Monthly Archives: January 2012

I want to be kind – last small (HUGE) stone Jan 31

I want to be kind
But not a pushover

I want to be gentle and compassionate
But so often I am just grumpy and irritable

I want to be loving
But too often anger wins

I want to be content
But I am permeated by discontent

I want to be settled
But I seem to crave change

I want to be grateful
But really I want more

I want to be with others
But usually I’m more content alone

I want to be decisive
But it’s hard when faced with a thousand possibilities 

I want to be here
But so often I really want to be there

I want to be happy
But I wonder too much what that really means
to truly be able to claim it

I want to be thin
But I resist the discourses of patriarchal culture 
And pretend to eat what I like

I want to live in harmony and balance 
But how will I recognize them
Without first knowing disharmony and chaos?

I want to be rich
But not at any price

I want to help
But sometimes I just want to sleep

I want to be intelligent, witty and clever
But mostly I just muddle through

I want to be original or grand
Rather than mundane or inadequate
But I’m working on genuine and authentic

Sometimes, I want to be you, or him or her
But always I am just me,
imperfect, whole
and truly blessed.

Happy birthday beautiful boy – small stone Jan 30

‘Thump’ cuts through the longed for silence.  Your soft wee body crashes to the ground, like a pile of bricks.  Tired out from turning 5, you barely stir, as I collect you in my arms and kiss your warm cheeks.  With a stretch and a yawn, you are gently returned, once more, to those spirits of night. 

In need of water – small stone Jan 29

the red flame of fear
burns alongside
the pale blue of worry.
they have lit the whole
of my insides, scalding me 
into impotent incertitude.

Journeys home – small stone Jan 28

The car snakes round bend after bend
to travel the long journey home.

Grief sidles up to me, like a thief in the night
to steal my breath, and the present moment.

Through the rear-view mirror, time is displaced
as brother and sister become my brother and I.

Like Russian dolls, each generation
a reflection of the last.

I wonder, when is it written 
upon our hearts, or our souls
the time we will depart this world?

Clay bodies – small stone Jan 27

She runs her cool hands over the hard clay
that has been moulded into
and out of shape. She kneads
and rubs as if undoing
days and weeks
of going against my body’s will.

Mosquito – small stone Jan 25

The threat escalates
as the incessant whirring of its engine
moves closer and grows louder,
its noise, an irritation
on the blank canvas of silence.

Flow – small stone Jan 24

Deception lurks beneath the surface.
A log, thrown playfully into the water,
surrenders to the stronger pull
of what lies beneath.
It floats, flows,
seemingly unaware that it is moving
in the opposite direction to the current.