kaberett: curled decorative end of curtain rail casts a heart-shaped shadow on a wall (heartfruit)
I love you means
that I would have nothing of you that
is not freely given; that
you have no obligations, are
not beholden unto me, that
you owe me
nothing.
kaberett: a watercolour painting of an oak leaf floating on calm water (leaf-on-water)
            In relief's ebb
the shifting sands of selfhood un/
cover rocks of hope/lessness.
You once said we were magnets:
does that hold?
               I've learned, I think,
why some comfort's called cold:
because it burns. Keep it
in your mind's-eye's heart for just a beat too long:
you'll find it shan't depart without
its layer of skin. It leaves you raw.
Salt stings; Weltschmerz. Stretched thin,
stretched to translucency, I've no idea
at all how I might best begin to say:
Please.
kaberett: a watercolour painting of an oak leaf floating on calm water (leaf-on-water)
As a species, we are dedicated
to post hoc rationalisation:
the tidying away of inconvenient emotion
the reduction of the self
to an ordered
             sequence
                     of steps.
If this, then that. Well, no:
everything happens for a reason.
The reason, though, does not come carved deep into stone
(every conceivable dictator
being characterised by sublime indifference):
but is rather what you make of it.
This is what it means to tell the story of your life:
to take your whys and somehow give them form.
This is the solid ground of poetry:
two roads diverged; think, two things, both at once:
and every meaning you create is true
or true enough for now. Is this about...?

Yes. Yes, it is.

If only for this moment, we
are mirrored mirror twins.
I only wish I'd any clue
along which lines I'd break.
kaberett: a watercolour painting of an oak leaf floating on calm water (leaf-on-water)
And if the Earth should be too great a gift
(too inconvenient, too delicate, too messy)
then I will give my self to you instead
(for all the same might well be said of me).
I conceive myself in motion. I believe
myself most wholly in these momentary
scraps of grace; perhaps what scares me most
is to be still. The closest, I suspect, that I will come
is falling into orbit around your indifferent sun.
kaberett: a patch of sunlight on the carpet, shaped like a slightly wonky heart (light hearted)
I turn to you. When
my voice falls silent, when
I find I cannot speak, when
my tiredness stretches taut
and every sliver of awareness
hums distantly with pain, monotone and dull:
still, I turn to you.

You absent yourself from any map
I'd care to draw - and in so doing
create for me this space,
let radiate a sense
that nonetheless there irgendwo exists
a solitary wellspring, pouring quiet
out onto my landscape of debris.
Is it a kindness that this
patient sort of strength
rubs grit into my wounds and smooths
them out? Perhaps. I live in hope -
should I freeze over - I will find
my feet (at last) and teach myself to skate;
to dance unmoving with reflections of my skies.

for J.J.
kaberett: Toph making a rock angel (toph-rockangel)
Say, for the sake of argument,
that my foundation is movement
that at root all I do
is flow: my breath through my lungs,
my blood in my veins, tides of fluid,
neurotransmitters leaping, all daring, all flaring
between synapses. I'd have you believe
I'm solid and sturdy, not limestone
nor karst, and I'd lie:

You permeate me. The spaces I move in
that move in and through me
are porosities. You love
like groundwater, like rainfall; you creep
through my depths as a ghost, leaving only
your traces: calcification, my vesicles
filled, lending strength, making brittle,
and stealing my freedom to float.
And in your wake: stalactites hang
silent & sharp within the caverns of my heart.
kaberett: a watercolour painting of an oak leaf floating on calm water (leaf-on-water)
How is it that so very great a gift
can be as fragile, tiny, tenuous as this:
this sun-bleached bird skull, feather-light,
caught in protecting nets emplaced
from June til autumn (dawn til dusk).
Nearby: a poised and outspread wing,
tenacity of tenderness made flesh.
Unwieldy metaphor, perhaps, and yet--
and yet. O best belov'd: take flight.


(It is the lightness of your embrace
that will let me go adrift.
-- Meg Bateman)
kaberett: A drawing of a black woman holding her right hand, minus a ring finger, in front of her face. "Oh, that. I cut it  off." (molly - cut it off)
I will burn.
I will burn for who I am
and I will be a beacon.
I will burn with rage
and light up skies
with starfire, eye-searing
incandescence, a guiding
pillar of flame.
I will be lighthouse.
I will burn warning.
I will burn jubiliation,
firework-bursts of fierce joy.
O ye dispossessed, take heart:
I shall light for ye a path.
I shall consume.
(I shall consume the dark.)
And I will say: this
I would choose again.
I choose. I choose, and choose to burn.
kaberett: curled decorative end of curtain rail casts a heart-shaped shadow on a wall (heartfruit)
Love is a universal constant:
by which I mean it is
as remote, pervasive, and unimaginable
as the speed of light,
as ir/relevant as Planck or Avogadro,
and as varied and as integral.

You are loved
and love is absolute.
Years of light may separate you
but distant stars are no less hot,
burn no less bright:
you are a vantage-point, alone.

And you are an alchemist
of people: you have spent
your entire life in study,
the weights and measures easy in your hands
as flight, as wings.
You are a scientist. You choose
how to employ your tools,
what to discount, how best
you might experiment.

Love is not an answer, nor a framework,
nor a limit: it is a block, an element,
a piecemeal part of firmament
and you are gravity, mortar, gluon--
choose your scale: you,
sine qua non.
kaberett: a watercolour painting of an oak leaf floating on calm water (leaf-on-water)
I worry that I love you
because you are a mirror
(because I have made of you a mirror)
that reflects me whole-not-broken, shows me who
I can aspire to be and what
I am, elsewise unseen. I worry that
I love you selfishly. & yet - & nonetheless -

(you are the early morning thunderstorm
I drink hope from
that shakes apart my skies and scours me clean)
kaberett: a watercolour painting of an oak leaf floating on calm water (leaf-on-water)
Suddenly the smell of rain:
and every cloud alight, and sun
cascading down the brilliant balustrades:
a stunning ordinary moment in a London day.

So many conversations still to have
about honesty and inspiration--
about the turning cog-wheel clockwork of the earth, the universe--
about the merits and otherwise of metaphor--

If you were beloved of all the world
still I would find new ways new reasons (new hope with which)
to love you.
kaberett: photograph of the Moon taken from the northern hemisphere by GH Revera (moon)
Don't ever make me promises.
They're too fragile to keep, ornate
and delicate and glass. We'll just
knock into them while moving past.
They'll gather dust or rust. Instead
please give me tales of here and now.
Please give me strawberries and smiles,
sunlight, silence, stubborn stars --
but never give me promises:
they're too fragile. They'll break my heart.
kaberett: a patch of sunlight on the carpet, shaped like a slightly wonky heart (light hearted)
You cannot argue with rocks
or at least you cannot win an argument with rocks,
for they are slow and stolid and steeped in sunlight
(enough sunlight even for me)
but if I believed that this would keep you from trying
if I believed you less joyously stubborn, less bent upon
discovery and disentanglement, then I would needs must
love you less, and so
I delight in your delight, and in the act
of observing as you determined dreaming strive.
kaberett: a watercolour painting of an oak leaf floating on calm water (leaf-on-water)
is where you belong--
not labelled, between cabinets
of dusty stolen artefacts
but seated in the shrine of the muses--

or, more like, it isn't you
that belongs there at all--
rather the impassive statue
I have made in your image
the surface painstakingly polished smooth
enough that I might use it as a mirror.

I was wrong.
I do not write for you:
merely about, around,
skimming your surface--
pond skater, dragonfly.

I magnify your slightest motion
into worlds.
kaberett: a patch of sunlight on the carpet, shaped like a slightly wonky heart (light hearted)
You do not press me neatly. You
do not fold me small. You do
not reduce me to simplicities.
You let me sprawl. You say
when I have (inadvertent) hurt you.
You give me choice and chance;
you ask that I be not afraid, and
take me by the hand to show the way.
It grieves my heart to give you pain, and yet
all this and more I'm joyful thankful for.
kaberett: a patch of sunlight on the carpet, shaped like a slightly wonky heart (light hearted)
I think perhaps you do not understand
how I love you -- or, better, believe
that I could: but
I do, and I do, and I do.
I love you not as light, nor as water, nor as yearning
but as rock beneath my feet, against my back,
as certainty and surety, in all its meanings,
with all its histories.

(if my emotional landscape is verdant
it is because water cannot but well joyful upwards
along my faultlines, my
earthquakes-in-waiting)

(there are not words enough to give thanks
for the gift you gave in showing
how one might tireless trust me)



(
  so let my silence speak
  in stead
)
kaberett: a watercolour painting of an oak leaf floating on calm water (leaf-on-water)
Listen.

Find someone who adores what they do
and ask them about it.

Watch sunsets and rivers and slow change
and make space in the hours of your heart
to observe beauty
to honour compassion.

(Notice gifts offered shyly and in passing and in silence.)

Learn to apologise and
to accept apologies and
when it's best to do neither.

Test your limits. Find your boundaries. Press
against them, yearning, but only sometimes, and only while they obliging yield:
don't, if you can help it, burst through
encouraged by the stridency of shame or of its many siblings-
at least not more than once. But when you do

Give yourself whatever space you need to heal. Dare
to trust, and trust again, and hope. Above all else
oh, darling -- dare to wisely sweetly hope.
kaberett: Overlaid Mars & Venus symbols, with Swiss Army knife tools at other positions around the central circle. (Default)
My place in the order of things
is, or so it sometimes seems,
at the back of the second sock drawer
with the dust and dead insects and dressmaker's pins:
an awkward spiky half-forgotten oddment.

Haven

Feb. 17th, 2014 10:25 pm
kaberett: Overlaid Mars & Venus symbols, with Swiss Army knife tools at other positions around the central circle. (Default)
Harbours
are not built
to be impermeable.
Shelter in a storm
is nonetheless a
threshold
to the wide
liminality
of the world entire.
Safety is not bound within
a cage.
kaberett: Yellow gingko leaf against teal background (gingko)
I expect this to undergo further drastic revision; nonetheless, it's for the lioness-oracle who knocked it free.

Step one: remove hand from the flame.
Don't grasp the nettle firmly.
There is no need to search out pain:
there will be always, waiting
in the wings, life-changing catastrophe --
o hurricane-spun far-flung butterfly.

Instead, seek ease -- seek joy.
You are allowed to change your mind.
You are allowed, when all seems hard & cruel,
to coiling curl on inwards; to ask for room to breathe;
to set aside complexity for just so large a space of time
as gives your ledge the breadth to find your feet.

Remember, when the earthquake peddler calls:
the soil that soft and silent lies beneath you
through nettles and through crystal-chrysalis
brings forth peacocks. Simplicity
is always present, too. Remember
that the peddler means no harm, that change
contains the seeds of growth, that
in the end, foundations weather all.

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kaberett: Overlaid Mars & Venus symbols, with Swiss Army knife tools at other positions around the central circle. (Default)
kaberett

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