Diary of a Wolf Cub

...is the name of my current read. As the name suggests, it is about consciously creating your own reality with the help of your 'spiritual guides' shall we say. In fact, the book has been written by a particular group of divine beings, collectively called Abraham, through their physical entity, Esther Hicks. Only on chapter 3 but have already thrown out my horseshoes, rabbits' feet, and any four leafed clover I had lying about; my lucky charm of choice is now 'collective consciousness in the non-physical realm'. Certainly eliminates the possibility of leaving your luck in the car or next to your keys in the hallway.
My first step in developing a relationship with my angels has to been to find out their name. Disappointingly, these higher beings, my connection to source and light and All-There-Is-To-Know, my bridge to non-physical worlds, my guides in all matters spiritual and otherwise, have decided to call themselves 'Roger'. I suspect I may have misheard. Might call them again later....

You call my name
I run
Tripping
Over feet and words
To your distant heart
Why can I not see
You were always meant for me?
But not now
Not your time
Never mine
I wait
Like a fool
Nowhere to go
Just the world to see
Take me
Before I fall
Tired, so tired
Waiting for your call
You selfish pig
How dare you punish me
When I already killed myself
For killing what you were
You cross out words
But you can't take back
Tears you drew
Tears you tore
So cut off from yourself
How could I reach you?
Still
I'm waiting
In case you call
Of course
I will come
I always did
Even when I never
Heard your voice.

Painted face
Glows under
Revealing flattery
Gloss red
Mouthing
Make up
Blushing cheeks
No shame
In the face
Of reality.

(I can't wait for next season...)

The bell is broken
Ringing smashed
Across the faces
Of pious leaders
And religious dictators
No feet come running
No voices raised
In exultation
Only questions
- why have they deserted us?
The bell is broken
Rope frayed
From over-exertion
Too heavy a burden
Ears burst from
Hypocrisy
Unenlightened
Emptiness
The void widens
The bell falls.
The bell is broken
People are saved.

Life rolls
As mountains across
Cloudy landscape
Vast
Incomprehensible
Full scale never realised.
Looking towards
New horizons
The sun blinds me
Tears bring release
What do I cry for?
Cause never reason
But rushing through
Flood gates of
Opportunity
Sad happiness
Cools
Like a breeze.
If I could save these tears
I would make you drink them
Quench your self-pity
Drown you in another world.
If I were to fall from this great height
I would pick myself up
Start again
Same view
Same sun
Same tears
Different eyes.

All women are equal
In the eyes of God
But not in the eyes of Tampax.
Are you woman enough
To admit you are a
Regular girl (6 to 9 grams)?
Or do you claim to be
Super (11 grams)
Even though you will
Never bleed enough?
Perhaps you stick with
Mini (less than 6 grams)
Never understanding
Why you continue to flood.

We buy the box
But no-one tells us
How to measure the flow
So how do we ever
Really know?

The test of time
Regularly fails
Seconds
Minutes
Hours
Infinity
Forever nothing
Eternally something
You forgot you never wanted.
To wait
Is to believe you don't
Already have it.
Roundabout
Turning
Waiting for you to leap.
Once slowed, easy to board
Carrying only disappointment
That is must shortly stop
Gone
Forever nothing
Eternally something
You forgot you never wanted.

With darkness
Comes new light
New sight
Of all that is hidden
But constant
In the illusion of day.
I feel your presence
Like a blanket
Protective, never cloying,
A reassuring call
Of all unseen
But stronger than reality
The unreal reality
For you are constant, infinite
Beyond space and time
You carry us through physicality
Through the constraints of life and death.
The wind calls tonight
And I welcome her
No longer afraid of
Destruction, power
Interminable strength
I embrace creation
Life and energy
Removing boundaries
Of limitation and finite possibility.
I thank her for not disturbing the stillness
Whilst enjoying her storm.
With darkness
Comes new life
A secret visitor
Flourishing under the veil
Feeding on energetic silence.

You break the magic
With you unexpected arrival
The first daffodil to bloom amongst
Sleeping green
You colour my life
In an astonishing
And beautiful way
My own seed
Grown in my bare uncultivated garden
You have blossomed into
A miraculous tree
Whose fruits taste sweeter
Every day.
I want to hold you
To the wind
And show her your power
Our power
She will understand
For she tells me so
WIth every whispered breeze
And roaring gust.
You will fear her as I once did
But I will hold you to my heart
Until you are ready
To run into her embrace
And fly away on her
Sweeping song.

Your face is a spoon
That stirs my cup
Until tea spills
Soaks the saucer
Circular motion
With life of its own.
No matter which way I look at you
I see myself staring back
Longing
Hurt
Desire
Need.
Whatever I heap on you
I know will be carried
To the right place and time
Sugar
Medicine
An egg.
No matter how fast I run
You will support the load
Come along for the ride.
Decadent silver
Reliable steel
Practical wood
I want to pop you on my tongue
And relish your coolness
Smoothness
Earthiness
Metallic Edge
I know all your flavours
Too good to keep in a drawer.

Your heart beats
Next to mine
Every night
Another world
I cannot enter
For fear of losing
The rhythm of
My own beating drum.
I hear your beat
And often I will dance
Keeping time
Allowing myself to
Become consumed
With its force and drive.
Other times I defy its call
Afraid to embrace its
Dominant bass
Wanting to play a solo line
Needing the silence
Of my own unknown song.
I have handed back your heart
Not because I will never use it again
And not because it is not needed.
I give it back to you
As this is the only way I know
To find my own music.
I cannot promise I will ever
Hold it in my hand again
- I cannot see tomorrow
But know the echo of the pulse
You once gave to me
Is always contained within my own
I will carry it forever
A part of all future music
I ever hope to make.

Hope is a boiled egg
Chilled and boxed
Alive with the promise
Of nourishment and fulfilment
Left to simmer for a time
One can only guess
Too soon or too late offering
Disappointment
Wasted efforts
Start over
The crucial moment
Delicate
Cautious
Heat and shell
A precise execution
To reveal best laid plans.
Delicious
Rich
A solid finish
The smooth empty shell
Confirms all is lost
Brief delight gone
Replaced with expectation.
Turn the shell upside down
If you stare long enough
Start to believe
This is hope.

Through inadequate expression
We find poetry
When a night sky
Becomes a battle never fought
When a battle
Becomes a symphony never heard
When a symphony
Becomes a storm never sailed
When a storm
Becomes a dream never dreamed
When a dream
Becomes a reality never lived
When reality
Becomes a night sky
I can only describe as blue
And orange
But not really orange
Because orange is orange
And blue is blue
And everyone knows
The sky is blue
But I see orange
Seeping through gauze
Running through ink
A rudely awakened blur
And there is no battle
No symphony
No storm
No dream
No reality
Just a night sky
And it is blue
And orange
Definitely orange