Uphill

 

Uphill, uphill

There stands the swing,

And our home next to our river

Awaits all warm in the valley.

 

But it is not my home

Nor is it my river,

And the valley has turned cold.

 

Uphill, uphill

There stands the swing,

Where I longed for your kiss, 

Before drowning in the river,

At the bottom of the valley.

I am Her

She calls my name,

What for?

Does she expect me to answer?

My mind cannot tell reality from fantasy

And the night stays,

While I fly above fields and lakes.

I am her

The one who calls my name.

The Wait

From under the Old Tree,

The Old Tree, my shelter

Hiding from the rain,

The rain that comes and goes

And the wind that blows,

I wait.

When are you coming?

I take flight,

Every cloud has a different shape,

I search on the land between the gaps

And imagine your life,

That life that goes on without me.

For how long?

On the Marshland

How are you going to find me,

If my boat has no name?

I improvise, you laugh

You tell me you fix and plan.

And the blackbird is singing,

While I walk home on the marshland.

Two Towers

Between the two towers

There is a narrow space

Where your crown is shaped by my eyes

and wood and gold lay on the ground,

to show you who I am.

Between the two towers

The sky is filled with your absence,

Only the gargoyles can witness

what the storm has destroyed.

The Fields

On those fields you wander,

Love will find you

Let the gentle grass lead your steps,

And the wind's hand guide your back

Because I believe love will find you

On the fields that are your home.

A Pigeon

If I were a pigeon,

I would be nowhere near humans.

 

I wouldn't be kicked by children,

Or fly away from the rushing and mindless

Nor would I get crushed by wheels,

Dying with my guts spread all over the pavement.

 

I would avoid all human contact,

Because a pigeon's feather

Carries more goodness than any finger on any hand,

In any city or any land.

 

I am a human

Who knows the pain of a pigeon

While I walk I smile and cry

I feel I am the only one who understands,

Yet I remain a stranger to both their feathers and your hand.

Leaves

One day the trees in my garden will lose all their leaves

I will look at them from the window

and sing a silent song

Orange, brown and green

I will sweep the floor and weep.

The Seagull

I put a stone on the seagull's eye

The seagull that died

Lying on the sand

Slowly engulfed by the rising tide

My feet are now sinking

Fear and Power flutter like wings

When The Sea takes me

Who will put a stone on my eye?

Homeland

 

That day when you come

Northern winds will be blowing

The trees in the orchard will proudly hold their heavy branches

Weighed down by apples and ripe plums

 

In the morning, the seagulls will be fighting

And the swallows will land on the mast of my sailboat

 

You will tell me about your missing father

And we will lie together

Forgetting this and other dangers

As the day you come to my home

So will home come to you

 

You asked me if there was something more

And laughed when I buried my warm body under the tangled ivy leaves

Your wholeness in its wholeness is enough, nothing less

I will not lower my voice, I made my choice

 

That day when you come to my home

The marshes will be drinking the colours of the sunset

Your chest will be safe under my hand

Fear not boy, you are now a man.

My Mistake

 

My mistake is like ivy

Crawling up on the walls of your cottage

Brown, grey, humid and old

Those walls, I know

 

My mistake 

Is like 

Words heard under the water

Lost, swallowed and unknown

Those words, in our river

 

I don't know the mistake I have made

To deserve my face darkened

In the eyes of those who ever mattered

Those eyes, yours

 

Can you see me?

Brittle Stars

Three perfect brittle stars

Bottle up your fears in the jar

The gift I gave you

The grown you, not the trembling child

 

Will you dare to throw your wand

to pin me down into the ground

My skin is fertile soil

Where your spit will make wildflowers grow.

The Woven Path

 

Come to me, gently

On the path I'm weaving

Woollen threads made of thoughts

And the marks you left

On my weary flesh

 

Come to me without hesitation

My craft is strong enough

To hold us both

In the heaviness of our wounds

 

Come to me, gently and without hesitation

With the small steps of a bird

The soft sounds of the growing grass

And the warming touch 

Of the first rays of sun after a long and cold night.