~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


























