meine umwelt
avec moi, sans moi,
par moi
Ahh… and the tales I shall unfold
May blast comprehension if the truth be told
An ode to the masters, martyrs and whims
A satyr on life and sullied daydreams
(1996)
Blindly
Again
Watching the leaves fall, I see the budding spring
Closing my eyes to the smell of the hay
I feel a snowflake brush my cheek
And the wind whip about my hair
Listening to the children’s gaggle and laughter
I hear my father’s voice caress like a knife
To the shivering strings of my heart
And I remember the tears that cut my face
When my chest felt urged to implode
Leaving my boyfriend weathered and torn
I find the path to a dream. His pain calls me back
But I’m lost in clouds and fields and stream
His love not even a memory, vaguer than the dream
I’m searching out an older groove, far deeper for to hide
And Fear, she beckons, cajoles and satisfies
The dread that lies within, of all unknown
Of known that struck me once and challenges once more
And like a frightened, obstinate, naked child
I’ll dare to damnation again, burying thought
And Fear and dread, and my father, and my security
And I’ll lift my face and pout again
And reel before the stinging slap
And raise myself again
If I ever lose my fear, I’ll lose my courage too
Keeping both I lose instead the gem amongst the wheat
Security will tease me still as always she has done
And for each tear that pulls apart
A radiant smile will glow above the bent back
And a beautiful dress will hide the shackles and scars
And falsity’s front be denied by the pain inside
Each year as I grow older, it gets harder to keep the child
It takes longer and longer to retrace the path
And find an old playground
But some weary nights they open up, old familiar sights
And beg me come play again
And invitation rejected, they hover and hover
Until I need them
When like will-
They twinkle on an evaporating mound
And sink too far inside
(29th Mar ‘95)
Falling from precipitous crags
Floating in mists and thought
From eyrie to glen to forgotten riverbank
Where herons fish deep in experience
There’s an underworld forming
Like clay in the potters’ hands
Moulding and forming
Taking no definite shape
Existing without existence
My will is in my submission
Freedom’s within these bounds
And I’ve yet to find a lover
Who’ll close his eyes and be led
Within an aromatic maze
Who’ll press his finger to the rose’s thorn?
Who’ll savour exquisite soul-
As the reflection of sensuous pleasure?
Who will balance on the rainbow’s edge
Or that of the smouldering volcano?
Who’ll close his eyes and let me lead
Come fair, or come foul weather?
I have no face, you’ll learn of me
Through the pressures of my hand
Will you trust me even when
I take my hand from yours
And watch you stumble blindly
On highlands and on heath?
Will you sense me by your side
Guarding every move
Will you curse me or cry out
As gashes streak your feet?
Will you know when I am gone
Will it really matter?
My eye! My eye! I’ve lost my blessed sight
I’ll take no guide, no damned lead
No fool who thinks he sees a shining light
As blindfold fades to dust
The convolutions of the mind
I’m lost in a labyrinth, no spark glimmering
No happiness shimmering
Doubting sensation to the touch
Will the resonances of your voice imbue in me
A childish kind of trust? Will I bathe in hope,
Lie in the warm stream you flow past me
Have tension eased from aching limb
And a laugh forced from my frame?
Blue light streaming through the cavern’s rock
What illumination strikes like a match
Within my fantasy land, cold hard rock
Revealed to tender eye
Imagination playing, impaled on stalagmite?
(2-
