Tag Archives: poetry

Hungry Spirals

I am, for the most part (and what a part to play), coasting through life.
It is like everyone is born with a boat, but, for some reason, unlike most, mine has no oars. Everyone else gets to push themselves down the stream of life in a direction of their choice, and I am just watching as the swirling eddies churn me up and spit me out in whatever direction chaos fancies.
Why else, in my quiet moments, do I feel compelled to draw endless spirals on paper?
My fingers and my brain call out for drainage. Gutters, drowning, rotating pools. Rain, bound for oblivion.
For now, the shrinking circles churn me up and spit me out, but one day, a giant, greedy current will catch me close and eat me up.
As they say, the centre of the vortex is calm and quiet. Perhaps, to be eaten, consumed by the storm of life is, at its end, blissful silence.
If not, who will give me my oars?
It is a question that fails immediately.
My oars are mine, and I must make them.
But how?

Growing A Cactus To Tend To My Heart

I’m growing a cactus to tend to my heart.

It’s prickly and stickly and squat and cute, a bit like me.

We’re going to grow together, with water and sunshine and songs about the sky.

My cactus and I.

They say plants are healing and I believe it.

I’ve seen it!

Nothing more peaceful than a prickly green thing.

I’ll watch it and care from a distance, maybe I’ll even sing.

My sharp arcadia.

My green maƱana.

My dewy paradise.

It’s a hot summer ahead, and we’ll do just fine.