Tag Archives: goodbyes

Clockwork

7 Feb

 

 

Life is a miracle full of smaller miracles. Every dandelion is a miracle. Every minute is a miracle being born. Every tiny organism is a miracle. You are a miracle, your body is.

Your body isn’t just inches and pounds, fat and muscle. It is so much more: It is baby heartbeats, it is air filling your lungs, thoughts playing in your brain. You’re so many things, you’re so much. And you can be so much more, life can.

Because life never stops flowing. It is like a river:

Even when the temperature drops, river braves on. Even if the river finally freezes, it is just a passing illusion. Ice can never kill off river’s core, its heart. Under the ice that river still keeps on flowing. Even if it is invisible, it is alive.

Your life is that river. River of miracles and opportunities, encounters and goodbyes, surprising acts of kindness, soul-sweeping smiles.

Life loves you.

Every morning it wakes you up, takes your hand and proposes to you. But sometimes it can be like a forgetful child, wondering so far that you shake and panic.  But those moments are just life’s little insecurities, magic tricks,  temporary vanishing acts. So don’t worry.

Because life is never as far as it seems to be. In fact,  you cannot lose it. It is inside you.

At times your skin might be ice, but your heart can never freeze.

 

Clockwork

 

Somewhere

On a riverbend

She sits and builds bridges

With her gaze

Between night and day

Between sun and rain

Water circulates

Swirling reflections

Absentminded cartwheels

On her face

But she smiles

Waits, inside anticipates

That chime of spring

A beginning bearing

A sense of an ending

Life’s ring in her reach

So she smiles

From somewhere

Gains an answer as he sighs

Crouching on Autumn’s porch

Picking pastel shells

On the seaside

Picking summer’s last smiles

Sunset’s candy floss streaks

Like drawings of a child

Water circulates

Swirling reflections

Dancing light wrinkles

On his face

Till the moment c0mes

The sea is calmed

Its storms tucked away

Under soothing ice

And they wonder

What glacier, what force

Clockwork of nature

Will finally bend their souls

Their young, wonderous vows

To rest beside

The sleepy willow branches

Drooping lower

Past their eyes

Once so lively leaves

Falling into memories

Growing death

3 Feb
Image source: dailymail.co.uk

Image source:
dailymail.co.uk

Growing death

 

Your dainty body
Immured in goodbyes
A dry, silent pleading
Lolling out of your mouth
Your swollen tongue
And taste buds
Like overripe berries
Bursting
In their longing
To be covered with a blanket
Of fresh air, once more

In answer
I brought your hands
To my lips
Kissed them into a handloom
Allowed my warm breath
To become a spinner
Diving for your wish
To find it nestling
In the gullies of time
Lining your palm
I gave them all my air
Till they were fresh valleys
And your green eyes suddenly
Wet grass glistening

Then I took a deep drink
Inhaled your soul
Drew out of you
A raindrop thread of life
Pieced it gently together
With my teeth, felt it
A Nightjar flapping
Pushing dawn along
With its wings
Your wings
Curled to rest on my tongue
I ran, ran, ran
Out to the open

There I freed you
Blew you out, head rushed
So you could feel again
The sprinkle of spring
In the air
That was when
I heard a deep gasp
The whole landscape
Sucking its breath
To welcome you
That was when
I understood the halo
Life’s perfect mosaic:

Your smile
Bowing like a rainbow
On the sky
Tying together the miracles
Of earth and air
Your mouth open
To greet the delicate taste
Swirling in the wind
The taste of overwhelming
Overflowing, growing life
You, laid to rest
With the whole world
Imprinted on your eyelids

Lingering – Romantic Monday

21 Jan

Into The Horizon Logo

 

Right at this moment, someone is being kissed. Someone smiles. Someone falls in love.

Someone utters their goodbyes and walks away,  tucks an escaped string of hair behind their ear, for safe-keeping. Till the day comes they find love again, find that they have picked that abandoned string of hair up and are twirling it around their finger, daydreaming.

Right now, someone is dreaming. And someone’s dreams come true. Someone says I do. Or somewhere, a baby cries out for the first time.

For love never ends. Not even when it’s silent. It only pauses to catch its breath, to start again.

 

Wishing you a hopefilled Romantic Monday!

 

Lingering

 

Your echo alive on my pillow

In hair and teardrops

Those little ripples of closeness

You left behind

Rising to waves in my sleep

Mirages of waterfalls

You pooled out of your eyes

A cry of goodbye so strong

I can still feel your tears

Watering my dreams

Droplets of your life

Flowing in me

On my skin, at night

Reflecting the shine of shooting stars

A glitter blanket of love

Whispers Of Peace

30 Dec
Image Source: Peacefelt.org

Image Source: Peacefelt.org

I would like to dedicate this to everyone who has ever lost someone, in life or in death. You’re important, so just don’t lose yourself, okay?

Also, I would like to dedicate this to my dear brother who inspired me to write this.

Wishing you all love and peace today, once again!

 

Whispers Of Peace

 

Love, please don’t cry

For it’s not hate that penetrates my muscles

It is not pain, only oxygen

Rushing through me, lifting me

Circling me like warm water in the womb

 

And in this soft lake of feathery air

I find peace, here my skin breathes

Till it grows wings that know no laws

No gravity or shreds of tears

 

Patterned with bullet holes

Love, please don’t cry

Please just try to reach for the wind

To hold its flickering freedom gently

Love it into tranquility, the same wind

That carried me away into the invisible haze

 

For there you will find me again

My laugh the light night breeze dancing

Beside your ear, melting your pounding fists

Catching your Rosemary tears

There you will find me, naked, cloaked in air

In smiling whispers of peace

Growing things in Farmer’s Kitchen- art and fiction

20 Dec
Farmer's Kitchen By Ivan AllbrightSource: http://www.flickriver.com/photos/maulleigh/4161478770/

Farmer’s Kitchen By Ivan Allbright
Source: http://www.flickriver.com/photos/maulleigh/4161478770/

 

Farmer’s Kitchen by Ivan Allbright. Sometimes also called: Beautiful.

Look at it, isn’t this piece just fascinating?

I could keep staring at the patterns, the colours, the details for forever. If I wasn’t too busy drowning into the expression on the man’s face, of course. Is he sad, tired, lonely, wistful? What is he? What’s the story behind this piece? What’s the story he carries in his heart?

I suppose these questions really show why art is so engaging. It makes you wonder, makes you imagine, makes you consider things that would have not even crossed your mind otherwise. Best art haunts you, it sticks to your mind like a post-it note and reminds you of all the realisations and feelings you experienced when you witnessed a good piece.

This piece definately did that to me. I could not stop wondering about the man. That’s why I wrote his story:

 

Growing things

I never was handsome.

– You wouldn’t make a model, you said when you saw me for the first time, but being a farmer must be a calling to you. Ha, even your nose is like a potato, a hairy and bulky tuber!

I let you say things like that because you  always laughed at them, and your laugh was like a choir of cheerful jingle bells.  How I miss your laugh!  It was the happiest part of you. I wish I could hear it once more, bursting out and bringing these dusty rooms back to life.

I wonder what you would say about me now. Often I imagine you appearing from the rain, standing on my doorstep with smudged make-up and chapped lips, tears running down your face. You would smile and pretend they’re raindrops. You would have a toothbrush in your hand and a backpack.  In my dreams you always look like this, oddly beautiful. In my dreams I look at you with bright lover’s eyes.

I miss you but maybe these kind of dreams should be kept shut away, in my little treasure chest of fantasies.  Because with you, these kind of dreamy scenes of love would only be an illusion. Reality would hit them hard, so hard they would be broken to pieces by your high-pitched shrieks:

“Why on earth are you wearing my old dress? And my apron too?”

“And look at you, you’ve got potato peels stuck all over it!”

“And your hands are all scratchy!”

I’m wearing your dress because once it smelled like you. Just after you had run away. I could smell the cigarette smoke, your sweet-tinted sweat and Chanel’s No. 5. And so I slipped it on, to have you near me. Now it’s lost the smell of you, the softness of your skin. I’m losing you too, the round shape of your face, the wild gestures of your hands.,, I hope this dress can bring them all back. And the potato peels… I’ve been cooking a meal for us. For the past five years. I’ve set the table too. Come in, please! Would you?

Would you? That’s what I wonder every day. Would you love my face now,  would you love it still now that it’s full of deep raisin lines? Would you love my awkward hands that resemble the dry, cracked ground I try to tame? Would you take my hand, hold it gently and not flinch at the touch of my rough, scaly skin? Would you dive into the quarry of my heart, dig out all the sharp stones of misery and grind them into soft sand? Would you?

I will never find answers. I don’t expect to. But I cannot be moved, I cannot forget, I cannot leave like you did.  I’m a work horse on this farm, I stay here faithfully even after everything’s dead. I go about my routines, try to make things grow, I set the table for two, wait for you in vain and then allow the cat to take your seat. The cat meows and looks at me in amusement, spoils the soup with its hairy paws. Oh well, you always disliked soup anyway. Maybe you started to dislike me too, or was it just the solidity of these walls you feared? When the house squeaked and creaked at night, did you fear that our security was falling apart? If I lean into a same wall for too long, it crumbles under my weight, that’s what you always used to say. I have to keep on moving, you mumbled many times. Did you plan your departure already, even then?

I suppose you were right. You leaned into me after all, you got close, so close I could feel the even warmth of your breath and the fast rabbit’s pulse on your wrist. Then you left and I crumbled. I turned into rocks scattered around this house.  I started to carry the colours of beetroot, carrot and potato on my face, blending into the lonely landscape of abandoned vegetable crops. I look like this house more and more every day. I’m empty like this house and my joints creak like the doors that are not opened often enough to let someone in. I’m old, draughty and unhinged like my kitchen. Our kitchen. I’ve become a bit skewed, this house was built sweked and so was our love. Shouldn’t we have known better from the start?

And maybe one day I will fall apart, turn into ash and fire and burn with this house. Or maybe I will become a solid part of these worn floors, one of the blind planks. Then I would find oblivion. But before I do, I want to forgive you. I used to think that the only passion I ever got from you was a passion fruit. You grabbed it once during a fight and threw it at me with blazing eyes. It hit me hard on my lips like a violent kiss. I didn’t mind the bruise, but I hated you for ruining a perfectly good fruit. I loved all things growing, and you laughed at me for this. You used to stand and look in wonder as I tended my garden.

“GROW UP! GROW UP!!”  I shouted at you, during our fights.

Grow up, just grow into something, into anything. Grow so I can love you too. Why did I left that tint of affection unsaid?

Now that it’s too late I understand  that you gave me so much more than one poorly aimed fruit and bruises on my heart. You gave me totally insensible love, the most honest kind of love, the one that doesn’t follow any planned paths. Stubborn kind of love that just comes like a wave and swipes over you, one that doesn’t come early or late or when it’s asked. It just comes and takes you.

And I loved you, you have no idea how much. Despite your poor temper, your chain smoking and the fact you sometimes treated me like a foreign object, I loved you.  Because I remember those other times… the time you snorted juice through your nose because I made you laugh so hard. The time you insisted on making pancakes for me in order to make up for some silly comment, and somehow you managed to set the frying pan on fire. Your cheeks were burning red as you panted and panicked, trying to figure out how to save the pancakes and not cause an inferno. I remember you sliding around the kitchen like a lost ice cube. I came to you, and you melted under my touch. And all was calm again.

And always, as I looked at you, I felt a weir lump swelling inside me, like a sponge that sucked all air out of me. It was just a feeling that never quite translated into words or proposals, but it was a strong feeling. It made me gulp and shiver. It was love, I recognise now. Our  bittersweet love that didn’t make any sense, totally incomprehensible, maybe doomed from the start, but just too beautiful and pitiful to be shooed away. You gave me that love and you forgot to pack it away and take it with you when you left, and for that I’m thankful.  It still lingers here, keeping me company. As I stand in the middle of my fields and look at the light creeping up, stretching its hands above the horizon to push the darkness away, I feel it. Our love, the memory of it mixing with the fresh light of dawn. And look, what’s that? A little growing seedling, how odd. I had forgotten what they look like. But now I remember. They look beautiful. They look like you but funnily, they look like the future too. They look like hope.

Your turn. What does the piece bring to your mind?

Eye of The Storm -Romantic Monday

10 Dec

 

Eye Of The Storm

 

My laugh and my words, with you

They were like young and wild saplings

Rooting themselves into the hardest of fields

Unreserved, finding their home in darkness too

In the black full moon of your pupils

 

That moon beckoned the tides inside me

To rise high,  it shook the hanging bridge

Of quavering feelings between us

Made me gasp as if it was a buried miracle

A legend, a myth, the Hanging Gardens

Of Babylon, rejuvenated.

 

Then came your words, showering

Sharp stones of erosion, edged their way

Between my dreams of the whitest houses

With curtains of soft yellow, open in invitation

Your cracks, your stones and gulleys

Collided and started an avalanche in my heart

 

As I saw your ankles turned sideways

Desperate to tread these streets bare of me

Aching to disappear into the misty silence

Looming over us like limb tree branches

Sucked out of wind, forever on stand-by

Ready to swallow up our goodbyes

 

And yet, when I looked at you

A feeling wavered over your face

A fragment of softness, warm hesitation

Born in that moment, our skinny love

Like a ripple that carries us

Safely back to that one clear day

 

When you allowed me to learn your tornadoes

And typhoons by heart, to calm them all

By touching the soft peachfuzz of your skin

How I wish we could have stayed there

In that blissful drowse,  sleeping together

In the silenced eye of your storm

 

To find all of the amazing romances visit the blog of the God of Romantic Monday here.

Killing Skeletons

8 Nov

This piece I wrote together with Hastywords (check out her beautiful work!), my first poetry duet ever yay!  Thanks for the amazing writing company, Hasty. There is nothing to refresh your creativity and perspective like brainstorming ideas and getting together with someone. So my advice for you today is: Don’t be alone in life. Everyone here has something precious to give.

 

Killing skeletons

I walk the halls of endless nights

Looking for the perfect escape

Conversations shouting at me

Scattered behind each door

 

And the words, pawing sniffing

Scampering words of past come

Knocking down my soul, they ask

Why would we let you pass?

 

A cacophony of accusations

Scratching clawing behind the walls

Skeletons tired of picking bones

Clamoring to see the light of day

 

Hungry they wait till I break

Their ribcages and transform them

Into boats of fond remembrance

Watch them float into future

 

The hallways vacant and silent now

All the ghostly prisoners set free

I open all the windows

Allowing new visions to take shape

 

Till my soul is filled with nakedness

And the happiness hot on my eyelids

Forges me a new sight

Till all is bathed bare and fresh