October Rose

Please stay.

Please want to be with me.

Please come back.

That is.

Come back.

Truth is I don’t even know if you were ever really with me and

I wanted to txt you and say,

“No. I will keep seeing you regardless. I will lower my expectation of myself even further to keep this hallucination of a relationship real. I will accept whatever demeaning conditions you apply to stay part of your life, however small, however insignificant and meaningless.”

But I didn’t, only because I have the experience to know that ultimately our disused railway track of a relationship would have ended anyway, parallel lines, not destined to cross and meet, not even at the abandoned coal mine. The end of the lines, the parallel lines.

Nothing but an optical illusion.

For you and I,

I am grateful that we never reached that destination. That loud and painful screeching derailment. That particular kind of rail crash, because I kept a semblance of dignity by saying,

“Leave me to get on with my life and find somebody who wants to be in a relationship with me.”

And so I trawl the streets taking photographs of dying roses as symbolism for the love we never had and the relationship neither of us could believe in and I take comfort for the loss I should not even be feeling, as a result of the thoroughly hip non-relationship that just didn’t end. How could it end if it didn’t exist in the first place.

And I miss you and the thought of you and the fraction of a life I had in your arms. I liked it there, in your arms. I was too scared to tell you. Afraid, I would say too much, only to know there were no words I could ever say that would be powerful enough to keep you.

Deep within my soul I know that you mustn’t have felt for me, the way you should feel when in the presence of a woman you love.

There was never any mention of love.


The final taboo.

As the rose petals wither.

The October rose dies.

Surrender of the Storm

As if I had been taken by the current of your magnetic pull, I moved with the fatalistic knowing of an inevitability of galactical and interstellar proportions and even though I knew there were other options, still I moved with only the compelling certainty of a sand storm in a deserted desert, a storm that rendered me blind and buried me in a dune so high and magnificent it could be seen for many light years.

Such is the magnetism of my body towards yours, such is the understated and underestimated force of divine wisdom.

I give up the glory to the divine, partly because it is best to be humble in such matters, but mainly because I did not plan this and I take comfort that my perfect incompetence may actually have been only turbulence in the grand design of the universe.

(It wasn’t my will).

And against all gravity defying logic, I am here, as was always and  eternally predicted.

‘Don’t you worry, don’t you worry child. Heaven’s got a plan for you.”

A summer song from a summer playlist echoes in my head. Good. Well that’s that sorted then. Phew! I can carry on now happily making a mess.

What a mess.

I am no longer certain, (if indeed ever I was), at which specific moment the synapses in my brain exploded. I only know that they did.

What a mess.

All over various countries and counties. All over an array of innocent bystanders. All over a vast variety of room decor.  All over myself, inside-out.

What a mess.

Here I am. Against the prevailing wind.

Space punk.

Gypsy antagonist.

Overwhelm junkie.

Surrendered storm.


Anything I say, anything I do, makes me susceptible to being vulnerable. Pressure to be quicker, faster smarter rends me only incapable and I admit wholeheartedly that I haven’t worked ‘it’ out yet and I would surrender gladly to this fact if I were not afraid of losing my will completely. Believe in anything at all, rather than nothing.

I have not had a conventional life. Everyday I wonder if I will ever fit into life, the way a raspberry fits into a mouth, or the way a cloud fits into the sun.

I am lost again, this is usual, when the words don’t make sense and my perception heightens and I lose those everyday anchors, like which way is up and down and right and left. Such trivial wordly necessities.

I am woman then, and girl, pure and simple. I am Spirit. I am nuisance. I am vulnerable in my very existence. I never know if you will understand this, mostly you do not, my life has been an ongoing lecture theatre of how not to be who I am. Who I really am terrifies you. Terrifies me too, because you are terrified.

I fear. Yes I do. I fear you and your perception of me and the lies you might believe to reinforce the lies you tell yourself about who you really are and who we can and can not be to one another.

I know nothing but some jumbled up words made into some jumbled up meaning, because you won’t look me in the eye so we can see who we really are.


I needed a soldier
To fight me a war
Once upon a time
And then I needed a butcher to
Slaughter me the beast
Then I needed you to sit at my table
For the feast

Of you.

I belonged to you only
For that fleeting breath
I saw in your eye.

Glimpses of your naked and
involuntary soul.

If I could have made a different decision
My love
I would have chosen you.

I would have lain surrendered
Underneath you.

Sheltered in what I would have believed to be love,
And now I fare-well on a predestined highway.
God is my right of passage
Not you.

God is the architect of my soul.

Whereas you.

You will feast at anothers table
And I will sip from another cup.

And it will be how it is meant, whether we like it or not…

Light ning. Dash ing.
Street walker.
Fleur de lys.
English rose.

Lady. Lady.
What a path you chose.

I thought of you as stardust.
As God breathed life into my bones.
All those years ago at zero.

Have I been all people yet?
All nations.
All colours.
And genders.
And all religions.

Every breath in every one.
Every woven and unwoven thread.
Every time.
Every pulse.

It all counts.
Fingers to thumbs.

I thought of you as stardust today.
I thought of you
As I think of you
Every day.
Like stardust.

Pacific (Part2)

It’s grey and moody and sultry. It’s deceptively calm. I walk in feeling like a super model giraffe like creature. Pacific, what is your lesson for me today? I feel an undercurrent back pull, like a lovers firm grip on my lower leg.

‘I want you. I want you. Come with me. Come.’

Nervously, I obey the murky ocean and I trust, even when I can not see the creatures of the deep, even when I am unsure and unknowing of the nature of the next wave.

Ocean meditation.  I move my body to the sound of the vibration of the next wave. In the Pacific ocean that is all I can do. A form of reverence. A deeper trust of that which I can not control.

It feels like a lullaby. Like the rocking of a cot as I am held by the back pull and propelled by the forthcoming and relentless waves.

I ask her if I may leave? Playfully she lets me go, knowing fully the swell of her surf, the impossible of making her tame and the the power of her own seduction.

You can never leave. You have only one taste. The taste of the Pacific Ocean.



This fucking heat.
Heat to fuck in.

Heat in his sun.


Too bright to think.

That’s kinda why I ran out of the room

‘You don’t have to think.’

And a look of dominion in his eye.

I will be the judge of that, a thought of mine quipped, as he reached in the corner of his eye
For a whip, or a crop as

I jumped a few stairs.

I would have jumped from the Empire State.
The Golden Gate.

Met my fate.

Does flogging a dead horse wake it up?
I wondered.
Feeling the dom’s intention
Might do it.

It would take a huge poker to melt a frozen lake.

Research shows that

The best reserection.


All of your attention.

Rays from your sun.

Penetrating the glade.

Warm her soil.

Water and time shall take care of the rest.


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