Poems on Intimacy – Facebook Page

We all need reminding about Truth and Beauty. Why not like Poems on Intimacy facebook page in which a daily poem is shared. I sit at the computer and let something more than me write lines of expression, I have no idea what will come out, but as I look back I realise it was just what was happening to me at the time. The marvel of poetry, the marvel of letting go.

The idea is to motivate others, by this raw vulnerable expression of my brave heart, to also express their own. I mean if I can do it…why not? It doesn’t necessarily have to be in words, but in images, or dance. I just want to stimulate people to get in contact with themselves and their own expression.

The word original doesn’t mean to be fancy and spanking new. It does not mean the latest innovation. It stems from the word ‘Origin’. Original is the journey of going into our Origin – that space where we have all come from, our joint heritage, the marvel of creation, stardust, or however you yourself experience it – and to come out and be able to express in our own original personal voice that which unites us all.

Here is one of my favourite poems from Poems on Intimacy:

Standing at the kitchen counter
but not standing there
I rove around in my thoughts
running into why
in your chequered past
you’ve never chosen
anyone capable
of coupling
the beauty of you.
I go abseiling
into your doubts, when,
looking for a foothold
I realise:
this can be said of me
too.
A dawn rises up within me
pink petalled and soft;
this is where you and I meet.
Template reflections.
It is beautiful.

On soft wings
I’m gently delivered
into the now.
I hear silence
– soft, silk fur –
and in the stillness
feel the pitter-patter of rain
diagonalling across
the green, flowering garden.
The kitchen counter comes back into view:
I recognise my own comely actions,
the olive tree chopping board,
the shining knife.
I hear the wind in the trees singing lullabies
even the river noise of each passing car
sings a quality of humpy dumpy postman Pat:
worlds rumbling around at their own quiet pace.
I hear, though it must have been happening before,
the noise of the garlic skins
scrunching away from their bodies
and enter into it with such pleasure
that I suddenly realise
surrounded by such simple, easy grace:
this – is – what – it – feels – like –
to feel safe.