A Brief Moment in History

In tent, half moon and stars shine light land trees, pond drying, grass damp, kissing hot lips in cool air, hearing distant sounds, like a Gladiators arena, savage men shout, cry, anger anguish.

A small animal dies, snatched by the mouth of a fox, a surprised yelp surfaces, cut short by silence, the end of life accepted by nature’s ceremonious hush.

We snuggle spoon, release energies up to the moon and fall asleep gently rocking on each other’s body waves, waking before the sun rises and the tent melts.

SaViNg ThE wOrLd WiTh A sMiLe

We’re saving the world with our smiles because we have love in our hearts and we want to share it, show it, and spread it. It’s the simplest, smallest, most effective gesture we can use, it brings lightness to being and it can flip the day around, bringing sun ray waves to dark mood shades and rain puddle splashes to desert dry sadness.

It’s easy for the mouth to curl upwards and the heart to beat a harmonious tune to skip along to, when the bounce in the step takes us over the moon and through the stars, rolling in Venus and spin twirl dancing with Mercury.  It’s a little tougher to remember, when circled by armour and weaponry, where flurries of attack are delivered with tongues or grey, concrete walls, spanning far and wide loom gloomily, where the only contrast in colour is from a sign repeating, ‘No touching, no breathing, no living allowed.’ Or stepping, slipping, suffocating in the quicksand blob of a broken heart. Still, these are the times when it matters most to remember, remember to love.

When we fill ourselves with love in the darkest desolation of our days and the brightest revelation of our nights, we live with a peace that remains throughout all the wild storms that may come and go. It’s not always in the gesture of a smile, ‘We can’t always can,’ says a Spanish Jane Russell, fast becoming a best friend. A great reminder, that we’re not machines on the crystalised conveyor belt of darkness or the sticky thick syrup belt of happiness. The light guides the way, but it can also blind the way. However, the truth and the magic live forever in the feeling of love.

Nine x Nine = Forty

Forty days and forty nights, the waves, the good days followed by the bleak daze. Freedom swirls of limitless unknowns pump heart from rib cage to skip and dance to the moon, where mind and body is light and free with no gravity.

To flash bang, free falling, meteorite exploding, no parachute, no warning, drip dreaming of invisibility with frantic motion to be seen. Crash shatter broken bones upon the ceiling from crawling up the walls, like splintered mirrors reflecting all the horrors of the nines blinking in eyes that deny the unequivocal truth.

Blink… blink… blink… Wake up slow, freedom breathes for a moment before an inhalation brings recognition as the sun slips behind a lumpy grey cloud bringing tears that choke a throat, but fail to fall and roll down cheeks. There is no truth in stutter uttered words. There is no release. The curtain goes up; as I hear the bells jingle from a hat.

For every thunder echo tick of a second booming through a stone walled labyrinth of mind brings with it a slow rolling compression, that leaves pine trees once shooting up to the stars, knotted and gnarly, crooked and stripped. It brings with it the tremor of an almighty earthquake, like the rumble footstep stride of an angry giant above the sky. A whisper from the tremor promises, beyond the petrified shakes of heads, to shatter all in its wake.

Flash! The lights come up, a woman dressed in stripy tights, corsets and feathers in her hair swings back and forth across the vast candle lit room, above tables filled with wine glasses, thick moustaches, rosy red cheeks, round men bobbing back and forth with laughter, buttons popping from waistcoat, women giggling daintily patting the corners of their mouths with brilliant white napkins laid upon their long, deep red skirts. Lion tamers stand in top hats next to lions roaring. The swirl flower carpet grows. The woman swings above like a pendulum, hynotising eyes into make believe. Until a giraffe gallops through, clicking fingers, blink breathe bringing another reality, where a silent fight with jealousy unfolds. Nobody knows. Two days later, jealousy weak and hungry stumbles off in search of a rise to feed off. Clarity appears, silently offering a chair to sit upon, where I remain, content for days.

There are no straight lines in nature. The heart beat rises and falls like the breath from bosoms that brings both pain and joy. Without one, the other doesn’t exist, standing in lines, red light stops, green light changes, one step forward, marching machines…

We move like water and we have hearts that feel. We are unlimited! If only we could really see it, truly believe it, then we’d sit on the moon, we’d swing from the stars, bathe in the magma of the core, our hearts scarred and open would melt the chains that stop connection and we’d all explode into one another. We’d leave lasting impressions from the scent of a lover to a notion behind the deep dimples of a smile, which would be remembered three lifetimes later, when a tiny, delicate flower in the middle of nowhere holds a man captivated for hours by the fragrance it possesses. At the same time, the flower would dance, affected by a melodious tune vibrating from the man’s soul. Yet, if a passerby happened to come by the scene, untouched by it all, he may walk by the flower and the man without a double take or he may believe the flower was moved by the wind, on the stillest, quietest day known to all of humankind.

 

Ten Classic Markers

The sun shimmers on the surface of the ocean. It twinkles like the stars above, moving on the bobbing high tide waters. Here, ten thousand jewels move. Here, ten thousand jewels sparkle brighter than any rock or box could dazzle blink surprise. The flash size weight of a ring expresses in its distortions the amount of love one has for another, measured in money. The ocean is not a possession, not a fancy tag to say your mine, he’s yours, and she’s hers forever. The ocean has no understanding of these words, for all it knows is breathe and that’s without letters in a sequence. If you’re mine, leave, be free because we aren’t supposed to be each other’s, we’re supposed to be ourselves. Side order of cheese, table twelve. The rocks drown so many, only a few float on the stars.