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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required "The Pages" Missing all those years like a page you could turn, a book you could throw casually aside, to be eternally forgotten in electric shady libraries; at some point you turned around, and remembered, what you long forgot; so here you are now, daughter, walking through the overgrown fields of my mind, the higher-self shelved on a temporary manic ledge, and all around, above and below, each path a story hidden between blue shotgun lantana, lavendar thistles and thorns of rows of words like forget-me-nots, wild primroses and purple robed ultra-violets, planted with love all the many wild flowers, their beautiful essence in notes scent, their spicules that draw blood from water like succulents, their stoic strange missives, bent treasures discovered buried in corner Winter gardens, where memories thrive and grow next to babbling brooks and broken towers and the tortured haunting of poetic bardo ghosts, in that place, time like sandstone crumbles into the magic waters like an exotic elixir, there, "It" trickles, running prettily over smooth wishing stone pebbles already collected and thrown for the granting, coursing paper boats opening oragami kisses for daisy crowns querying their loves-me-loves-me-nots, with their messages inky blue bleeding watery running writing hand written clinging to the small beaks of whispering whip-poor-wills tweeting "'tis time", so they make wishes on droll dandylions do-gooding down racing rivers, onwards like the many, the many they go, the torn leaves like pages from books they float, and tears like petals mixed, joy and sadness in the flotsam and jetsam twisting and bobbing like crusty croutons boiling in an alphabet soup, their smooth rotisserie motions swerve and turn into teeming mangroves where great blue-pied Cormorants spread their wings and fly like storks, yet, they have the ability to swim underneath it all, and rise, carrying not poisonous snakes and worms, but a precious gift to be prized; here is the wild life you were looking for - jewels deep encrusted in mud, the tide revealing Other lichened excalibur pulled sharp from that Gethsemane rock like a Cornerstone, calm and warm Its reach rolls in, It pulls you out further and further hypnotised to the open mouthed estuary holding pen speaking in waves the speaking of tongues what never made sense, is understood, and makes sense again the floodgates open the Ocean crashes in inside and out and outside in we swim out together again in the waves, like we did once a long time ago being pulled under and up washed pristine over and over the tsunami of a life tumbles drowns all that was trauma, all that was sorrow, collects and it gathers the 2 of us in, like mermaids without tales, like Selkies shedding skin, clean back into shore again in everything you think you see you taste you feel I am the invisible, but I am there with you still I never left, I’ve always been real and I am there beside you, this you now feel, I know "this you now feel" in the whispering breeze and the leaves as you walk down the street, I am your breath in the air on a cold winter’s day, I am the sound in the rain that lulls you to sleep, I am all the colours in the rainbow that you follow home in your dreams, where in all your Garden's seasons, there I am, there in you, I am found - again I live and grow in your sweet delight, your joy and your laughter, the Sunshine streaming from your eyes, like the heart of a white rose all the pure inside you this is LOVE unseen unfurling this Love, is the Love I have and I hold for You Love, Candide Diderot. ‘24 “Your mother is always with you. She's the whisper of the leaves as you walk down the street. She's the smell of certain foods you remember, flowers you pick, the fragrance of life itself. She's the cool hand on your brow when you're not feeling well, she's your breath in the air on a cold winter's day. She is the sound of the rain that lulls you to sleep, the colours of the rainbow, she is Christmas morning (present or not). Your mother lives inside your laughter. She's the place you came from, your first home, and she's the map you follow with every step you take. She's your first love, your first friend, even your first enemy, but nothing on earth can separate you. Not time, not space, not even death.” “Mother is the name for God in the hearts and lips of little children”. Cormorant. blood, water /"blood is thicker than water". Granted, some mothers and children don’t warrant this type of adulation. While, some do. ;)
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