July in Tuscany

white butterflies

busy all day

while I am not

lilac lavender scent

floats through the warm wind

as my mind

whirs around

with dark thoughts.

worries about

the home within me

when a home i’ve always wanted it to be.

anyway

my mind stills

with a phone call from a Southend nurse

she speaks to me

a soothing song

from english sea to Tuscany

and now the cloudy afternoon has passed

and we sit

sipping white wine

looking at a silhouette of cypress instead of skyscrapers

we scratch mosquito bites

I try to draw and capture the greens of Tuscany

but now the light fades

and the soft blue haze of far away

is blurring into night

we sit, think, talk a little

and have another sip of wine.

From Painting and Writing

What Colour is Love?

What colour is love?

Are you orange, red, gold or blue?

i am really trying to paint you

i think you change colours everyday

like the sun and sky

changes the sea

green blue brown grey

but what colour are you today?

in my heart you are burning orange

but where is my heart?

is the heart of me in my chest, is it in my belly or in my breast?

i am hugging you in

protecting you with a blue painted line

if i can’t hold love in my body

i will hold love in my painting

there you will be held

in my eternal forever love

my painting is for healing

my painting is for holding

my painting is for carrying me.

What colour is love?

it is a gem in the light

it is the grasses before night

it is the dandelion in flight

it is in my heart and my chest and my belly and my breast

the colour of love

From Overcast

Grief

are you feeling what i feel?

can you feel the clouds above you

can you see the sun

can you receive the love

that comes from everyone?

Death

i saw your hand

reach for me

the twin beds were there

was it you two

are you at peace?

i was afraid to hold your hand

i ran from it

into the flood

the stairs filled

with London’s black water

concrete and grey walls

but there was a window

with light coming through

but i didn’t see it

were you trying to speak to me?

what was you telling me, from the blackness

i felt you, up there

i knew it was you

when you came, you smiled

i didn’t run this time

was it you, telling me

was it you, body, knowing?

did you know?

do you know, do you know

the plan for me?

From Songs to my body

To dance

i love to feel

my arms move

they rise up

to the sky

what are they reaching for?

fingers loosely fluttering

they know what to do

my eyelids close

my eyelashes flicker

my legs, stomach and chest are strong but soft

i feel i could be carved into any shape

as the sounds flow through me

like a current

my hair tickles my lower back

my feet rooted to the floor

my fists tighten

my heart opens

and i m o v e

what is it to dance

i think it is to feel

truly free

in me

Ourselves

We are taught to cover ourselves

to censor ourselves

to be afraid of ourselves

to be disgusted of ourselves

we are not taught to love ourselves

cherish ourselves

celebrate ourselves

or be present in ourselves

i think we should free ourselves

release ourselves

embrace ourselves

and

a c c e p t ourselves

Present

I am present

in my body

i feel

my boobs and my belly

my thighs on the chair

my bum resting here

my feet touching the log

being warmed by the fire

the orange glow

creating a silhouette of my toes

i spread them

and feel like a child

innocently naked

wholesome

natural

unashamedly, me.

Being

Lush green

yellow glow

orange body

in the light

brown eyes

green eyes

looking together at the sky

glitter magic

in a dream

a child harri

in my fantasy

Sadness

Sadness

fills my heart

like a bath

and it flows down my cheeks

like a gentle stream

in dappled light

on a melancholy and lonely sunday

my chest fills with this

lonely, even when people are with me

will i know sunshine

and feel heat and light on my eyelids

will my cheeks crease with joy again

will i laugh, and not feel envy

will i forgive my body

will i forgive myself

will i accept that this love in me

was not meant to be

The plan

am i a failure as a mother

is my pain real to feel

am i even a mother

will i be a mother

my body is separate from me

but who is me?

i want to forgive

trust

that the plan for me

is meant to be

My power

what is inside you?

do you feel it?

do you know it?

maybe you did

you didn’t trust it

we live in a mans world

we doubt our instinct and our power

this pain will be my power

what i will endure

will bring me to a new place

an uncertain place.

i hope there is flowers there

and sunshine

and love

and a full beaming heart

this pain

this pain

this pain

this pain will be my power

Pain

this pain is ancient

it is in our roots

it grows from our pelvis

and expands out from our vulvas

and connects us to each other

we have felt this pain

forever

this pain

this pain is our power

Hello

is that you

inside of me?

I am different now

I am different now

I am a tree who has seen

a flower who has felt the wind

a river who has felt the rain

i am clay

and i have been carved

into a new body

a new heart

i am different now

i will see differently

i will feel differently

sadness is now a part of me

it is in my roots

and it will flow out of my fingertips

and my lips

and now exists in this

To my body #1

you beautiful body

you will endure more than you know

more than you know you can

To my body #2

I will love you again

From Scribbles in my sketchbook

Cinema

Bea and Mum

sitting next to me

eyes wide and silent

valerie, valerie, valerie

tears streaming

face wet

eyes wide, still and silent

i could cry for hours

close my eyes

feel underwater

spread my arms

open my chest

p i t c h b l a c k

Saturday Sadness

A day alone.

white sheets.

coffee stains.

sunny cloudy day.

Mind is on thought, caught.

A scratched CD in a lilac bedroom

tripping up, can’t move on.

A longing for green

for loud thunderous waves

a longing for wind

on a make up free face

i am empty

i empty myself

monday to friday

i fill up with substance

that makes me feel emptier

i sit alone

in a quiet flat

i walk alone

in a busy street

i talk loudly

in waterstones

about anxiety and therapy

i look at books with images of trees and leaves

i see words

camping, walking, swimming

i long for wild places

i want to go into these pages

enter the forests

dive into the seas

climb the mountains

that will make me feel free

i rest

i eat

i talk

i drink tea.

i am in the ocean of sadness

everything is coloured blue

flowers are there, trees are.

the leaves, the wind, the water, the rock, the forest, the ocean, the birds are here.

i enter the woods

the sadness - i am still immersed

i dont resist

i notice. i listen. i love.

From Poems in Vienna

Arrival

I don’t know why

or how the words come.

is it new air?

new faces

or places?

is it breathing the air

of klimt?

of schiele?

anonymous female thinkers

window watchers

is it the domes?

the gold?

the light?

or maybe it is ovulation

the egg that brings

buds

unopened

maybe I had to buy this sketchbook

this pen

to open them

maybe its the sound of white cups

on white saucers.

anonymous chatter

cakes of art in counters

white shirts and waistcoasts

lights and mirrors

maybe it is the unused silent piano

waiting

to be played

maybe it is me in London

laying dormant

quiet

until the fingers

of the pianist

touches their tips to the keys

and p l a y s

Possible realisation

or maybe it is

sally rooney

From Poems for South America

Courage

COUR = LATIN WORD MEANING ‘HEART’

ORIGINAL DEFINITION WAS TO TELL THE STORY OF WHO YOU ARE WITH YOUR WHOLE HEART

CONNECTED

FEEL THINGS

Colombian bracelet

Alamah said

this bracelet reminds me of three things

the blue is like the sky

infinity, possibility

the yellow is like the sun

positivity, brightness, vibrance

and the red is like fire

passion, growth, life

From Poems for Kerala

Catching words

Words flow out of me
on days like this
maybe it is the sun
or the humidity
or the feeling
that i am where i am supposed to be

my skin is pulsing
my heart is beating
my roots are growing

in the foliage of banana plantations
in the rustle of the coconut palms
in the shallow shores of arabian waves

i am held up by a fierce sunshine (it has me in its hands)
i am fed by the trees
i snack on the shadows
and i dance with the leaves

i smile with the bookseller in fort kochi
he tells us of indian poets
and beautiful jungles
in this fertile land of his
that can nourish us
and hydrate us
with a lot more
than the fruits of the earth

it serves us a breakfast of light (appams)
a lunch of colour (thali)
and a dinner of love (veg stew)

i feel full
with the nutrients
of the indian elements

Writing is like dancing

Writing is like dancing

the music of the rhyme
hits like a hand on a drum
the lines flow like beats
of the thumb

the hips circle
like a narrative

the voice flows through the body
the italic hips rotating
rolling and flicking
and circling round and round
and up
and down

the pen dances on the page
the back rolls like ink
on white paper

telling a story
of past
of present

through the beat of the drum
the words jangle
like a bangle
on wrist

feet spin like syllables
the heart beats like characters
in a universal language

the speech
of the river
of the earth
of the spine
of the story

the pulse and sweat of the author
lives within these curls and flicks
and flows like rainwater
out of these hands writing and typing

the thread
that leads from my heart to my tips
and now exists on this.

Cooking words

As i sit at this table
i am cooking

i have all the ingredients
of my recipe

thick heat
moon sky
full heart
empty belly

the pen is my ladel
i scoop up thoughts
and stir ideas

the pot on the stove
collects and holds

the flavours of inspiration

i am the receiver
of sunbeams and moonlight

i am just catching it
and pouring it into the pan
ready to boil
it may not appeal to the tastes of all

but it might feed, or hopefully nourish

it is what i serve today,
anyway