(a glorious panoply of lines from many pens)

In the sudden
short silences when the fridge
switches off
yellow laughter sunshine days
sunbirds at my window now

My messy mind hears
clarinets and violins
in connected movements
words that sing, whisper and howl
crescendos of white sound swirl

My writing is like
an old friend suffering
from quiet neglect
I take time to listen, and
write its still and lonely song

Words of dark brocade
like braille under fingertips
leaves an impression
then slip between my fingers
wind themselves around my throat

Pulled back to the source
Silence. The sound of waiting
for a pin to drop
Watch the swine don’t cast away
the luminosity of pearls

Words delicately
tentatively tumble from
behind the shy rocks
Diving beneath the façade
of wholeness I, less lonely, write

Pomegranate quill
reveals forgotten sonnets
sleeping in my shoes.
Ripe figs and watermelon
seduce the barren silence.

Tangerines open.
Inside hard bitter pips, lie
secret nests of words.
Black cherry promises drip
novel thrillers, taut and ripe.

Amarula, where
fragrant paragraphs wander
in veils of darkness.
Eating my writing, I taste
deep roots beneath the willow.

A word river
basking in gentle sunlight
roaring in rainbows
Yellow clear voices linger
My taste buds prickle, explode

Salty mackerel
Licking soft thigh; marmite; sigh
Lemon squeeze, spit
Writing tingles with chilli
to burn down gullet and guts

Tastes like bile, bitter, gagging
frogspawn slime, bilious words
The sweetness of your kisses
Exciting writing waiting in the wings
anticipating the applause before its final curtain

It pants to get going
Growing rhythm and rhyme
Words on a page
Syllable seeds are sown
Small shoots sprout and stretch

My writing whispers
The tips of angels’ feathers
A sound of silence
Stories unfold on the wing
Wavering in the wild wind

Beyond my control
The flimsy ethereal
dark spirit calls me
Ripping apart resistance
growing rhythm and rhyme

Body writing I travel
through the inner spaces of myself;
rivers that make me.
Like a rainbow in sunshine;
exposing hidden feelings.

Taking the beat of others’ pulse;
green, the heart chakra.
Piecing their stories together,
flowing never stationary –
part of time and people.

Dredging through my soul
in search of an expression
to bind you to me –
a recognition of gifts;
celebrating the soul of women.

Misty blue and grey
memories in the shadows,
with pearlized glowing light and
echoes of another spring.

Enameled colours
flowerlike, dazzling bright,
vanish with the sunset.
Yellow gives itself to blue
ink, trickling dry on the page.

Frozen fingers stall,
and doubts crawl into my mind
yet I keep writing,
forward into the bright sky,
heaven melting into blue.

Words that cut through skin
surprise me, looking back
my absence of grace
strong mesh of writing net holds
me firmly, word shawl warms me

they have no echo
words sinking into the hide
like a slow drumbeat
tap in energy, connect
words echo, resonate within

boiling hot, polka-
dotted, ageing ballerina
more or less open.
strong mesh of writing net holds
me firmly, word shawl warms me

Small homecoming
Sunbirds at my window:
Where are you now?
Contained, while liberated
Flying down lanes of nonsense

Aim them at the sky
Paper rockets to the stars
Forget all purpose
Patterns on the sand appear
like skeleton of leaves

My feet buried
my head on big, old breasts
I spill my tears
Coming home to sunbirds song
Flying freely past my tears.

Earthly path through grass.
Soft sand, stumbling stones,
soft orgasmic mud.
From grey sludge spring white freesias,
sweet with a hint of pepper.

Unsound writing, a single tone.
Where’s the thrilling crescendo of gloomy bass?
Sound needs the entire scale.
Echoes resonate and fly off
with the passage of the clouds.

Red roots, orange burst.
Childhood scenes – the colours merge.
Tears, joy, key to self,
bulging into bright bold hues.
Where will my writing lead?

Battle of demons
Spear-wielding battalions rip
slashing my insides
Knots drooling desperation
Sour taste of reason trembles

Competitive and
Loud, screaming unconsciously,
not sparing in words
Bloody Hell, what do I say
to all these words, let me pray

They whimpered and wailed
getting no one’s attention
then withered away
Crushing segments of loose limbs
bloody demons fell from grace

Facing my demons
bittersweet flavour of coffee
I write myself down
from caffeine high, pleasure domes
that rip my world into pieces

Pen poised on paper
coagulated butter
trapped inside my spine
Women in love making bread
Flour, tears, anger and laughs

Windows to the street
exude the smell of baking
Feast swells into life
Bittersweet flavour of coffee
From caffeine high, pleasure domes

There are different hues of grey
and moods that move into true tones
Fiery red words escape me
A merging of all these shades
into a murmur less harsh

Your words bring me close
into the heart of women
Read myself in you
You make me more courageous
healing through all the chakras.

Fog clouds passion
Writing with sombre grey
Obscure and dense
A bright beam on dark water
Words like seabirds caught in flight

Kaleidoscope colours
Splinters of light
A Gaudi mosaic
Needles of star-shocked darkness
under the fringe of her eyes

Bruised purple
the colour of writing
paints the words
Iridescent violet rays
dance over my fragrant skin

Moist earth, long roots
In a secret garden
hides an oak tree
Red on my lips, Gaudi mosaic
Gold light under her eyes

Red on my Lips
Rainbow shades of my spine
Gold light paints my skin
as the sun moves deeply down
leaving the earth a dark secret

Tickling the senses
delicious and succulent
in the moonlight show of night
words soothe the pulsing wound

Bitter dark chocolate
cocoa straight from the jungle
The aftertaste too has
rainbow shades of my spine
writing into the light.

I write the universe,
shout out the pictures.
Ink fills me, not blood.
Sleep walking awake,
while not thinking straight.

Through many closed doors
filled with indecipherable
signs, words twist away.
Brook running under willow
a nest of purple stories.

Weaving the carpet
senses tapestry into
See the universe in words:
I bleed my lives in writing.

like-minded women
stimulating thought process
joyful flames flicker
pen in hand women see shadows
finding hidden treasure

rich brocade defines
bright peacock colours
expose fresh ideas
like-minded women
revelling in their freedom

group writing is a
walk to the top to share the
view across False Bay
special time to explore, to
find unexpected treasures:

bright colours inside,
pictures of nature outside –
a splash of rain
embroglios of gut red
with random shimmers of gold.

drawing energy
from the creative group
words drip from the pen
capturing images of life –
a spectacle of brilliant colours

Scrape scratch pause
Squiggle squiggle squiggle
Allegro fortissimo
Different shades of tones and pitch
Empty fingers reaching out

Different aspects
Honesty or diplomacy
play parts in our lives
My memories sweetened
Inviting me to dance

Seeing the light-
reflect the rainbow – finding
golden nuggets of beauty
Scrape scratch pause
Squiggle squiggle squiggle stop!

By monthliesblog Posted in Uncategorized

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