the stream

Barefoot on the banks of a stream I once knew long ago, I stared at the water, dark and blue below. What I was looking for - my face, my faith - I do not know. All I found was a bucket, brown weeds and a bottle without a message, so I slowly dipped a toe into the dew, stirring the cool calmness into a song of circlets. The stream called for my whole body. 'Swallow me' I said and I slipped naked into her bed. 'Swallow me', but she would not. She proved to be shallow.

There are those among us who do not exist externally, but live internally. We don’t do, we are. We live, we love, we burn. The past is at our heels but our eyes, like Argus, are fixed on the horizon. We are creatures of possibility. Our dreams are not our desires but our reality, perhaps our truth.

robyn

the trees reach out for the silver blue
pleading with the winter sun
branches weak and scarred and stripped
bleeding snow from their fingertips


below a girl sings the blues
brown hair red cheeks, funny bird
thorn in heart, broken wings;
in spring all will be buried

by shamrock
photo by wendy bevan

w o r d s

reading. reading till you forget who you are.
reading till your heart aches and and your eyes tear up.
reading till the pages weigh down your hand and push up your soul.
reading until you choke.
reading.

by shamrock

Resolutions 2011

- Pick up the guitar & harmonica again
- Write more
- Spend less time online (bad start)
- Get back into the habit of cooking good meals
- Believe in myself
- And just generally kick ass

inspiration #14