Prayers echoed through my head.
great sighings and wailings
thoughts of love long dead

pause and rewind
Kneeling before an awesome force
Where nature derived her blueprint

Praise gleams in eyes and something wise
explodes the dimness in my mind
like the wind chimes calling out my name

again and again

How swiftly would we become lovers?
and as easily yet with dread lose interest in the fleeting joy found only in a lovers bed?

How long will I wait now I know you are coming
A gift? bearing the fruit of worship to join
together and forever
wed
the blissed of sex upon a consecrated bed.

The prayer eases stresses from my shoulders
lowers the burden and sets me free
my soulmate kneels and rises next to me
in a dream I see his face

and it is beautiful

a prayers answer, the melody in a praising song
not long now.

not long now.

I do not why I have found my beauty in the time it took to be raped and pillaged and betrayed again and again. Yet. How is that the whole story? Did I not fill with the wonder of new life twice? Each time the gift was whole and intact and beautiful and strong. I am blessed. Do not listen to my shallow empty whining. Draw strength from everything. Good or Bad. Who can say? Which bought me to my lords knee to be blessed this way today?

The house is very very quiet,its peacefulness baffles a crescendo of contradiction against the night.

My throat ached and my over heated head drove me to bed early last night. I had put my sister and her son and daughter on the train back to London and come straight back to my bed. Slugged back a glass of soluble paracetomol and shoving my aching throat and neck into a pillow, submerged beneath the duvet, took one slow deep breath and slept.

My daughter has spent the half term with us. My beautiful girl child. She is a slim, smiling, long legged teen. A night dweller who lives for the dance floor. She is sitting on my bed begging the use of the car. She has no licence. I watched her with one eye from beneath my carpet of feathers. I made a number of muffled suggestions of useful activity that might drive her stir crazy soul toward some peace. But patterns between mother and child are so concrete set. I finally gave up and dragged dirty jeans over my naked arse and the day's top over bare breasts. I wrapped my head and shrugged into my coat. Found keys for house and car and setting myself on autopilot for about 10mins, drove daughter to friend, drove back, crawled out of the grubby attire and back into my bed easily within the time.

Sleep.

"There is a dilemna" I regained consciousness with my child assuring me there was no need for alarm. " They've been thrown out and have nowhere else to stay" "Can they stay here? on the sofa bed? in my room?"

This should be simple. My daughters best friend, who lives with her in London and has also returned for half term, is with her boyfriend (oh how ex this relationship should be, but thats another story, well it isn't, but not now) and he's been chucked out of his house.

Okay, I say ready to roll back to sleep and leave this 'dilemna' to my childs more than capable hands.

Oh no.

My son turns out of his room, his language hissing his disapproval and alarm. I can't stand 'stingray'. he's hot. he can't be seen round here, What if the D boys see him? Expletives rain down on my head and my daughters.

Ah I understand. My daughter's best friend's man is a gang member of a gang(G) who are in an age-long generation fought battle with the gang (the D) that 'own' the streets that start at the corner of our road.

I look at my daughter. "I can't leave F on the street"

A storm is about to break in our small house amongst this little family.

I gather the strength I was conserving to heal myself in readiness for a long week between two jobs in two cities and stop the argument.

We'll discuss it in the morning.

My daughter nolonger lives here. She got away from the small town bitching and narrow minded bigotry of this so called second city. She left before the court case which convicted an old school friend of bottling her in a night club which left a scar on her beautiful brow but luckily her eye intact. She left not wanting to walk across the park opposite her brothers school where a man leapt out on her in a daylight attack which the police believed may have been leading to rape. Except when he felt the power in the struggle of a girlchild raised wrestling her hyperactive brother, he just walked, yes, walked away.

and my son will be living here alone for the next two years whilst I go away to work for a salary beyond our wildest dreams, an ulcer or two and more grey hair than I can easily pluck from my aging brow. he will be studying and working and being the fine upstanding young man he has been raised to be. yet even now, He is watching his peers, boys and girls, his age ( 16) being gunned down on the streets he was raised on.

and yet its safer leaving him here than taking him to the city I will be working in. and my daughter could be inviting real peril into our house. if he is seen?

I rail each of us back into our rooms, letting our own personal nigtmares fester until the morning.

But my son lies dead in a pool of blood at the bottom of the stairs....

Is it the temperature that flings this nightmare into my dream/waking or the reality of the place we live, the skin we inhabit, the choices I have made for my family, my integrity, my sanity.......

We have a long hard discussion to be had tommorrow.

Sunday, 9.30am, patterns between mother and child are so concrete set. I drag dirty jeans over my naked arse and the day's top over bare breasts. I wrap my head and shrug into my coat. Find keys for house and car and setting myself on autopilot for about 10mins, drive son to his football team, drive back, could have crawled out of the grubby attire and back into my bed easily within the time.

But instead......
I came to blog.......

soft breath invites me to write
willing the light into my fingers
and tipping me into the lyric

I am delighted and comforted.

I am bruised by work
old age illness creeps through me
exhausted by the hours and the responsibility

knowing you will forget and move on
and me too
my past sinks into horizons too distant to recollect

some beautiful people have gathered in these memories
some
stay forever
others stay with the ghost of a smile and laughter that plays occassionally on the breeze or from behind the eyelight of other irises

friends and lovers
and all the haters

man up

decidely uglier than the newest cheese on the block
ha ha I seek comfort far from my biological clock
worriedly fat as a matter of fact
have decided also to give up tact.

Drove 200 miles and it took 8 hours
rained from morn til dusk
and the trip was such a rush.

I'm trying to be a poet without looking at the keys
not doing to badly

okay here m[es am fpmg] to try tp treope wprjpiuy l;ppl;olmd au tkes keys

safriz safriz [Member]
2006-10-17 @ 23:00

you are too intellectual.

There is still nothing certain about this success. No, there are some absolutes. Work. Driven. Exhausting. Exhilerating. Criticism and expectation and suspicion. I am still hopeful. excited, expectful.

I feel like an artist again, with the vision of the painting clear in my head and some skill at my disposal.wondering if this time my vision will materialise onto the canvas or wall or page. Remembered experience reveals that anything is possible. I have created work that I relish and sometimes the matter will not resolve itself and the painitng eludes me.

I want to blend the chapters of my life.
My job. My children. My faith. My substance. Each one a separate story, change is the current theme.

Journies collapse and expand with the telling. Even the beginning can be obscure. I was born. Mmmmmm too long. I crossed two oceans twice before I was five.

The old boot and shoe town squats next to the railway line that runs from Sheffield to London.The train nolonger stops, the station disused long before our arrival.

My Gran's house. Then. The house not far from the exstationhouse. The tin bath filled with water heated by coal. The steepest staircase leads upstairs direct from the back room.

A misfired arrow from my brother's bow glances a blow, leaving a blood drip swelling just above my right eyelid. But my eye, my great good fortune, still intact.

My lovers heart is warm and brimming
Full up with waiting and with waiting
I feel my smiles and my heart gladden
soon
soon come
sweet love.

My workers souls is rich and rewarding
Full up with purpose and achievement
I feel my pride swell with your coming
passing
sweetest loves

My mothers rage is worn and weeping
Battled up and full from fighting
I feel your vulnerabilty and freedom
Beckons
Be well and flourish
Living
love.

The faith reacting reaching drives me
My humble prayers are barely audible
But the sky is wide and ever present
My love and the sky above me blend
they will be with me, awesome, to the end

My obedient and restless spirit twin me
Praise spills and marshalled, gathers graces
I take a moment in all the madness to
acknowledge all of nature's traces
Alls well and sanity flourishes

and love.

sleep isn't coming
though I'm tired to the core
but my head has left the pillow once again
and I'm waiting for some idea of why and where this is taking me

sleep is sweet, when my body relaxes itself into the mattress and my body uncracks and my brow uncreases.

Yes much is tumbling thought through my mind, brain working , chugging on and on on overtime,

the light from the room calls me in
the soft sound of hiphop story tells
and the call of the keyboard yells

naked breasts and baggy pants
hair tickling my ears
cause I've let it out
water needs drinking the fast aproaches through the night

and i am learning to wake with the dawning light

these words need no form in the centre of the night
I have not stepped on the path or chosen
poetry or prose when the mc sings its time to sleep

godnight blog
maybe now I'll sleep like a log

x

http://www.blog.co.uk/srv/media/media_item.php?item_ID=877104

The sky clearing of the rain
had a high horizon where the winds were smearing white into the grey
I, with my offspring by my side
gently caused his gaze to raise
to celebrate the joyful beauty of another day

I wondered with him in a gentle appreciation of gods gift
his reply was expected and was swift
I often raise my eyes to the sky my mother dear
to contemplate existence on another sphere

of worlds beyond worlds and other realms
planets, asteroids and spaceship with aliens at the helms.

and thus we continued on our way
living our lives and reaching through the day
to praise creation in our very different ways

Thank you my lord for all the natural joyous work that you have done
and thankyou too, for bringing me my son.

Has poetry been bled from my heart
or scalded from my skin like a wart?

In moments when in looking up from work
I found nothing was waiting to be revealed
as if my need for lyrical expression has somehow healed
and my soul's crop has given all its has to yeild.

I am waiting in the quiet of my kitchen
my finges clicking at the keyboards, quicken.
I feel a peaceful emptiness and searching
inside my head and heart I can listen, reach in.
we have some things to do and I have had enough of hyping