A mother's struggle

A mother struggles to nurture what was once within

And now,

Magically dances outside

Through the world of surprises and dangers.

The tender seed has grown into a stout tree,

Miracle of miracles,

Separate yet still of the same flesh

The same blood,

From outside in to inside out

And now,

Magically dancing

Through the world of enterprise and opportunity.

‘I’ am now ‘you’ and ‘me’

And nothing can stop this process

Until completion’s smile spreads across our souls.

The phone calls

The phone calls.
It could be him.
It could be anyone.
By or large.
Across or small.

The phone rings.
There is a new facility
that allows transhistorical communication.
From any point, past, present or future
in the space/time continuum.
from all multi-verse possibility worlds.

The phone calls.
She feels the power of not answering.
Counting the number of calls until
it stops in its tracks.
The brain makes a phantom 'next ring'.
But the line is dead.

The phone calls.
Jumping ever so slightly with
the vibration function on.
Like chattering teeth set on edge.

The phone calls.
She looks admiringly at the
sleek ergonomics of its design.
The attention to detail cries out quality.
But she does not answer the call.

Unflinching

Unflinching.
Face to face.
Ragnarok.
Bear to Fox.
The sky goes through infinite variations.
And dust accumulates unsettlingly.
This.  Stare.
Parallel and distinct.
Unflinching.
Murderer's steel knife flickers death.
His raging Eidolon floats out,
disembodied to terrorise the air.
Only whilst the centre holds,
unflinching though wavering,
will the warmth of victory be realised.

Sun and Moon

Between the Sun and the Moon lies the Grail.
Twixt Gold and Silver illuminations shines the light.

Twilight, Golden Dusk.
When these are two in the sky,
eternal lovers (or not).
She reflects his light
back to the earth
turned to darkness.

He radiates in all directions.
sometimes courting the attention of earth,
sometimes not.

Janus-faced - Sonar and Lunar aspects
caught between light and shadows,
between bold bright and slivered luminosity.
We dance,
we surrender.

Snatch a thread

Snatch a thread as its flickers into awareness out of thin air.
These are bare times, these days of poverty
when the path to riches seems elusive yet always, ever-present.
Presently, presentially, presidentially.

So, it seems. It seems. It seems as if......
But 'as if' is only a theory.
And these guessing games only hover around the mark.
You need to GRAB IT beyond thought,
beyond intention, beyond composure,
so the dream can become embodied, enacted,
before it fades back into invisibility.

The path is ever-present
and traced by bold steps into the unknown.
Whose providence is predicated on your enjoyment,
your appreciation, your commitment,
your willingness to keep going,
leaning into faith as you select your fate.

Peaks

Climax.
We begin in great drama.
Coming out of the middle.
Blood. Tears. Severed cords.
Wet. Wailing. Weary.
Our arrival is a pre-determined peak.
(if it goes well)

And then,
awareness multiplies,
as we take on increasing measures
of experience,
choice and responsibility.
As our body's agenda evolves our being.

We are now a sequence
with our peaks, plateaus and troughs,
criss-crossed with other sequential stories,
some close, some afar.
With imagined endings, exits and doorways
(which we make happen if we will)
but ever in the sequence
continuing endlessly into and around
the space/time dream.