To have been Loved

I have been Loved

and

therefore

I am Loved.

Whether the giver of Love

loves me still or

is here to love at all –

Having been Loved,

I am Loved.

Love, when Given,

becomes part of the

very fabric of the universe,

joining with every atom & particle

that have been & that will be.

Love, when Received,

becomes part of our

very fabric of Being,

knitting Love into every cell

that has been, that is & that will be…

I have been Loved –

So I am Love.

2020 air

the sky is the palest grey

kissing a sea that is more the colour of water than of sea,

clear light-grey-blue-white

carrying ripples of peace to us landers,

gifting us with the secrets which the sky

whispers as they kiss.

people walk in dyads and triads, or with dogs or toddlers or larger family groups,

starting their new year with one another and the sea air

blowing freshness into their hopes for the three hundred and sixty six days to come –

if we see them all…

how many will surely pass us without recall.

Not I.

I claim every day

I breathe I feel I think I listen –

to waves to chatter to my breath to music to TfL announcements

I will live.

I will. be. here.

Hove beach: 1-1-20

2019 (a year in a poem)

2019. the year of

anxiety & sunshine

& beauty & depression

of drinking good coffee

& soul-nourishing gallery visits

of leaning into therapy & pain

of hours & days lost as buried tears were found sitting on the kitchen floor while Saturn played

2019. the year of

feelings felt & found & held & felt

of grief faced & waves crashing

food uneaten, weight losing

chasms opening

heart cracking & life shaking

of questions asked

& answers found wanting

as festered rage & long-accepted values

were both…released

2019. the year of

pain & striving

for peace

of lost memories found & faced

of emotional breaking & life & self shaking of inner light dimming

& slow sparking match-light reviving

of healing through

the mind-soul-body medicines

of meditation & journalling

of 29minute whatsapp voicenote musings

of beauty & art

& poetry & space

of lush bath-bombs & masturbating

of beautiful smells & netflix binges

& m&s champagne sipped

by fairy light

of radically

abundant

self grace

& the gift of

space

taking

& making

& giving

space to me

to breathe & be

& feel & see

& wonder & wander

Nayyirah Waheed

2019. the year of

taking-up

space

to cry & laugh & rage

the year of breaking

boundaries & beliefs

of (nearly) breaking apart

& being held in the breaking

2019. the year of

losing

& finding

& freeing

of shuddering beauty

& (beautifully) ugly crying

of breath quickening & catching

& deep exhaling

2019. the year of

frustrated containment in white spaces

of colour seeking & power claiming

of being unseen & seen

of being unanchored & held

in grace & love

2019. the year of feeling

& being

more

more

more….

of me

Talcum powder watercolour sky

Watercolour blue sky-so pale.

Mother God played with

talcum powder & water,

swirling & playing & making

a bright paste of liquid light.

The talc-water smelled so good

She decided to wash the sky with it –

Knowing that the light would be

too pure, too clean, too bright

for human eyes-

risking blinding souls &

transfixing all of creation into

a skyward stupor.

She plucked the lightest bluebell

hanging from her hair

and used its

petals as her paintbrush.

Dancing her arm across the sky,

light-paste dripping off

her bluebell brush,

& down her charcoal hands.

Gifting us her playtime, watercolour creation as our autumn twilight canopy.

Douai Abbey, 20-9-19

Heartful rage

Can I feel this

heart-swelling,

heart-filling,

breath-quickening

RAGE,

if I have not love?

Can just words,

lines & swirls

melded together on a page,

create this response, this

hand-shaking,

heart-thudding,

stomach-swirling,

pain-fuelled

FURY

if I have not love?

Heart,

breath,

hands –

the body doesn’t lie.

Here,

love lives inside.

The woman with my face

Time together coming to an end,

as trains approach to take us to our separate destinations;

Hugging you again –

we do that a lot –

bending down to fit my arms

around your now slighter frame;

Kissing your soft cheek goodbye,

Holding your hand with deep love and connection,

Looking back at you as I walk away,

Your face bursts forth a splendid,

whole-soul smile

and clear as glass I think:

‘I am looking at my own, smiling face!’

…Mum

Mummy Swan and her Baby Swan

Dancing cherries

As I sat alone in a wine-cafe (yes, such a thing exists!), swirling & sipping a glass of something red & chewing chilli-seasoned olives while listening to Sleeping at Last I penned this oh so short poem:

Cherries swirling,

Hands held, smiles open,

Dancing around the glass;

Spinning together til

Dizzy with delight as they take turns

Sliding down steep sides with

Warmth and gentle power.