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Creative Writing: Poetry & Stories

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I have used writing, words, as a release, for as long as I can remember. When I was a young dramatic pre-teen I would write letters to 'Mikey' - a part of myself, someone I attached to, a name I was drawn to. Mikey is a blank canvas. I would write anything I felt with no judgement. I wrote in the form of letters. By the time I was 15 I had over 100 stuffed in a drawer somewhere. Every few years I dive in and read a few. Interesting stuff. Super dark. Funny, too!

Letter-writing was one form of release. I found that directing my message to an imaginary someone or something that could not judge (perhaps I was writing to GOD) helped the words flow without me thinking. It was the one way I felt I could safely release all the anger and hate stored inside. It still is, really...

Stories and poems have also come out of me. Just like every other spec of creativity, it comes through me and is not of me. It is, I believe, Divine. The darker stuff is still Divinely guided, as is everything.

 

Living in France was a particularly poetic time. I would sit in my favourite creative communal café and release all the tension I felt about the cute waiter who I wanted to ask me out. Oh, little me. Now I will speak to anyone I want to!

For editorial writing in magazines and newspapers, click here. On this page you will find all the creative writing that has come out of me that I can source (I have a habit I'm trying to break of quite hastily deleting things). Happy reading!

#2
Hellish

If the sun is a woman

It is not because of a vagina

Or breasts

But her energy

 

No one yet knows when the petunias and posies will come home to roost, and after that, to roast. It is all a matter of space. Time. Dreams, and nature. 

 

Then they teach us things, then we unlearn them. Then our paths change, whether we're conscious of it (why) or not. And perhaps you were conscious, and the why remains a mystery. Then you make yourself in the image of many others, and life is a movie that seemingly never ends. Then everyone else's ends before yours. Why? Then you'll know when the question develops into: why not?

 

After you bore children, after you bore ideas. After the chickens fly up to heaven and the humans descend down into hell. After anaesthesia wares off, after it doesn't. 

 

Wade through the sticky honey, escape the hive. Notice the butterfly, it's ugliness! Notice when it comes back again. Untangle deep roots and be free. 

 

The titanium clashes with your clearly delicate flesh blood and bones and you realise: I am human, after all. Reserve a spot in the 6th ring, wait forever. 

#5 Dark Waters

I don’t even flinch when they have large muscles or tattoos

Not if they have golden grills and swimming pools

Not even if they play tennis, support my values and want to show me off

Not even if the want me to be their everything

I still crave a large belly

Somewhere safe to rest my head

Where intimacy lives and love blooms

White cream and little white lies

No little white lines

Just good times

I’m my own bartender

I whisk myself away

Everything I’ve been told is a lie

And happiness prevails only fully with oneself 

But i'd let you in. You’re my exception.

#7 Life on a Lily Pad in the Garden of Eden

In our Garden of Eden, we rest in a blue pool of lily pads, in shades of green. Outside, fine lines are smoothed with satin jelly. She’s there, where gold lives. Where softness is born. One generation, two generations, three and more; her as a flower reblooms every time. Her as fresh mint waits to be picked to sweeten our teas. Her as words, in pictures, timeless and outstandingly alive. An un-re-creatable rainbow. We all flourish, in her Garden of Eden.

 

I like living on this lily pad, we here adorn the blue pool. We are loyal and lovely. Here I watch her glide through, elegantly. Even without a physical touch, I feel the ripples, the cool vibrations, so silky, so silly, my skin begins to turn golden, just like hers. Water, fruits, inflatables, showers. Those magical transitions from endless summer days to deep and promising twilights. Her words echo through the water and rest in our hearts where she assists with our own lives on our own lily pads.

 

After the pool is drained, some of us wither away. It is a good thing; we’re to be reborn as bees and butterflies. I stay on.

 

I hold her crown for her as she dries off, and before I know it, with jewels on my fingers and memories on my earlobes, I am golden, too.

 

Her and I, rippling together, extend our necks higher, point our toes further — and we dance.

#8 A Short Scenario

I digress before I begin;

I die before I am born;

Through thick and thin, this soul has stuck to me for decades, perhaps centuries. I’ve no idea how old she is. Perhaps she is not all she — it has been a long journey indeed.

How it bears it I don’t know; the constant push and pull of life, everywhere, always. It never lets up, except maybe if one locked themselves inside for many months and allowed themselves to decompose, slowly but surely.

Why this is not my lesson to learn, I do not know.

In the quest for understanding I suffer during the days and come alive in my dreams. Lucidly I participate, I let it all happen. Then I wake up and use the information to make a move. Booking something exciting — painting a picture of a man in my head — last night I dreamt a dream so real, so wonderfully visual, I felt myself there. So much so that when it hit me it was poetry all along, I felt the side of my finger slide under my eye as a teardrop fell. To find one’s purpose, ah, that is the goal.

In this dream I saw a time and a place. The weather was crisp and I was wearing a coat. I had short hair, but it was longer than it is now. It was London. There was a school in Brixton. I had won a competition to study there. I sat by the Thames and ate my lunch. There might have been a group near, but unlike when I was at high school, I was able to be alone and have no fear that that would be the only opportunity to be amongst others. We’re all adults here, I reassured myself.

Sometimes I feel guilty being alone so much. I am always alone by the water. Sometimes I feel pangs of loneliness. But then I remember when I have been around others near water, and the want to be alone then is overwhelming. So I breathe and let myself do what I need to do. If that is being alone a lot, so be it. I know I shan’t be alone forever — and the sense of being alone isn’t scary, it’s sleeping in a room with two beds knowing I can choose to fill the other whenever I want, should I wish. All I would have to do is extend my arm, and reach out. This makes it easier to feel safe alone.

But one is never really alone, are they? There’s me, my current shell; Kerri; short, pixie-like young womxn; dark hair and large eyes; slim but curvy corpse; a skeleton underneath I could only wish to see… and then there’s my soul. I have not seen it so much recently, not like how I did when I went to Spain, and every moment swelled with soul connection. Since my return to France I have grown colder — or perhaps I have simply retreated, into my bodily functions and the paradise that encompasses this place, for security reasons before I flee this castle on the hill and emerge as the sibling of one of the many butterflies I have noticed flying around recently.

Back to this dream; I woke up and wrote it straight down. The other day I learnt that manifesting does not have to be a conscious act. No, it can be more subtle than that. Thinking about things gives energy to those things. I once heard ‘what you focus on, grows

stronger’. I remember trying this in meditation, and found it to be true. I focussed on the sounds of passing cars and the sounds grew louder. I listened to nature, the bees buzzing, the palm tree leaves breaking up the wind, the butterflies flapping their wings, the birds conversing. It all grew stronger, louder, more clearer, and so I understood.

As I move my thumbs incessantly on this small computer and ponder past lives and evolution but not so much the future, the dream scene plays on in my head. Water, lunch, pebbles, a bench. Cold, crisp, sun, beautiful. A coat and scarf. London. Inside a school, in a library. A man in stripes puts away books. There is something there. Other students, new friends. Two professors, a man and a womxn. Comfort and nerves and — laying here, in my single bed in the South of France, I acknowledge that very soon, this could all become a reality. Though just because it happened inside my head, is it any less real?

We write and we discuss and I might find financial security in it. Imagine that. A job which requires life experience. To produce better work I would require myself to travel all over this earth, and perhaps to go even further, with the help of a spaceship, and/or psychedelic drugs (which have been contacting me via dreams for a while, now). I suppose this dream was a reminder that I can relax, now — the future is coming. I shan’t get in his way.

#10 What Do You Want? / The Art of being Precise

I want a big fucking man

A big fucking man with a big fucking beard and a beautiful fucking dick

I want a big man with a big brain and a bigger heart

He’s impressive and he’s interested He’s interesting and he’s generous

He’s old(er) (30s) and he’s rich (ish) (comfortable) (money isn’t an issue) He’s tall and makes me feel (physically) small (in a positive way) He’s wealthy with money and with knowledge

He’s modern and progressive

He’s a feminist and a leftie

He’s in the know and reads stuff like the NY times

He’s into animals and has a dog (optional)

He’s got an apartment and rides a motorcycle (optional)

He‘s into rock and also likes jazz, among other genres

He’s open to learning new things He cooks, he cleans, he may have a cleaner (optional)

He works in the creative industry and wants to travel more

He is like me; a mixture of an introvert and an extrovert

His friends, mostly girls, know it’s time for him to meet someone special

He meets me and he knows I’m the one Together we go to fun fairs and try vegan restaurants We drink and we smoke weed (in moderation)

He introduces me to his friends and they become mine

He is lovely to mine and is a good conversationalist

He was raised a feminist and is close to his mum

He’s loyal and intriguing

He’s oh so smart

He’s oh so handsome but not to everyone, just to me

He’s got thick lips so when we kiss I can feel it

I don’t care what colour he is

He comes into my life and it’s so clear it’s him

I rest on his (large) belly and I stroke his head I tell him beards have faecal matter in them

He laughs and fucks me everywhere. I fuck him too. More than before

He uses my vibrator on me and gets me new ones Soon he gives me a (pinky) ring and we’re together

He’s mature and intellectual

He’s fun and outgoing (but is more of a homebody, optional)

We go on walks with his dog (optional) I take care of his dog sometimes (optional) (might have a bunny)

We talk of rescuing a dog together (optional)

We whisk each other away

We go to Paris

We go to Bordeaux

We go to the lavender fields of Provence

We drive around and my head is out the window

I feel free

I feel safe

I feel comfortable

I feel sexy

I feel challenged

I feel smart

I feel better than I ever have

I feel healthy

I feel in control and out of control

I feel happy

I feel excited

I feel horny

I feel satisfied

I feel grown up

I feel like a little girl

I feel like an alien

I feel cool I feel I’d be jealous of us and myself and of him if we weren’t us myself and him

We are cosy

We are fire

We are warmth

We are hot, sweaty love

We are natural

We kiss and oh my god

His thick lips indulge me

And life is one big orgasm

#14 men!

Lyrics of my most recent song, 'men!'. Listen here

Wake up son

Get the sleep out your eyes

Do a stretch

Meditate

Now you’re ready to thrive

It might come as a shock

It might be a surprise

That I’m gonna sing a song about men in my life

 

Yeah, men

Something sweet to enjoy on the side

Never thought I’d invite one along for the ride

Because life is so short

And I wanna know GOD

And my family and friends

And I really want a dog, like

 

Oneness, individuality

Then you, bound up to personality

The revered old snake that rests within your legs

Holding trauma of the collective of men

 

You’re about conditional love

Like a child on my jumper you tug

I’m not saying all men are mad

But so many are unconscious and it’s sad

 

Every day

I find my way

Just to be

 

And then one comes along, I get excited to see, what it could be

Oh, you got me feeling like… 🫠

 

If you really wanna live beneficially, take your expectations off of me

But…

 

I wanna be with you without the fight

Want you to come home to me almost every night

And when I feel a stagnancy in the air

You whip your love out, and I forget to care

 

Can you remind me that I am the sun?

Without attaching to me, no, I’m not your ‘one’

The way I live is so bizarre to you

I like your style but there’s not much for me you can do

 

I have a dream I want to bring it to life

And no it doesn’t involve being someone’s wife

I feel like Jesus

I’m here to change

Escape the matrix

Helping others do the same

 

I love all humans, don’t mistake my vibe

It’s just that all I need it comes from the inside

Take all the time I need for joy, to grow

Now I want companionship, please send a man and not a

 

Boy

I don’t want your heart, your insecure

You try to give it to me oh so nice, then come crying to me about changing my vibe!

Boy

I know what you want to see

Fantasy

Don’t mean no disrespect

But you’re in too deep

Now I’m ready for love

Come on send it to me

#16 Interlude

Prefer to hear than to read? Listen to 'Interlude' here.

Where can I go to be my hippy self

Where can I go to walk barefoot freely with no fear of stepping on trash, glass or cigarette butts

meaninglessly and violently discarded onto the skin of mother earth

 

Where can I go to skip down the street and see others laughing too

with joy and resonance of the freedom that its all encompassing in their hearts

 

Where can I go to be greeted with love

Where can I go to let my aura shine

Where I need not leave the house with a bag full of crystals just in case someone's pain might pierce me

 

Where can I go to hitch a ride without fear I might get murdered

How can I cross a border without a border

How can I access what my body needs without suffering for it

 

Where can I go where all beings are equal

Where we are free from addiction

And from the burden of separation

 

Where can I go to be myself

Where I don’t have to armour up with layers upon layers of light

in case the darkness outside pervades my spirit

 

Where can I go to let my body hang freely

Without covering up for fear of being hurt and objectified

 

Where can I go to be seen

Where can I go to be appreciated

Where can I go to be safe

 

Where can I go to be a hippy

To walk barefoot

And to live freely and joyously

Where can I go

To be me

#18 Summer, Krishna, Hai!

In summer I walk through fields of grass

No fever

I wear a cami, a skirt

I meditate

I swim

I dry

I freckle

and finally... I saw blood!

And that was enough.

Eat up, Krishna san.

He doesn't want me, but You do

Playing games I only partially want to play

I give up vibrating, peanuts and thinking

No one is ever going to hurt you

like that again.

Marianne runs to the car

She doesn't need contacts or moisturiser

Summer in the city, so easy for the girls who are pretty

You want me bloody, mary, thin and complicated

Who wants the enlightened girl?

#1
Birth

There are certain sounds that tell the tales of idyllic days, pregnant with privilege and brimming with effortless and excellence. And when birth is given, it is to the creamy bubbles and water lapping up against a sandy shore; it is crickets laughing in the palm trees above; it is a jump of the heart as a gecko escapes into a crevasse of once was what all nature’s. Now I get to caress them everyday in my castle on the hill. They line my walls and they protect me, and though I do not know why, and don’t much care, this is one of my realities.

 

The sounds are these:

  • Tennis balls being hit by tennis rackets;

  • Cutlery coming together as late lunch is eaten. This sound is best experienced under the shade of a parasol, at the back of a garden of green, with eyes closed, following my own late luncheon.

 

I’m the kind of privilege that can cut off and come back

I’m the kind of privilege who can slip through cracks

I can transcend

I can move

I have a watchful eye and I can use it

I hate when others use theirs on me

 

But our souls are all intrinsically linked

And until roots are untangled

And trapped spirits are gone

I can never truly

Get free

#3
La Petite

The laughing man with a moustache

Plaits and framed faces

Loneliness, loveliness

Coffee and grapes

Pride and ballet

Free flaps

Cabanas and fun

Post quarantine life in France

Sweet dreams, sweet days

 

#4
Expressing Under the Table, Acting up Above

I thought everything in life would be glittering and gold

But instead it’s tainted with shades of grey

Clouds and uncertainty

I lived in my ivory tower for so long

Now every time I leave

I feel disappointed

With others

With who I am

 

My life is a movie

There are happy scenes and there are sad scenes 

There are awkward scenes and scenes full of anxiety

The scenes that don’t make the cut are the ones in which

I’m practicing being present with myself

I am, after all, my greatest gift

And how I make myself feel

By surrounding myself with a certain person

In a certain environment 

It’s everything

Everything 

Everything 

 

Nicolo 

#6 Backwards and Forwards and Upwards and Out

I left the coast for the city,

sure that Mother’s waves would wait,

but carry on at the same time. Sure the currents would hold me in their thoughts, I took a bus and said “see you soon” to my castle on the hill, a terracotta tower with my turret where I used to dream, the roof where I would smoke quickly under the moonlight, and the garden of eden where we’d laugh and play, imagination alive, fears internalised.

 

Come from love, they say, but it’s difficult when there’s so much to be frightened of.

 

I left the coast for the city, sure that the place with the people, the options, the parties, the neon lights, were still mine. They attracted my eyes so, and I followed them, only to discover memories are not real, but distorted in the brain, and what I want, has changed.

 

I headed straight for the water. I practiced living from love - but a reality of man came up onto me like the violent, impending doom I had been preparing for my entire life.

 

And when it happened, it happened. And when it was gone, it was gone.

 

I left my coast for a city,

and was met with modernity and music. I felt happy there. Safe even.

But we’re not there, not yet - an echo chamber will do a good job of convincing you otherwise - and the antithesis of love lives there, too. I wondered about him at first, but mostly, I don’t wander about him at all.

 

A flight caught; a tram ridden: a protective cloud followed me from the city with the water and the bright lights, to this cocoon I currently reside in, growing each day, preparing to emerge as something altogether better, brighter, happy.

 

After a small slice of a greatest fear came to life, it was time to go. I left the city for a new coast, one even more golden, green and blue than my natural coastal home. I am that girl who resides at the top of a mountain, looking lovingly over the sea and thinking, ‘do you remember me?’.

 

I talked to the moon last night and told her of my plans. She listened, and held out her hands.

 

Here I do nothing but sip tea and look out over the glistening peaks. So much going on down there. So much going on up here.

 

The date is set, and the time is coming when I will leave one coast for another. Who knows what awaits me when I return. The same sun, the same moon, the same stars. A different part of the same sea. A different part of the same me.

 

Next time I leave my coast for a city, I’ll know what to do. Life can seem cruel, but it’s all in the words of everything, forever. It’s our fellow humans, they’re the ones who cause the real suffering, and who suffer the most in return.

 

But here’s the thing, the one truth I do know, which is that as sure as my pencil is to this pad, the vibrancy of the flowers, the buzzing of the bees, the clouds will continue to drift on and I will find myself with height, looking out and up, dreaming of my next utopia. This, a trait of myself that has not faltered, not once in this version of a life, one of many I’ve lived; the need to get away, to get free. Little did I know that one day, I’d find those things.

 

As I lay under the Spanish sun and practice living from, with and through love, I notice the tingles spreading through my plump cheeks and out of my upturned palms. And when I wake, the sea and the sky that surrounds me and this life in varying shades of blue, tells me it does remember me - and what’s more, I remember it too.

#9 Say Hi to your Fire

As kindling on that very first fire, we kept each other warm, as well as our human charges. We turned black, and then to dust, and as simply as one turns off a light, our lives in that form were extinguished, in a timely manner. Time management and responsibility, personality traits of a very special log.

 

Over the years we met again. As 3-D cinched-in waists and curly wisps of hair. In farmer’s markets and on battlefields. Sleeves might have been rolled up and tears will have been shed. It delights me, then, that we have met again, in an age like no other. They say your last life is a hard one, so I know we’re both freely and quickly passing through. If there was ever a fire, I’d look, and you’d look too.

 

Like two old trees intertwined in woods, the ancient spirits on homely shelves, the spinning wheel and it’s chair, ours is a ‘red thread theme’ and tracking this course of love is quite fascinating.

 

Fickle species, humanity. How lucky it is, then, that what was once perhaps a pearl sleeping in the sea, or a small crab poking in and out of its rocky coastal home, an intriguing cloud or even a piece of kindling, has re-bloomed in the form of She. She, existing in the third dimension, a self-made Garden of Eden, pregnant with blossoming life and spirit and love. She, not one of many but one of few, not one of blue, but of greens, yellows, pinks, silks, of buzzing and babies and softness, so much softness. She, a malleable statue, a soul whose box was ticked ‘yes, continue to eternally evolve’ at creation, whose force has been unknowingly guiding the courses of this universe and perhaps others, since the dawn of time.

 

In this life our paths are as intrinsically linked as ever, a circumstance that doesn’t particularly surprise me, for I have known for a while we are kindred spirits, forever returning to our toasty bed on a fire of time and matter, in the golden paradise that exists between lives.

 

On the surface we are family, a grandmother and a granddaughter, a not-so-different dynamic to when we burned together on that fertile ground not so long ago. As a result of this presence, my own life has been coated in the scent of perfectly pressed linens, baked in security, support and an undying love that neither of us should attempt to comprehend but instead make the most of, and enjoy, with the knowledge that for us, it is never the end.

 

I ponder what might come next. I don’t feel alone. Transitions can be hard. But she’s always been there. Not made for me, made with me. Made with a matching ingredient, a secret that keeps us looking outward, and inward.

 

And so, we carry on. “What a peculiar time”, our eyes may communicate to each other. Our four eyes are limited, being part of the bodies they are a part of, and each set regards the other with all the wisdom and insight of a somewhat smart koi fish. But look deeper, behind the layers of skin and dust and time and age; there our two real eyes sit on padded thrones grounded with experience. See that I’m looking at you and what’s more, you’re looking at me too.

 

And one quiet day…

#11 J-J-Jean Medecin!

Does anyone ever think about how (maybe) this fast paced technology driven cold capitalist way of life has been encouraged and integrated so quickly and easily so that people have less time to tune into/be conscious of/actually know what’s going on?

 

For example

The popularity of fast fashion without thought of who’s making the clothes

The fact single use plastic is on nearly everything in a large supermarket without thought of where it goes after the bin

Essentially the grab-and-go complex which feels justified and the only possible way to consume/live because you have to rush back to work or rush to do the things that you didn’t have time to do because you are at work, such as enjoy life

 

It all feels wrong, unnatural and extremely shady

 

The fact I am only having these realisations/thoughts now and the fact they seem so truthful makes it even more so (unnatural and shady)

 

It’s everything, every single aspect of it it’s everything it’s every single aspect of my life and I suspect not just my life but life in general from the fact that a pair of jeans takes a room full of water to make and every time they’re washed 8 million particles of micro plastics are omitted the fact that fossil fuels which are used to essentially keep our world going is in fact killing the world the fact that there is pork in sweets that little children eat without knowing the fact that private prison is bringing a huge amount of money for the owners and our slave labour The fact that Amazon is used for its convenience and yet the rich owner cannot share his wealth with his with all his employees the fact that some of his employees get free yoga classes from my dad but the ones who work in the warehouse are treated like slaves and yet everyone I know uses Amazon and says “I know I know it’s bad but it’s so convenient (see hired by James Bloodworth book) the fact that seemingly organic and fresh and perhaps locally grown fruit and food is more expensive than the mass produced food shipped from all over the world is so cheap and usually covered in plastic the fact that many places restaurants

 

- I got cut off!

#12 Autonomy

I intended on being whisked away to different parts of the country

Here I am doing it for myself

#13 Golden

...And even when their muscles are rippling in the sunlight, I barely flinch.

 

I could if I wanted to. It would be so easy.

 

I don’t loiter or linger.

 

I know what I want to do.

#14 All is Mind

May you enter my Garden, should you wish it, in dreams, and daydreams, and in those palpable intuitive moments of potency, potential, protection, Love, should you wish it - my Garden of Eden. Not only made for two, but also yes, made for two. May you meet all who reside there. All past me’s and all those whom I have known and loved in close proximity on a perpetual Plane, whom I now know and Love in a different way; far but never too far, forgotten only momentarily, as everything always is and is not.

A dog may run up to you for a momentary embrace, before galloping back to either play or to slip into Divine slumper as stroked by one of my great grandparents. Lula Luna, Black shiny and free, forever.

 

A squirrel may forage for nuts, and a Tom cat refines the exquisite sharpness of his claws on the trunk of a fat tree of which each centimetre of bark will whisper words of wisdom, should you choose to listen carefully and knowingly. On the other side of this trunk you may find one of many me’s in quiet contemplation of the fairness of the peace that is here. She may share her story with you. Scars healed and eyes clear, she may leave you with the parting words all souls will say here: ‘in this life, I am free’.

 

Ancestors rest and read under shady ancestral willow trees, and children laugh and play running through a safe maze adorned with and made of of rose bushes. They are appreciative and immune to the thorns that be.

 

Here is where hurt comes to rest and bathe in healing Light forever, for eternity; here is where all past me’s, and all people and persons I have known, to whom I have attached, rest, rejuvenate, in the only state that exists here: peace. Should you wish it, my Love, meander across the meadow, and learn what you might learn. Rest there but do not stay - return to me in present day.

 

May I - should you permit it - visit your own Garden, the sacred crevasses of your rich maroon mind. I would arrive and make the necessary introductions. Then I might remove my heavy clothes and dip into the aquamarine waters that fill the long stream of consciousness which flows, still, and at parts bubbling, through the meadow of your mind. May we meet here in moments of Truth. May we float together, then rest on the bank, totally engulfed in what is while friends and family and our peaceful selves merrily marinate in the infinite space of Your Garden Within.

My head in your lap, drowsy in delight. Daisies, soothing under my cool skin, each petal compelled to ever grow, ever green, by the Spirit which runs the dream. And I recognise peach trees above and Loquat trees all around. Red Valerian blooms along the bank in vibrant glory, and wild orange koi fish flip their tails in cheerful defiance of what was, only possible having experienced what is not. Freedom, we collectively think. Finally.

 

And if you arrive in mine and you see me meditating in one way or another, let me be and I’ll rouse myself into my favourite dream when I’m ready. When I have arrived my eyes will open and I’ll have entered for however long Love would have me stay. Let’s play together with no fear, no judgement. Should you will it, dear, may our Highest Selves meet in Healing, in our Gardens of Eden. Room for ALL, room for two, and all who ever where, newness entering in Peace quite often.

Our song wafting through the trees, the flowers, carried by juicy bumble bees, vibrating visually from roots to tops, radiating warmth in and of cornflower skies. And marshmallow clouds and sweet buttercups. You’re here, now, as all is mind - welcome.

#15 Frost on the Lawn/God in Action

Our winter of discontent

But the sun shines through

Melts half the ice from half the lawn

And the seeker, the seer

Can see the best of both worlds

Can hold all the beauty of all of life

And ride that wave

And when comes a wobble, a scratch

And the waves facilitate a toppling over

It is the fear, and the blood, and the sand

It is the water, the sky, the blue, the wild

It is the leaves and grass and the cocktail and the waiter serving the cocktail

It is even the straw

 

Oh, handsome man

Bleach my hair

Shave your head

Let’s pretend!

 

O, let me down, intimately and erotically

Turn me inside out

Let me sleep it off

Until I feel my protective cover holding me once more

 

And once again I must depart

The fleeting feeling of satisfaction

How interesting to find out that when all ‘trying’ to be satisfied is done with,

And all lustful items are removed…

True satisfaction reins!

 

I’ll paint my nails even though they’ll crack when you’re gone

I’ll wear a tight dress and opaque tights, even though I’m more comfortable in woolies

And I’ll even wear a pair of heels, if my added height won’t hurt your ego, even though barefoot on a commune is where I’d rather* be

 

I wish everyone to unmask

And see, and know

That we are

God In Action

 

*not quite so, and so be it, it is! Till it isn't

#17 Free People

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