Conversation on the 57

The uplifting prospect of easy bonding,
Food for my outgoing nature.
Just a bit of fun in the evening
I thought when I joined the group.
A bit of company away from the rest of it all.

The trepidations of a new beginning.
The chance for something new,
To be found and to find my set of people,
A preference of character and disposition
And the hint of ripples under the surface.
The human condition as a collective –
Fuel for our creative output.

It was alright at first.
It was fun, indulge my dramatic side,
And some time to myself on the bus home.
But then a couple of bad evenings
And it just got out of hand.
I thought I’d cope.

Then that nudge of responsibility,
A helping hand, an easy thing to do,
A gesture of good will,
Bad day today, I see.
Then an open word, an unguarded look,
And all caution thrown to the wind,
That sense of foreboding ignored
Just to get more of that naked soul I glimpsed.
My broad shoulders can carry it,
Never notice the added weight.

I don’t remember, probably never even noticed.
You were just present and I thought
I’d let you worship at my altar.
Mostly, I was looking inside, at myself –
This deep-set disappointment in myself,
The golden child that failed,
Failed to deliver the golden fruit.
The lack of outlet though I’m brimful of love,
So much to give, I thought, it starts eating away at you,
Until I am all hollowed out and
Only occasionally it oozes out as self-loathing,
The love for life turned sour with nowhere to direct
My force other than against myself.

That time I saw it clearly,
A self-destructive streak,
Not obvious at first.
That time I played along,
Kept it at bay, and
Please, I hope you see
I need to take control.
Already started shielding you.
I can contain excess,
I can hold it all in place for you,
I can stem the flow of outrageous,
Overblown beauty of fragile self-esteem.

I have no answers. There are no answers.
But somewhere down the line it must make sense.

The lucid moments when it will all work out –
Keep your goal clearly staked as claim.

Then off again into the shadowland,
Of keeping things muted,
Too tired to take it all on.
So get through the routine
And make it to the weekend,
The get-away, the one-way flight.
A half-life of demon-dodging.
Demons mostly in female shape –
I don’t do friendship.
Too close, too much,
I moved away to get away,
Got hurt too deep and can’t invest again.
I need you – well, I need some friends
But I don’t know, I’m too involved
With my own messed-up life
To reach out and hold on.

I saw your acts for what they were
And tried to answer all your needs.
I’m holding on for you,
A balancing act to keep from falling too.
The wet stains on my cheek are
Footprints of your soul.

That’s my stop now…

I wonder should I get off, too.

©jsmorgane (Sept 2017)

 

How to Converse with Dragons

In the vale I chanced to walk
And – as fate would have it –
‘Do you speak Stone?’
The Hornbeam asked,
Sounding somewhat frazzled.
I stopped and stared,
And wondered to myself
How it could be that
Anybody would assume
That somebody speaks Tree.
This somebody, alas, was I
And clearly did I hear
The English Oak that stood nearby
Chuckling in my ear.

I frowned and spoke –
In Tree, it seems –
‘I’m really mighty sorry,
I don’t speak Stone but
I would ask what seems to be your worry.’
‘Haha’, the English Oak replied,
But the Hornbeam grumbled,
‘It is a tiny stone beneath
My root which has me stunted.’
So I bent down to dig a bit,
And found the troubled root,
There underneath a stone lay hid
Which gladly I removed.

‘Kind thanks to you’,
Said English Oak, while
Hornbeam was a-titter
With joy and mirth and
Frolicking his roots hither and thither.

I held the stone fast in my hand,
When I could feel it move.
Then open burst the pebble,
Which had me much amused.
A dragon coiled around my wrist
And snugly took abode
Half up my sleeve, half peeping out
Feeling quite at home.
While I still wondered at the beast,
It turned its shining head and
Regarding me the creature said:
‘You’re good at Stone, I give you that,
But I shall teach you Dragon.’

© jsmorgane (Jan 2014)

2-Minute Conversation about Jordan

What is it like?
From the king’s private jet –
The Water slithering
On the sand-coloured surface.

You saw them? Bedouins?
Goat herds, black tents
Made of camel hair.
From the plane. I see.

The climate?
Ok for 24h.
And Petra?
Yes, if you like that sort of thing.

Children bartering for shards of glass
In the shadow of a burnt-out jeep…
Oh yes, 2 minutes.
And where are you going tomorrow?

HARSH
Mother
Land
You nurture
Your child
By kicking
Dust
In her face

© jsmorgane (July 08)