Lesley Cox

At noon in the parking lot, a surprised, threadbare teddy bear pirouetted on one foot.  He had just had news that this Sunday coming, was to be the Teddy Bears’ picnic in which every bear that ever there was, would gather at the park for certain, because they would have the time of their lives.

In the past the spread had been fantastic, with honey cakes, jars of honey, mead made from honey and every other delightful tasting substance imaginable.

He was ecstatic as life had been so mundane and depressing this year that he’d really felt like ending it, but had not really known how that act was to be achieved.

But now he could put all those morbid thoughts behind him as he had something wonderful to look forward to – a party, a picnic, a parade!

Lesley Cox

Withstanding heat, cold, rain, wild winds
strong, steadfast, this immortal range of mountains

Ephemeral, swirled in the mists of time and memory
quietly majestic, forever regal, these mountains

Mystical, awe inspiring, remotely distant,
purple against sunset skies, jagged mountains

A stark reality in an illusory dimension
snow covered granite, quartz, ice compacted mountains.

There are lessons to be learned from mountains
ever present, taken for granted, eternal mountains

Lesley Cox

My writer’s block monster

Slime dripping from jagged teeth
staring eyes glow red, watchful

Skeletal jaws jut from bony cranium
working in a slow, snapping motion

Scrawny neck stretches out of bony body
skinny, emaciated, with pot round belly

From hunched back sprout leathery bat wings
thinly covered by grey, taut skin

Knobbled joints and big webbed feet,
toes spiked with lethal talons

Dangerous in flight,
this creature is revolting.

Lesley Cox

I look at it upside down
with my inquisitive mind, sharpened by watching,
happy to be free of flying for a while.

Feeling with my feet to know
tapping deeper into the past,
eternal wisdom would influence the path

A lexicon floating around in the ethers,
writing is an impetus, like falling forward,
skipping, hopping, stumbling, rushing.

Always new,
Thoughtfully, without enticement.

Lesley Cox

ING-VERB

The rushing, GUSHING words that have been scrawled in this book this year have varied from mental, emotional, physical and spiritual, but all have been honest and straight forward.  So many of my writing buddies, and me too, have said how Anne’s workshops are better than going to a shrink!  Without knowing where we are going, she leads us, guides us and then lets us rush headlong into a psychologically cathatic experience which, had we realised the direction, would have had us digging our heels in, donkeyfashion, not wanting to go down that route!  Yet at the end of a class, if asked, we all become GUSHING in our praise of Anne, her methods, our growth, clarity and progress – all from facing fears, going through the pain, and flying out of the other side with heart and soul intact, relieved, refreshed and surprised at what has been achieved in the space of a mere morning!

Lesley Cox

Guardian Angels speak?

I was tired; there was a buzzing in my head.  I have been driving for four days now – away from the lunatic asylum of Zimbabwe, to the asylum of South Africa.  I had had loo and petrol breaks and overnight stops to rest the animal and myself, and it was now time to find a rest stop for the night, where I could stretch my aching limbs, back and neck, tense from hours at the steering wheel.  Somewhere where I could walk little Heidi, let her run free from the confined space of her basket on the front seat, where she lay curled in sleep, hour after hour, kilometre after kilometre.  A place where I could release Pippin the cat from her basket, give her space to stretch her lithe body.

We had passed several dorps in the Three Sisters area, not very hospitable and definitely not inviting.  The light was fading –  I have terrible night vision and I felt panic rising as the sky darkened. To the left I saw a brown accommodation sign flash by  –  “Rondawels” spelt out with the Afrikaans “W”, not the English “V”.  I drove cautiously on along the motorway, not seeing any buildings or turning signs.

I had just switched the headlights on when I heard a distinctly male voice say “Turn right, here”.  Bewildered, I slowed down and then I saw an untarred farm road to the right of the road. Obediently, I swung my car and trailer across the highway, praying that no oncoming traffic would appear around the blind bend.

The headlights of the car picked out a rough, pot-holed farm road. I drove along gingerly, peering into the darkness, not certain where it was leading me.  The road meandered and turned for quite a distance, before a well-lit farmhouse with several Border Collies romping nearby came into view.   Before I had come to a stop, a young farmer, in his early thirties, came out and pointed to a rondavel to the right of the house. He walked beside the car until I came to a stop in front of a delightful little round cottage, with roses climbing over the door.    He greeted me in jovial English, saying “Welcome to South Africa, I see from your registration plates that you are from Zimbabwe!”  I could have wept with relief.

Lesley Cox

The night wind woman

The night wind woman, same as wise woman, crone,
tried and tested female form, been there, done that,
felt the emotions, over again, and then some,
when betrayed by a friend.

The night wind woman comes to the fore again,
when hurt by a man, feeling the emotions,
and then, transmutes them, adds to the library
of life’s hard knocks.

The night wind woman matures, as if on a
spiral, climbing from lower to higher space,
When facing life’s curved balls, recovers quicker,
a balanced calm pace.

The night wind woman climbs life’s labyrinth,
onwards and upwards, higher and higher still,
guided by a secure knowledge, from higher
source, or deep within.

Lesley Cox

The music sounded like gossamer, floating through the ethers, to reach far and wide, creating smiles, whistles and songs in the hearts of its listeners, bringing memories of times far away or  only yesterday when one was young and frivolous, not weighted down with wearisome worries, creating the urge to fly, run, jump and leap with joy, happiness and the sheer pleasure of living, much like a puppy chasing butterflies or kittens messing up a skein of wool, with the pleasure of mischief and breaking rules, the law and all those other no noes that life tries to tie one down with, the straight-jacketed strictures that force one to break free, to scream and shout and punch a hole through the walls of cardboard and glass that restrict, and confine, running away from life’s heaviness and running towards one’s freedom, light, laughter and fun.

Lesley Cox

Polarities

Confused thoughts of where I am. Mental lists.

Bland – tempestuous

Depths – heights

Glaciers – volcanoes …

My mood swings in time to my chosen opposites.

Unhappy at work, unhappy with my accommodation, my health is not good.

I come to conclusions. Get healthy and energy will follow. Energy to find a new job. A new job with better pay and conditions. Get healthy and energy will follow. Energy to find the right accommodation for me and my pets.

I become. I listen to my soul. I listen to my heart. My soul wants things to improve. My heart wants to lift from the gloomy and depressed circles of words. I want to move from down and dark, to up and light.

I become. I strive for the up-beat, the better life, the brightness in all things. I come to a conclusion. However deep I may go, I am an optimist. Depression lurks. Constantly it is pushed aside, by the Pollyanna within, who knows …

“The sun’ll come out tomorrow!”

Lesley Cox

Meditation – the Cure for Depression

Drugs for depression
cause drastic side effects.
Packed in polystyrene plastics,
chemicals, alien, foreign substance
denote a 20th Century existence.
A candy-floss reality –
this illusory, superficial world.

The high-pitched static of tinitus,
dominating a white-sound world.
Until distraction demands centre stage,
annihilating the background electronics,
with blather, jabber, prattle and gab.
A candy-floss reality –
this illusory, superficial world.

Reject this self-aggrandising cacophony
this incessant, shallow chatter.
Go deep within, seek quiet and solitude,
the real depth and sincere meaning
of an unspoken universe.
Far beyond the candy-floss reality –
of this illusory, superficial world.

Be silent for spun-out periods,
find peace, deep down, inside, within.
Reach a pool of wiseness, unspoken.
Wisdom gathered through eons past,
holds all the answers,
for every question, ever asked.
Away from the candy-floss reality –
of this illusory, superficial world.

Lesley Cox

Expose all the hurts that are covered
What will I do if I dislike what I find
It has the strength and gentleness
Forever forgiving

Miriam Bideman


Unconditional love and total forgiveness, how so?
On our arduous Earth school journey
we are mere atoms, vibrating at different velocities
no matter what colour skin,
whatever profession or creed,
our various levels of evolutionary progress smothered.
This idea of unconditional love and forever forgiveness
is it humanly possible, in our materialistic metier?
However pedigreed, fathered or mothered,
to expose all the hurts that are covered.

The strength and gentleness
of the power of a woman, is questioned
on breaking the surface of my skin.
I avoid self-examination like the plague
not wanting, no way, to go there,
denial being the set of my mind.
Bravely making the decision to face my inner mapping,
digging beneath the varnish of personal façade
Finding the truth of sight in hind,
What will I do if I dislike what I find?

Avoiding therapy of any kind,
too stressful to even contemplate,
coming face to face with the authentic me.
Adopting beliefs and traditions, influenced by perceptions,
building up this crust of persona.
Surrounded by a bubble of pretense, creating happiness
I am safe, protected and away from harm.
Seeking the truth, of love, unconditional
to create a sense of peace and contentedness.
It has the strength and gentleness.

Discarding layers of the surface wrapping,
hand-me-downs from authority and ancestry,
burying the real me in a plethora of deceptions
beneath padding created by anxieties and emotions,
in the effort of keeping up appearances and perceptions
in cast-offs from society’s rigid conditioning.
Gradually exposing my authentic self
which is, I think, totally honest, kind and benign,
delighted with and enthusiastic for living.
Forever forgiving.