FrancesWrites

4. Jul, 2019

Circling, circling around my garden

I have found strange flowers and pebbles

I have found fragments of an old language

on stone slabs buried in sand, or moss.

Each side of my garden -- North, East, 

South and West -- harbours a poison and 

a gift.

In the North, the poison of a frozen heart, 

and the stillness of midnight.

In the East, the unbearable lightness of 

(un)being, and the promise of dawn.

In the South, the poison of sticky heat

and mosquitoes, and the fiery passion 

of noon.

In the West, the raw power of rushing

waters flooding every place, and the 

gentle cleansing gurgles of the mountain

stream.

In the centre of the garden, there's a square

and a fountain with rainbow waters.

Magic is afoot.

Above, the sky changes its hues all the time.

Below the earth, in the underground,

roots entwine and grow strong.

 

Picture by Skitterphoto, via Pexels

20. Apr, 2019

And through the cracks in the eggshell,

the little dove peeps out:

little by little, its muffled voice

announces itself to the world.

Soon it is out, clumsy and wet.

It moves slowly around.

I hold it on the palm of my hand:

it throbs with new life, warm and soft,

tender like a blossom.

Our hearts ablaze under the midday sun.

20. Apr, 2019

Another stole the dream

we dreamt in the meadows of love;

we were bold, we were wild

till we lingered on.

In the meadow, we lay on the grass

we whispered tender words of devotion,

we imagined our embrace out of linear time,

we carved out our spiral of belonging,

we entwined our limbs and our hearts

till the slanting sun went down

on the graveyard: we walked in silence 

to the hilltop, the city of grey

and red bricks sprawled below. 

Dark clouds projected their shadows

on the places of the living and of the dead.

Love and death walked hand in hand.

 

 

 

20. Apr, 2019

I want to forget this April day

when Spring pierces my heart 

like a spear of fire,

as you throw away the stones in your pockets

in the name of an ineffable present.

The past, albeit gone, swells inside me

like the sweeping river of grief.

The future is uncertain dawn.

Strewn with sharp glass is the path -- 

a Via Crucis inside my heart.

2. Feb, 2019

Snow cleanses the paths,

a red robin hops from branch

to branch.

Fire in the ice melts away

the lie of the past.

Now is queen of hearts.

A pale sapling sprouts

from the ground.

Fiery winds of the exalted One

sweep the streets of the mind.

Sudden rain purifies

the byways of the heart;

mists wraps up the body of the earth.

Water of life springs

from inner rock forged by fire,

as the exalted One spreads 

her magic on earth.