Tuesday, June 26, 2012

Squashed Mosquito Poetry

By Alli Sinclair

I first “met” Alys Titchener through a mutual friend when my daughter was very ill. Through the kindness of her heart, Alys wrote a beautiful poem and sent a blessed crystal to help in my daughter’s healing process. You can read the story here. The poem sits in a frame next to my daughter’s bed and even now, six years later, it still brings tears to my eyes. I hope one day Alys and I will meet in person so I can give her a massive hug and thank her for the kindness and love she showed people who were (once) complete strangers.

Alys is the author of the poetry blog Squashed Mosquito;
(http://squashedmosquitopoetry.com) sharing poetry that traverses the landscapes
of her emotions and spirit. Alys is a freelance writer, with a commitment to
writing from the heart of direct experience. She can also be read on The Yoga
Lunchbox at http://theyogalunchbox.co.nz/author/squashedmosquito/


I am here, I am in this moment
life's little pause
suspend me
in this place
now and forever
only to move on
life's little joys
bought by me
at a price


you speak of truth

you speak of truth
like someone had written it
on the back of your hand

I wish I could draw the galaxy there
so you would know truth
is not a set of words

but the space between
every cell and star
as they rest



it is an escape
like a drowning ocean
and it is a new world
  born into colour
it is resisted
  and harboured
  and dulled to a froth
  of noise
it is pocketed by nature
in between raindrops
and clearly invisible
next to valleys
  or mountain tops
and sometimes it is
from the still wind
  or a falling leaf


I hear the mother's heartbeat

I hear the mother's heartbeat
it is the background noise of every life
and with us always

I hear the mother's heartbeat
it is the birth space, the lush embrace
the fecund warm breath

I hear the mother's heartbeat
it is ochre, it is sunset,
it is marigold, desert, Uluru, the red planet

I hear the mother's heartbeat
the tribal drums, the call to hunt
the prey offering itself, the knowing
the acknowledging, the sacrifice

I hear the mother's heartbeat
her serenity, her surrender, her dignity,
her grace

I hear the mother's heartbeat
when her own death is felt
before she dies

I hear the mother's heartbeat
she is the still point in every night sky
she is the nowhere to go
she is the ceasing fluctuations of mind

she is quiet ... she is quiet
she is ever more
she is ever-present

her love is her death
her fragile opening
her tender watering

her love is her body
her home in darkness
her fingers touching the almost in her life

her love is the offering
offering her best
back to heaven

the pre-born said she would
depart before she arrived

now she is the mother's heartbeat
it is the mother that holds you and me

she is that background
that pushes us back into life


Upside down

this new heaven
bumpy and accelerated
white frothy isobars
changing like my moods
this new ocean grey and calm
or moody, what sits beneath
is above and
I forgot to let the ladder fall
land hovers
waiting for gravity
to adjust



I turned up full
of sleeping butterflies
and one took flight
and another
and another
deep in my belly

the birds are flying
in my mind
and they have lost
the vast sonic space to navigate
the vast sonic space to hear

the whale that kept me company
can't come up for air
and her calf
and her calf
lost her milk in a stormy
rocky bay

I am the poles shifting
true north
true south
they don't exist like they once did
something broke
something spoke

I am the prickling rain clouds
I am the new dark moon
I am the moment before dawn
where rainbows don't exist
where rainbows don't exist


the whole person

I am not ever a known
(that's a whole lot of exploring
and exposing to agitate) and
while some visibility might suit me
it really is a distraction
to seek to be known

I am not even a known
my ideas are not clever
my words not particularly
special, though a sentiment
climbs out the basement
and someone somewhere claims;
  hey, that's my shadow!

I am not ever a known
even when a seed of me
can be harvested in your life
like a random affirmation
of good timing
even then when you think you
know me, it is only because it is you
  you see

I am not even a known
my quality and form are shaped
like yours, two eyes, a nose
a mouth, words of an English
sound between two lips like any
and it is only because a blue print
'worked like magic' that an alien
can appear not so dissimilar

I am not ever a known
and you would injure me
if you said you knew me
  inside out
because then I would have to substitute
that into my being
wearing an idea that I thought sounded pleasing



in a boundary, in a border
in crossing a time zone
in stamping a passport
there is nothing left to call
mine, nothing left

in a flag on top of a mountain
in a gold medal ceremony
in a race to the moon
there is nothing left to call
home, nothing left

in a spinning top, in a rotating globe
in an aurora blue sky, in a fireworks parade
in a heavenly constellation moving, in a line on your palm
there is nothing left to say
in words, nothing left

as above, so below
so within, as with out
here and now, as in every where and when
there is nothing left
to say, there is nothing


  1. Thank you so much for sharing your poetry, Alys. You have a beautiful way with words and can paint the most wonderful images. I look forward to reading more another time! I Hear The Mother's Heartbeat is my personal favourite.

  2. Lovely poetry, Alys. I especially like the imagery in "Silence." That's exactly how I see silence, too.