Month: January 2022

Headache

/ eharpingon / Leave a comment

Working week

has laid me

on the floor.

And my head

thumps.

Every crest

and trough

of week’s ocean

and odyssey

has me wincing

and my eyes

cannot bear

any more

harsh blank light.

Questions reverberate,

yapping and nipping

at my bones:

gnawing as I bend,

crawl,

drag to

bed.

Always

something

is exhausting.

Stomach makes moan

and in my own

ammonite embrace

I yearn for the

sweetness, the space

of silver birches

in quiet wintry confidence

clamouring for

splendid blue sky;

the cerebral

wonder of a

barn owl

in flight,

hauntingly innocent

curious, composed

carving morning’s

gloom with

prophetic white;

labyrinth that

but a week ago

cushioned my feet,

guiding my tears, twists

and turns

through knowing

spirals, as I shed

skins, losses, shames

and years.

So it was.

So it is.

And so,

I breathe,

and space

moves magnificently.

Vulture

/ eharpingon / Leave a comment

I feel the itch

and scratch of

coarse polyester

grating, sanding

at my skin;

dreams of trying

to take off

into the air

before landing

hard with weight

pressing and flaking;

torrents of

dirty dishwater

swirling, kicking

up the rotten mulch

unbearable;

I hop and

recoil through

my day

as though life

is a hot poker

smarting and cynical.

Then

moonlight beckons.

And I remember

that the veils

have lifted

and I am in

the time

before I bleed.

Wood’s gradient sings.

I cycle along

the ridge of a great dam,

clutching at the wall

and I am the water

the drop

bicycle

all.

Soft grey

Rain

opens her arms

as slumbers of

Forgiveness and Quietude

stroke my hair,

kiss my brow.

I burrow

I listen

I receive

even as ground falters

and I tremble

at the mystery,

gape at the awe,

I feel my

inky wings

stretch,

finally,

and into

moon’s night,

I soar

ready to pore

over the glistening entrails.

Silt

/ eharpingon / 1 Comment

Silt:

potential banks,

meanders and

beds

that flurried

and formed.

Then

drifted

did not bind

and bend

and the river sighed:

another course to wind.

The fertile earth

that was lost

became found

home

elsewhere

but gone are

the shells, and

sweet grasses

and clover

of a

ground conceived.

Footsteps not taken.

Sun and stars

that did not

bathe a time

with blessing and

light.

The silk of

silt,

sleeping,

dreaming

of smiles

hands

hearts

homes

lips

amongst the

wistful whistling

reeds.