Thursday, 8 January 2015

Here’s more poetry from movement, some of it from 2012 I think:

 Foot Poem

I sit
A nurturing place
My foot needs no longer
Support the world
Rest my little one
Be loved.

Chalk Island

Bony chalk pathways of twisty formations
The Land builds from undersea.
Their shells, its bones.

Our feet find the path.
I am the Land.
My knees take me out into the open.
My elbows find a hollow way.
I turn, I twist, I lay myself just so.
My teeth are a gate.

 She turns, she twists
 She lays herself just so.
 Her jaw is a weather vane.
 She tastes the wind.

All front!

I thought my body flat
All front and no depth.
God! She’s got a lot of front!
Don’t get my back up!
She’s not backwards in coming forward.
She’s all arse backwards!
Put on a brave front!
Where is my frontanella?

Let your wings fly little beetle,
Scapular coverings unfolding
To reveal lacy fronds
That buzz and quiver and
Impossibly carry your horned shiny blackness.

They fill the back of your body
And open and close
And open and close
And carry you any everywhere.

A soft-shelled creature

My shell, my splitting soft shell.
My mother is dying.
I hold her, she is warm.
I am flesh, deep pink,
Gristly flesh inside spongy carapace
I am
I am
I am
I am
Clawed hand touches fragile skin
I give heat to coldness
Singing my heart


My spine stands me
I grow to my feet
Heels dig in and root.
How am I here?
Full of everything.
I grow down.

No comments:

Post a Comment