that is your future.

Not for me the arrow in the air,
     Nor the mountain snows,
     Nor the dumb ocean,
     Nor the wind on the heath,
     Nor the warm breath
     Of the bare bright sun upon my hair.

Nor for me the mist of the white stars,
     Nor the singing falls
     Nor the deep river,
     Nor the flung foam
     Upon the hard beach,
     Nor the other mountains that I cannot reach.

Mine is the silence
And the quiet gloom
Of a clock ticking
In an empty room
The scratch of a pen,
Ink-*** and paper,
And the patter of the rain.
Nothing but this as long as I am able,
Firelight - and a chair, and a table.

Not for me the whisper in the ear,
     Nor the touch of a hand,
     And that hand on my heart,
     Nor the quick pattering of feet
     Upon the stair, nor laughter in the street,
     Nor the swift lance, intangible and dear.

Not for me the hunger in the night,
     And the strength of the lover
     Tired of his loving,
     Seeing after passion the broken rest,
     Bearing his body’s weight upon my breast.

Mine is the silence
Of the still day,
When the shouting on the hills
Sounds far away,
The song of the thrush,
In the quiet woods,
And the scent of trees.

Always the child who loved too late,
The poet - the fool - the watchman at the gate.
I am the actress mother who must make
A pretended cradle of her arms, lifeless and bare,
Who has never borne a child.

I am the deaf musician, calm and mild,
Singing a battle symphony, who has never head the guns,
Nor the thunder in the air.

I am the painter whose blind gaze defiled
Would conjure an ocean, who has never seen the sea break
On the wild shores of Finistere....

Not for me the shadow of a smile,
     Nor the life that has gone,
     Nor the love that has fled,
     But the thread of the spider who spins on the wall,
     Who is lost, who is dead, who is nothing at all.

Falling
Plummeting
Whole world’s upside down.
What is up?
What is down?
What is truth?
What is untruth?
What is real?
What is unreal?

Eyes wide open
With no time to prepare
Taken by surprise
By this expansion in consciousness,
In shock
Mind blown
Everything making sense
And no sense at all

Our reality is what we say it is,
What we choose it to be.
Our words shape our lives
And our futures

But sometimes mine get all mixed up and confused and overwhelming
In this jumbled mind of mine
Now blown wide open
With nothing I can do
Except absorb and assimilate
And be,
Get my brain and jumbled mass of thoughts out the way
Zone out
Watch movies
Don’t think
Just write words as they come
Don’t analyse
Or read back
For it does not need to make sense
It may never make sense what you wrote
But get the words out of your head
To stop them going round and round
Keeping me chained to what is, yet what is not, at the same time
No judgement
No convention and societal rules
Just go with the flow
And see what happens
Unbidden
Un baggaged
Until I am ready to go out into the world again
But this time
With awareness
Of my vulnerability
And my power
And my strength