Author: heather

Those beautiful women

singing

 

each with her frailty

lighting her face

 

yearning and delight

in nimble fingers

strumming and plucking

 

a sweet kindness

of pine trees

more real than hothouse rose;

 

weaving an invitation,

 

gently commanding our yes.

 

 

Help me to be horny

for joy

spreading through this wave

of muscles and sensations

 

not just my own

but all of us

 

feeding our appetites

for kindness

 

cleaning the air

with our choices

 

stopping the bombfall

because there are better games,

more heartfelt

ways to laugh

 

sharing food

because people we love

are hungry.

 

 

Let me learn

how to love

 

fall consumed

by shine

on a leaf

 

hear the snap crackle pop

in your voice

even as I savour

my oatmeal

 

be licked

by stray dogs,

bring them home

without leashes

 

a pied piper

with a crippled heart

and dancing refugees

 

honouring sweet goodness

in all its forms.

Mid-life can be like

waking groggy

from an afternoon nap

with some regret

for the angle of the sun,

how the golden evening

is here

and there is still time

to play

but the day

is receding quickly.

 

Some go reeling

when they hear

the herald call

of dark,

frantic to stave off

inevitable shadows.

 

Some feel the late sunshine

pierce their hearts

and remake their agendas.

 

Me, I am so grateful

for my regrets,

how they teach me

depth of caring,

how the evening sun

puts haloes

on all that is here.

The wag end of a dog,

flick of a tail

pointing to instinct

and pleasure

expressed by the planet

through years of evolution

in one brief wave

 

so much of what I do

the same involuntary movement

 

except the planet can see it

when I do

 

having evolved these inner eyes

I choose to open

 

volition more ancient than me

wagging my tail.

Pick me up

by the scruff,

shake me

on this journey

 

letting me feel

the loose camouflage

of this skin,

the jumbled bones

within

 

the helpless hanging,

alert and shining eyes

 

willing to be carried

to safety,

set down

in new alignment.

 

So much of what felt true

has tumbled,

I would be adrift

but for this warm bite

near my wobbling spine,

surrender to a voyage

with paws resting briefly in air.

All those telescopes in tune,

filling a field,

expectant listening,

receiving and distilling,

attentive and moving by fractions,

planted and supple

 

and not just yin,

but also thrust,

the vivid squint skywards

beyond what is known,

the questing thirst

to find new edges

from which to stretch

 

the field collective,

harnessing the brightest on offer,

pooling vigilance and spark,

patience and push,

mirrors sharing perspectives,

eternal changing views.