What do You see when you look at me?
Do you see Your crown of glory hovering freely?
Do I please You, even though I make mistakes?
Do I please You? I'm not as good as it takes.

I wish I could be better, smarter, stronger —
But then, I’d dismiss and punish myself for longer.

Is acceptance the key?
When I peer deep into me,
Here right now, being?

One step at a time —
There’s truly no rush; I'm fine.

Just breathe and smile,
And live life for a long while.

What has come of those days,
That I longed to pass?
What have come of those days,
Now that I long wish they last’d?

Shakespeare pondered names,
We are all given names at our birth;
Some are well-placed, others unknown and ill-fitted.
We spend our teenage years trying on new names, seeing if they fit, throwing them away when they don’t.
Movie stars and musicians shorten their names; Madonna, Oprah, Prince, Beyonce and Drey.
YouTube celebrities create their fame,
Based on their ordinary life.
We, who watch on, add to the myriad of followers,
Playing into their game, adoring their name.
But have we pondered the power of names, for our good?
When we speak, are we breathing life,
Or simply just air?
How can we grasp the life in words?
How can we live out from our true names?

I love learning, I always have.

Curiosity compels,
To understand all the spells,
Bells and whistles.

Forever the learner, and never the learned.

The more I know,
The more I don't know.
It is troubling and yet…
Freeing.

The air sagged,
Like an old and ***** blanket.
If mothballs had set in it their tapestry,
That may have been a delight, 
And a slight respite from the 
Grey and wrinkly clouds that 
Stared dreary-eyed offering
No hope but empty promises:
You will be fruitful again!
When?!

Lord, I'm not perfect.
And I mix things up.
And I'm so grateful.
That you've got my back when all goes ******.

But there's more to the story;
You forgive me. You shape me.
You resolve my head of worry.
You've got my back when I f#@k it up.

Is this a love song?
Or a declaration?
I think it's a reminder!
I'm not the only one.

Perspective: I am an ant.
And you are the Son.
You are the one I seek.
In the morning, you are my rising sun.

Lord, I'm not perfect.
I go round and round in circles,
and when things erupt
I hide and nonchalantly pray: miracles.

Lord, I'm not perfect.
And I f#@k things up.

Sorry **

Where do our prayers go,
When we put breath 
to our hopes and woes?
Do they float up to Heaven,
Or become a bereft flow,
never to be enlightened?

Asking faithfully so,
with lists full of prayers,
going back decades low.
Some answered joyfully,
but many more not, leaving me wondering...

With a roll of an English tongue
We pay tribute
to Maggie Smith, from Downton.
She was a rare breed,
The last of the ton
Playing around with Harry
And in a dear Sister Act a nun!
Bravo old Dame,
your efforts were not in vain!

and that's what I just
don't get
what makes a poem move?
make someone wet?

I try to be deep,
To be funny,
I try to be whimsical
And visceral so that you can taste honey.

Sometimes I rise,
Many more times, I collapse.
There are pages upon pages I despise,
bored with them, perhaps?


but...

Is it the outcome,
or is it the process?
Does that make poetry?

Help me, please…

Compelled to make sense?!

Winter afternoons, when the sun sets soon,
Whiskey shots with a touch of PB spooned,
Takes the edge off —
Those missed moments;
Whispers of ‘not good enough’
And turns them into lessons learned;
War stripes rough —
Psychological scars of the well-lived.

You’re not going to make it,
You can’t,
You won’t.
Give up.
The expectations are too high,
You'll have to fake it!
Come back down to earth.
The ego taunts me with dreams,
And I feign interest by capturing their record.
But why bother?
What will they amount to?

Spring has finally begun,
White cherry blossoms have sprung.
They pepper the sky,
Like candy cane on a high.
My vocals in delight reached out and sung!

I surrender.
The wars of my ego,
Exhaust me.
I look back
And remember victory,
Because looking forward
Just seems like fantasy.
What is this state of being, exile?!
Life, call me back.
Help me, plant my hope again.

Our thoughts,
And our ways,
Become whiter than snow
When we gaze, without haze,
Lovingly upon the Lord.
We rest, cease the quest
And invest where our fortune
Is outside of time;
outside of oughts.

I try and I try; pressing down, running it under hot water, squeezing until I cry,
But alas I am a magician with no tricks left; a poet with no sentences to string; an armless mannequin.
As Abraham did, I ventured outward bound, to a land of strong-armed jar-openers, who of it can be said? Who can be found? I need me a husband?!
I knocked and I knocked;  no answer sound, but a stranger stepped forth; his arms weren't big but his mouth wide and he opened the jar, I smiled.

In each of us,
There is a wild, silky part,
Said the great poet: Mary Oliver,
Can we conspire to connect
With that part in ourselves
If we dare, maybe we’d 
Be more free and spare
Focus on what others see.

Insight?

Just like the root system
Deep underground,
We too are wired,
For love. Declare goodness,
Let hope in your heart sound!

A voice of melody broke the numbness,
‘Good morning everybody, have a great day,”
Light in the darkness
Love in aloneness
A witness in the masses.
Small acts are noticed —
I receive your love.
Thank you.

Winter falls, casting a white lace undergarment
of frost on the morning ground.
Time of death, dormancy, dependence.
What am I to give up in this season,
Ready for the rebirth that is to come again?

I am a speck of sand,
on an earth made up of star dust.

I am both nothing,
and something; wonderlust?!

Doubt, an insidious strain of
Forgetfulness, wrestling with the wonder of
Love.

I open my curtains to the world outside.
Leaves trembling in the frigid air.
As they drop, to the earth, by-and-by,
Narnia’s Ice Queen’s power does declare:
Time for hidden places where I can etch new traces.

I remind myself: everything has its time and place
Even loss to make way for more.
Opening my wardrobe, warm winter jackets I embrace,
Grateful for their voluminous puffs protecting my core.
A new season evokes new faces.

Who will I become
In the ticking time,
Leaving behind all that is unwelcome;
My limiting beliefs and the voice of compunction,
So I can reset homeostasis.

You have a right to change your mind about me,
yes, you are free, to think what you like about what you see,
and what you think you see —
don't see —
about what you want me to be.
Because that's more about you than me.
so, go right ahead and think differently —
it is freeing then, immediately.

I've spent the majority
of my life performing to your tune,
the one you fiddled on your flute
rather than changing your own swoon,
it must be pretty difficult
waiting for others to change
all the while stagnating
in your narcissistic slime.

You have a right to change your mind about me,
I'm a maverick, you'll see!
Through trials and forced transmutation;
I am a girl and a woman,
I am a heart and an evolution
of a story still being told —
That's just it, never will my spirit grow old.

As I wake up, the reality sets in.
I want to close my eyes and, hide from the fear within.
Life is a struggle of continually believing,
It’s easy to give up, but in You, I am anchoring!

I have a go, but look to others to affirm.
I am unsure about this world, naivety burns within.
I still have hope, I cry to the Spirit to discern,
I want success, a feeling of capability I yearn.

It is the season of play,
So, this heavy burden with you away!
It’s time to dream and let my inner voice have its say,
It’s the time for discovery, and finding my way.

The path may look well-trodden,
But no one’s walked mine in the modern.
So, don’t give up, pull yourself up from Soddom,
There’s more to life, you haven’t forgotten!

You give me life,
While he tries to ***** it out!

You build me up,
While he tears me down.

You bring clarity,
While he stirs up confusion.

You repair,
He retorts.

You restore.
He doesn’t stand a chance in hell!

I was in a deep slumber,
And You reached out to me:
“Awake, my darling,” You whispered,
And I opened my eyes anew.

Your name just appeared on my screen...
I didn't write it and you didn't call ==
I hadn't seen it for a while, I haven't thought of you for longer.

It came from a misspelt word: a bunch of odd letters scrambled together trying to form coherency.
What it brought back were memories much;
Memories of our time together, which in the moment felt thrilling, exhilarating and reckless ==

For a long while since, I've been reflecting, refracting and returning ==
I now understand you were like my father,  trying again to have control over me;
You were unresolved emotions, actions and words ==
Things I was not conscious of.

Now, more adept at decoding subliminal thoughts and actions,
I want to push you right back, from the darkness whence you came.

It wasn't the freeze that took my breath away, 
this morning, it was this memory of you ==
A cloak of chains that spoke.
I want to shake it off and run free, far from your memory ==
Like a babe in the Garden of Eden
not knowing the evil that surrounded them.
But I'm not losing a single hair to care
that life is not fair.
Just enjoying the freedom == 

I don't know what you want from me,
That you prompt me with this memory ==
I don't know what you expect,
Demanding reciprocity,
Obliterating my freedom, when you extracted,
All the foundations of connection.
and thresholds of compassion.
All the holdings of collaboration.
Leaving nothing but destruction.

I hear "the birds"
outside calling —
but at zero degrees
I am sorry!
It's like Emily's phrase:
"When [even] shadows hold their breath" --
I will enjoy you from the inside
and warming,