Comfort

Thick,

fluffy,

white bread,

sliced by your soft old hands.

Toasted,

golden brown,

reminding me of crunchy autumn leaves.

Wearing a heavy coat of yellow butter like a duvet,

giving comfort,

and warmth,

and homeliness.

A satisfying crunch and warm butter flooding my mouth,

awakening my taste buds,

and stirring my heart

with warmth that transcends temperature…

This evening,

the weather is mild,

but my heart is cool.

And for the first time in near two decades,

I crave the comfort of your toast…

And you.

Image: myrecipes.com
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Face towards the sun

A car-park poem. (Got your attention!)

I sketched this after three minutes just standing in the car park outside my work building last Thursday. Such was my need for sun on my face and soul.

A deep, visceral need.

By myself, eyes closed, just standing.

Image: Pinterest

NLB

face towards the sun,

feet planted firmly.

Wind blowing,

whole body shaking,

feet planted firmly;

shaking not falling.

Face towards the sun,

eclipsed by the passing cloud,

Sun re-revealed,

smile spreading,

sun blessing.

Feet planted firmly,

face towards the sun,

as clouds and wind blow.

Plastic lightbulbs and birthday cake

When breath becomes air

and air becomes still

When chest is frozen in breath’s

last exhale

When heart and lungs take their final bow

And exhale your Life

Then…

Like Cinderella’s carriage at midnight

the magic of life runs out

Life becomes a grey-painted wall

Stars which mapped the secrets of the constellations become plastic lightbulbs

and the Sun which lit the roads which led us to

an opened door,

a deep smile and

hugs smelling of

brylcreem and palmolive,

four layer birthday cake

and menus written on scrap envelopes,

twinkling, patient blue eyes and powdery-soft strong hands.

That sun now a broken car boot sale lamp,

faulty switch and bulb too weak to shine any light.

Did you know you were the sun and stars?

Did you know you were our inspiration, …my very air?

Did you know know KNOW

how much I loved you?

Please say yes.

Please

say

something.

Please…

stop being gone.

Simon Von Booys

The regret trinity

I generally think regret gets a bad name.

I regret a lot in life: not persevering with learning a language or instrument; not trying harder in school; saying I Love You back when I didn’t mean it (!!); having cheese and crackers tonight after a day of healthy eating; repeatedly going to bed too late, and lots more!

I think the idea that is oh so popular on inspirational Pinterest posters (ugh), that regrets are bad and we should have none just misses the whole point and deep value of regrets! They can be the best motivator and prod us to grow into the people we aspire to be; to be better friends and lovers etc, to improve at work, to save money and take better care of our health etcccc.

Regret isn’t shame.

Shame labels us and makes us stuck.

Regret labels behaviour and moves us forward (well, for me it usually takes a few regrets to get the lesson but hey, it counts!).

Anyway, I was mulling on this recently and this short poem came to mind…

Regret:

The gap between

What you do

Who you are,

And what you want to do

And who you want to be.

Shame:

The gulf between

What you do,

Who you are,

And what other people want you to do

And who others want you to be.

Freedom

Neither wallowing in regret,

Nor ignoring its painful lessons,

Rather striving to do and be

What and who you want to be.

And not letting others’ (imagined?) views hinder your quest.

NLB 3.1.19

Brave Love

I’ve been thinking of late about love & forgiveness & voila, this poem came to me. It’s only after I’d finished it that I called to mind the wiser, more beautiful words of Kahlil Gibran ‘On Love’ in The Prophet so after you’re read my words, do read The Master’s!

Image: GKids

What is it to choose love

when that love may bring harm and hurt?

What is it to take risks with one’s heart, trusting that after hurt,

it will be repaired, as always,

by the eternal love of God,

and the deep resilience within?

What is it to say ‘this is worth it’,

and step forward in search of beauty,

knowing one may instead find

devouring ugliness?

What is it when the tie that binds

may also be that which chokes;

when the love which shatters

is from they who are meant to heal?

It Is

to recognise that,

your breath doesn’t come from another,

So they can’t choke it.

It Is

to understand that,

your worth is rooted in the foundations

of the universe,

So they can’t shake it.

And It Is

to recognise that,

that beautiful love

which made you giggle

on sunny days and in the rain,

which made you

know

Know

KNOW

You. Are. Truly. Loved.

(yet disposable),

comes from a broken human.

So,

in courage,

extend your own hand to love,

both hopeful and wary,

of deep laughter,

and sharp edges,

Trusting that,

whatever comes,

love’s brokenness

will not break you.

Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet: On Love

Faithful hands

Why,

when I fell asleep

turned away from you,

do I wake with

our legs entwined,

my hand in yours,

and a smile on my face

when I feel this?

God bless my wiser,

faithful, hands and heart

for remembering the truth:

I Love You

far far more

than I’m (trying

to be) annoyed.

Image: David Lester-Bush

Different Loves

It transpires that I am a big fan of love triangles & love choices: Mansfield Park, Persuasion and down the less sophisticated end of the Literary scale, The Hunger Games & Twilight.  I love critiquing the choices these women make (ugh, Bella, yay Katniss & Fanny Price!) because I believe ultimately Love is a choice. So here’s a short poem trying to articulate how these heroines, & real life people since time immemorial, can love two people, & love the very things that make them different-& then make a choice to love & live with one.
The love she has for him sparkles and fizzles with bright energy,
Like a crackling fire,
Bright, warming, comforting and hot…
But releasing the occasional spark that may burn her skin & heart.
Watching for these is wearying.
The love she has for him flows and melts like a current of water,
Refreshing, rhythmic and peaceful, yet strong, upholding and life giving
That love is like Nordic air, revitalising her soul and cleansing my mind.
The love she has with him tastes like Ghanaian stew,
So rich, flavourful, & nourishing.
But sometimes too spicy & powerful.
The love she has with him is like fresh, warm crunchy bread and Camembert,
Hearty, warming, gentle yet with texture;
Each mouthful moreish and delicious.
One love is rich red, burnt orange, bright amber…intense and warm and hot.
One love is turquoise, azure like the richest tropical ocean, strong and deep and refreshing.
Both loves are colourful, the colour one chooses is a matter of asking :
What colour do you want your life to be?
red-turqoise-e1515259385907.jpg
Photo: Pinterest