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/
Traveling
I am here,
I am in this moment
breathe
life's
little pause
suspend me
in this
place
now and
forever
only to
move on
restless
wanting
contentment
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
---
silence
silence
it is an
escape
like a
drowning ocean
and it is a
new world
born into colour
it is
resisted
and harboured
esteemed
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
indistinguishable
from the
still wind
or a falling leaf
destined
---
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
beat
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
ungrounded
accumulations
waiting for
gravity
to adjust
---
Shifts
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
home
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
---
Universe
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
left
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.
ReplyDeleteLovely poetry, Alys. I especially like the imagery in "Silence." That's exactly how I see silence, too.
ReplyDelete