Homage To The Pit Of My Stomach

Homage To The Pit Of My Stomach

We struggle with our work-life balance;

argumentative for whose role it is

to digest and process

what expresses itself as hunger,

announced with a drum roll

and buried deep in golden soil,

why do you always have to make this personal?

Maybe others are sympathetic to your plea

but you stand on shrinking nerves

I didn’t know existed

in those parts of my body,

how dare you show up so naturally.

The site of all egocentricity;

I used to fear your twisted interior

except now I see that sometimes

the things we first think look most pretty

are all but empty of substance.

Loving you takes courage;

a round of ‘love you, love you not’,

plucking chance petals in the absence of knowing

that every flower which grows here is edible.

Sometimes, I just don’t believe in you.

I go along with it,

because other people, like my therapist,

want me to explore this pyrophobia,

my fear of playing with the fire in my belly –

the ‘shining gem’, manipura, the yellow element,

source of healing power.

Self-worth perfected in the heat of the kiln

which I’ll use to burn this house down.

Eyes On The Weather Forecast

Eyes On The Weather Forecast

Presence is but a balance beam,

the thin, or ever expansive line

dividing past and future

in a measure of breaths.

It’s slippery if not gritted

and we tend to count the steps

we think we have left

over the strength of our legs,

over the snowflakes landing

on our upturned palms.

Can you marvel at their melting,

stay with them whilst they pass away

and soak into the skin which remains?

Can you appreciate the sky

as it waters your present

or are you so busy avoiding the cold

that your fingers burn

on an imaginary fireplace?