~A Mermaid's Tale~

~A Wyld Sea Witch surrendering to the Ninth Wave of the Goddess ~

Archive for truth

Truth

I wrote this poem some years ago. It still resonates  for me, especially now..After talking to someone about  how , Native American Indians  somehow have the key to another reality, along with aboriginals and other tribal people I sat down to write this .

I was also thinking of my own betrayal at that time, a tiny microcosm   as well as theirs, the macrocosm, the injustice..  and how I would feel, in their world…

It sits well for me today.

Truth

Indians

know

the gaps in our seeing


Such effective skills

to take

to a well known place

A forest

A  canyon


They know the space

That we don’t see


I am  tracker

poised in pain

my arrow waits

plucked in readiness

the final words of parting

poisoning the tip


Truth is my prey

Lost reality

Defocused my sight


Traps for joy

spring  locked with anger

SNAP


I am a tracker

I stalk the past

No moment unturned

scent the wind

For warnings

Mist

your swift denial


What filters through

The chameleon coat

you so gladly  claim


Take aim

I kiss the quiver


The arrow

My pen

The  poison

My anger


I am invisible

in truth

I know the space

that

you

don’t

see



Fool Moon In a Scorpions wake, hound dogs and hedge hogs

Some long winded titles get your attention dont they? But read on it may just be a hook that has meaning and relevance.
First lines and images are like ghosts that haunt you, and fish that dont want catching, they just wont leave till you have them in your net,
but then they slip and slide all over the place, whipping their spines and tales, dissolving into labyrinthine castles and caves, till you have them safely corralled on the white sheet of paper.
Only then they dont quite conjur up what you hoped they would, something with an essence, a taste, an ache you cant quite explain is not there, or maybe the sentence doesnt take you anywhere you thought it would. But the best part is yet to come, you cock an ear to the echo, look out the maps and polish the compass, lean into the urge and stay with the process.

Trying to capture a salt water woman.
She is tall,strong, hair the colour of treacle..that whips around her face.
Her skin is lined by the wind
she holds the sea in her mind at all times.
It is an ever changing map to her. A blue  print of tides and waxing moons dissolving time, shaping and changing.
She wears second hand clothes usually mens, large bulky coats and faded jeans.
 and so it goes, she is there, clear as daylight begging me to tell her part of the story and I have no idea where she fits in all, or if she needs a story all of her own.
… SO..Well if the moon looks as good as she did last night, I might just go down to the rocks and holler, like a hound dog. She is in Scorpio for Beltane as well, so very potent for the pagan calender people oh and the faeries.
Been doing stuff and writing till late, tired enough to starting seeing things that arent there, but that is normal for me anyway. 
I could of sworn I saw a hedgehog last night scittering across the road at full pelt. I was mentally willing whatever it was to get there before the squash machine got her. But I think it was just a blob of seaweed being blown across the road like watery tumbleweed in the wind.

Happy moon.

FURNACE ROOM LULLABY
Neko Case (2000)

ALL NIGHT
ALL I HEAR
ALL I HEAR IS YOUR HEART
HOW COME? HOW COME?

I TWISTED YOU OVER AND UNDER TO TAKE YOU
THE COALS WENT SO WILD AS THEY SWALLOWED THE REST
I TWISTED YOU UNDER AND UNDER TO BREAK YOU
I JUST COULDN’T BREATHE WITH YOUR THRONE ON MY CHEST

ALL NIGHT
ALL I HEAR
ALL I HEAR IS YOUR HEART
HOW COME? HOW COME?
SO FAR UNDER THE BED INTO THE BEAMS YOU’VE GONE
I’VE GONE YOU’VE GONE

I’M WRAPPED IN THE DEPTHS OF THESE DEEDS THAT HAVE MADE ME
I CAN’T BRING THIS SOUND FROM MY HEAD THOUGH I TRY
I CAN’T SEEM TO FIND MY WAY UP FROM THE BASEMENT
A DEMON HOLDS MY PLACE ON EARTH ‘TILL I DIE