Death's garden

The idea came to commemorate my dearest ancestors

by planting them a garden.

Lavander sprigs for stillborn Estella.

Delicate violets from Nonna’s garden.

An all-enveloping ivy that covers and embraces

everything for Nonno.

Daddy would be an aubergine flower as that's

what he left for us in his garden.

Mum will be an exotic caper flower after she is gone.

I will plant them on my skin,

they will slowly grow up my arm

and cover my body in death's garden.

Added to with every loss

I choose a new plant to sow

for my family and friends

and add to the artwork

with each ghost.

Death's love affair

Death loves us deeply

like a child gathering flowers

and leaving them to dry in the sun

He cannot resist the beauty

of our immortal souls

which shimmer and glow

before his eyes

He loves the warmth which comes

from our hearts, the energy

which emanates from our lives

he is infatuated.

What love death has for us

he cannot stop himself

from touching and caressing

with every touch

he takes a piece of us

slowly stealing our lives

His gentle embrace is a lover

trying to possess his love

he makes fear disappear

overcome by a passion

deeper than ourselves

we are helpless

despite life’s distractions

we surrender to

the love affair

of death.

This poem is from the poetry collection zine Trinacria Poems currently available on Amazon

Read more about what I’ve been creating and how to support me here on The Art of Asking page.

A beautiful way with words

Oozing creativity from every pore

her mind ticks over incessantly

as she welcomes solutions to her problems

and offers a comfortable place for

new ideas to rest themselves

many of her endless thoughts

are consumed by the monster called doubt

one by one she fishes out the shredded fragments

patch them up and try to move on

those who survive her own doubt will survive anything.

Autumn of my life

The tired gardens of Autumn are beginning to slumber, dry out and wither.

The smell of rotting fruit is somewhat enticing like burnt cake, pungent and warm

everything is left to rot, too late to ripen and even to be picked or eaten.

Rotten stink bugs rub themselves with us, our clothes buzzing in their attempts

to flee and fly away.

I grab one inside my fist and throw it making it fly even if it doesn’t want to,

 it leaves behind its perfume on my palm

a strange incense smell that many think is disgusting

The odour reminds me of these short gloomy days with intermittent bursts of sunshine

and the inevitable promise of the encroaching winter

that bring moments of deathly silence.

Strangely these are my favourite days

to reflect and create upon.

The Olive Tree

Bury me, there under the olive tree

where my ancestors sighed as they worked

where they whipped up dustbowls and thorns

where the songs and prayers were once sung

with tired voices and broken bodies

on whose branches some hung to harvest

and others to choke the very life out of themselves.

I want to rest under the ancient olives filled with endless spirits

and where the ghosts wait to possess innocent souls 

each tree growing around in knotted branches, tying themselves

into the ground, holding onto the magical fruit

which revives the weary and contains the flavour of life.

There where the work is done like a religious rite,

with honest hands stained in dark oil spots

together with families who warmed themselves

with the hot coal filled conca 

moved from tree to tree

during the once dark winter.

Where everything felt inevitable, everyone knew

their place, where the work was true and when done

you could rest.

Inspiration

You can reinvent yourself

endless times in life

so don’t be so precious

about failing,

just get up and reset.

_________________________________________

Don’t accept what others think

as the truth of who you are

you are your own creation.

_________________________________________

Today I ate, drank and lived

without sharing online

and I felt truly alive.

___________________________________________

Fragments of Bliss

All we have are tiny moments of bliss

amongst the rush of time

pulling us forward

despite our own desire to be still.

_________________________________________

She liked to hide not because she was shy

or thought herself unworthy

but for the pleasure of her own company.

_________________________________________

When you feel so connected to a place

as if you have known it for many lifetimes

like embracing an intimate member of your family

missing someone you never knew was missing

finding a lost piece of yourself

that is bliss.

---

Delicate Impossibilities

I've never been able to let go of my delicate impossibilities

the airheaded dreamer holds onto what if  moments

what would have happened along another path

with different people by my side

or even by myself.

I delight myself in remembering the gentle caresses

standing too close or too long with someone

regretting not leaning over and kissing

or not following someone to the train station

losing touch, moving on while holding on to a first love

never forgetting shared intimacies and always desiring more.

There is one fleeting moment which constantly

haunts me, a man I loved when he was but a boy

I worry perhaps he was my soul mate

he was a reflection of myself, and I have always loved him

I still have his perfume, I smell the odour of our youth

my innocence.

I wish him all my love

and still, I dream of him.

Did he see himself in me and flee

Perhaps he believed I forgot him

I'm a good actress

I can never forget that piece of me

I found myself with him

and I want to let him know

I will always remember you,

soul mate and love

even if you make yourself invisible

the delicate impossibilities will remain.

Lean over

We came so close

 all you needed to do

was lean on over 

and touch me,

I would have melted into your arms.

Remember the time we heard the celestial music

up in your loft with our two seats side by side

admiring the steeples in the office,

such a pretty place to work,

close the door, and we'd be locked in the tower

Rapunzel and prince charming

I pushed back my hair, but you hesitated.

Or as we were walking away from our friends,

belly's full and heads filled with wine,

how we sang to the heavens with our laughter

Why didn't you pull me closer under the umbrella?

I could nuzzle under your chin,

 just lean over and kiss me

don't think, move with your instincts

and you won't be disappointed.

 Beautiful girls are also lonely girls,

beauty is only superficial

under the mask, we are all the same,

at most you could get a slap in the face,

a push away, 

but trust me

if she's with you now

instead of somewhere else

it's you she wants

so why don't you just lean over …

The Bearded Lady

The bearded lady shaves off her beard

what a strange sensation

her skin tingles

the upper lip so smooth

she is almost cold

as erotic as a Brazilian wax

feeling naked she strangely misses

her fuzzy covering.

As strangers look at her

she realises no one knows

about her beard

only the subtle lines

of her pale face, dimpled chin

and a strong jawline.

Beneath her mask she is beautiful

but she never acknowledges it

or feels her power

she is always hiding, meekly behind

her overwhelming insecurities

she had left it too late

to be free from her plumage

past her prime, she rubs her

smooth cheeks and wonders who

she might have seduced

in her youth

if she had the courage

to shave before

then she suddenly desires her beard.