meditations on living/dancing in the moonlight
I write poetry. I write songs
more than that, I write music
not to instrumentals
but the motherfucking Universe.
I tell her how much I love her, and she listens
she understands. and, you know what?
fuck this bullshit
she loves me too.
we call it reflection
wanting, the spaces
between and within
catch a breath
or a ride or just
moments, the onus
on us, always —
appreciate what you have
while you have it, slipping
like sand, fingertips
skinny-dipping at sunset
It’s a journey, that’s for sure.
all life is mystery
softly, slowly, caressing —
so when you feel the urge
to rush, to do, to fill
some imaginary — or not imaginary —
the best thing you can do is
and be gentle with yourself.
ask, what’s really going on here?
kindly, and with compassion
for the parts of yourself that have yet to come home.
we are skin and bone and flesh
so darling — bon voyage
float away into the abyss
try as we might,
there are some things that can’t be
explained or understood
so why try?
put down your armour —
the only person you were fighting
what if it didn’t have to hurt?
and unravel everything I ever thought I ‘knew’ about the world:
watch it/this/me unfold…
I’m not here for your entertainment. This is not a spectacle.
shifting sands and
new questions, answers, realisations
the call of something else, something more
[vital] — there’s a defiance to this
we’re going back to basics today
to poetry, to flow
to cobblestones and window panes
to sitting with pain
and just watching it
just breathing softly
this is it and this is everything and this is nothing
we live in a cutthroat world / or at…
“What are you doing with your life?”
The title of a multi-million selling book; also, an enquiry I use to hold myself accountable.
Day in, day out. ‘The grind’. The slog. Inertia. Are you languishing (too)?
At work and in the world more broadly, we know that our ways of…