poetry, word doodles and other writing stuff
Three words
Not what you think
Not the sometimes shallow
Sometimes real
Sometimes exuberant
Sometimes deep
Three words
Three words
That mean much more
Three words
That say you are worth it
Three words
That say I am worth it
Three words
Of caring
Three words
Of being
And yes
Three words of love
Three words
I am here
Come brother wind
Dance with me
Show me the stories
Of foreign lands
Come brother wind
Sing to me
Bring me the songs
Of times gone by
Come brother wind
Speak to me
Tell me the poems
Of broken hearts
Come brother wind
Tousle my hair
Whisper to me
Of love in waiting
Come brother wind
Cover me
With golden leaves
Strewn by you
Come brother wind
Bring with you
The smell of autumn
Expectation of change
You and I
Into one another
Like molecules of a liquid
Drifting apart
For long, for short, for nothing
Just to bump again
Sticking together
Always happens
Eventually
Dismantling again
Difficult
Painful
Necessary?
And so we proceed
For how long
I know not
You won’t say
A thick haze slowly eats the city; drowning it in milky pudding.
There is a bright spot; I must assume the sun.
Grey silhouettes slowly emerge from the haze.
Anonymous giants, only known to those close by.
Don’t fight windmills; you won’t win.
I up the resistance running up a grass covered hill.
I run into battle or follow my prey, hunting.
Archaic DNA scripts fall into place, always fight never flight.
I can’t see the horizon; even though I am high up in the building on the hill.
What I thought a gargoyle, turned into a crow watching the morning crowd through glass walls.
‘No gargoyles in the mist’, I think feeling sad.
‘Here I go again on my own’, Whitesnakes shout in my ears.
The giants ahead are probably just houses.
There is no magic, as the guy next to me huffs loudly.
I up the resistance a bit more.
Let it go girl, just let it go! I know well how to ‘fight for’, not so well how to ‘let go off’. But I’m learning.
The milky pudding spits out the giants; I can’t see beanstalks either.
Annoyed I make my way downstairs.
There is hardly anything more real than cold steel across my shoulders.
I want to raise my hands above my head and call thunder and lightning.
But the steel will do; there is magic in the strength of my bones.
Suddenly sun-rays burst into the room.
‘The book of love is long and boring
No one can lift the damn thing’.
But I am becoming stronger.
You make…
… my toes tingle
… my eye twinkle
… my sheets wrinkle
… my head jingle.
And you make the wolf leave her dingle.
Nothing
All I see is a brick wall
Insurmountable
No hidden door
The wall is you
Not talking
Not sharing
But I see your love for me
I know not where the path goes
Yellow bricks would be brighter
The tin man’s heart is huge
Or was it the lion?
Straw sticks out my ears,
As I stare at the wall.
There isn’t even somewhere to turn to.
And I won’t go back.
So.
So, I stare at the wall, growing roots.
While home is within me.
When I look up my roots have wrought branches, thorns, and leaves.
A shower of rose pedals covers me.
Does this mean I have to wait another hundred years?
The red bricks shimmer through the greenery.
I move my feet, I have strong roots.
I have old roots. Very old.
How long have I been standing here?
I move my feet.
And everything comes tumbling down.
Eventually,
The dust settles
Yellow bricks are so much brighter.
Sun shines on the road.
You hold my hand.
Poetry by Nathalie 