Some new writing…

We paint the skies with our ignorance.

Too scared to feel the sun for the sun,
And the moon for the moon.

Our knowledge is bound up in an existence of incomplete,
Unaware of where we can take it,
How deep the depth of our connection.

Afraid to drop too far in.

Staying on the surface for air,
But our breath shallow.

Constricted by a movement driven from our weakness,
Afraid to let go and give into that driving pull,
That humanity.

We’ve lost touch,
We’ve lost smell,
Lost our kinaesthetic appreciation.

Afflicted by our desire to see,
Sight,
Close eyes quickly in fright.

And we allow a clouded vision.

Flitter from concept to concept,
Blinking rapidly.

Tip toe through concrete jungles,
Wishing our numbed bodies where nimble.

Able to fly through forest tops.

Dive the extent of the undergrowth.

Swim beneath bottomless wonderment.

We fear the existence of life,
Of love,
Of what we have to offer.

Standing on the brink of man made extinction,
Toes hovering over the edge.
Peeping downward,
Ever downward…

But with a want to see all,
Stand tall in our vulnerability.

Reach out,
Finger tips touching.

Poking and prodding a thing of the past.

Holding hearts out stretched at last.

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Confusion

Confusion rains down hard, can’t reign it in.

Lost in the midst of self doubt and uncertainty.

Relentless.

Torrents of heavy flow flood my clear vision.

Tears at the edge of the bank, trying to build a bridge to overcome.

Pushed down, nose just above the surface.

Just above the surface.

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Catch my love poem

Generosity lies within every smile, teeth bared brightly.

Wide eyes wink gratitude for a moment shared.

Steps increase in buoyancy, bounce and belly rises in a uprising of butterfly wings.

That heart set a flutter, and flushes crimson.

As crimson as my cheeks when we met.

I’ll never write love poems, for the weight would wear too heavy.

My love extends past the lines of romance and relationship.

Spills over into humanity too quickly.

Too many heart beats skipped over and shortness of breath too suffocating.

So I prance around the periphery intent on injecting understanding where I can.

And my love poems will be witnessed, not in the reading of written words, or heard uttered beneath battering eye lashes and whispers softly.

They will but be substantiated in actions of gratitude, eyes wide open and willing to witness, empathy rising.

You’ll see them when we lock eyes, even for a moment.

And smile.

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A Solo Performer Seeks Residency

There is some thing about a daily creative practise that makes me really excited… and gung ho!! Like purposeful, structured writing… slightly controlled, punctual, I don’t want to say contained, but I suppose in a sense there is something really lovely about being able to have a plan and ‘stick to it’…

But then I realise it doesn’t quite work like that. And deep down I know this, I know the messy creative side of my mind, that webs in and out of the rational crevices of my grey and white matter.

I think it comes from the Taurus Moon and Sunrising… that need to feel a sense of control, and the enjoyment of that nice and neatly structured day plan. Make to do lists and tick those mother f**kers off, one by one. But my Sagittarius Sun, pulls me spiralling back down to reality, with a “Umm… Jess, you said you’d write morning pages every day, 30 minutes of writing poetry, 30 minutes of sketching, 30 minutes of reading, daily… you have done 30 minutes of nothing… be creative, let it all go a little, run when you wanna run, kiss that stranger on the tram when you wanna kiss that stranger on the tram, no more of these calculated and precise movements”.

I have been doing my morning pages… to be kind to myself… but I need to let the balance of genuine creativity free fall from finger tips, not tie them up schedules and 300 page guidebooks. My poems are not Ikea furniture, lots of little pieces ready to be assembled in order. My creativity is more like a vomit into a bin (the bin being a computer), or maybe to be nicer to myself once again, my creativity is more like a piece of clay, being moulded and played with, by a young woman, who enjoys the tactility of the moist earthy texture beneath her fingertips.

Maybe words will flow freely, maybe inspiration will jump out at me from behind the taxi’s that park outside my studio wind, maybe I need to let it all go a little, allow me to be me, allow my creativity to do it’s own thing. Let the genius do it’s own work. And I can guide softly.

I have recently begun a solo performance residency with the Victoria University… the above are some musings… 

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Gratitude and all things gushy…

It has been a while since I shared upon these screened pages of the interweb. I have recently returned from Bali, Indonesia, where I rested, connected, shared smiles and laughter, made new family and was inspired. This is some thing I wrote while I was there.

It is in these pages that life forgets it’s meaning.

Where simple pleasures mingle with simple pain.

All makes sense and is at peace.

Only so, either way we look we see solitude and friendship in plain pages and inked lines.

Moments pass and the promise of uncertainty entertains us.

Whether feared or failing to see further, we linger, in the single breath of our existence.

Moments paused upon to breathe deep the smells that delight.

A swallow flits above tiled roof lines, eating up those that hover above the lights.

The moon shines through a haze, of smoke or cloud, it is unknown, but the knowledge not needed.

My silence and solitude is greeted with a sigh of relief.

And as the waves lap at the shore line, I smile at all the laughing eyes and grinning teeth that have shared themselves so intimately.

Tears fall fondly of a universal love and I give thanks for all that I have been honoured to hold.

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Days like these – part 2

It’s days like these that having me wanting to scream “fuck the world, and every benign creature that resides within it”

Every molecule of wanting to punch, fist first, deep into the psyche of existence and tell it to wake the fuck up.

A slap won’t do nothing. It’s too far gone.

Given in and greeting every day with a forced and strained smile.

Those tears of yesterday start to fall.

A release that isn’t quite fulfilling.

But to go further would feel wicked, and my integrity holds me back.

A fight of furious bickering begins in my brain, that grey matter and white matter doing what it does best, but I wonder why and it makes it all matters less.

Or more.

It builds and twists and hurts, and I just want it to fucking rest.

When the game is tight, and every ripple of flesh is taut, never at ease, shoulder blades stick out, protruding tense.

Its days like these that wear away enamel,

a constant grinding,

away,

away,

away,

where a snide comment spits venomously of tongue.

And it wasn’t even meant.

Days like these that know nothing but wisdom that is hidden,

Rainy weather that rants inconsistently,

Solemn and forlorn,

but angry.

And the wall feels soft against knuckles edge.

 

 

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Days like these

It’s days like these that have me smiling sadly.

That keep a grin on my face without falling.

Smile forced and stained with silent and dry tears.

Confusion reigns or rains.

Heavy chest needs cracking open, but how?

An appreciation for company, when I want to be alone.

Never quite quick enough to jump on opportunities rising. Then falling.

Swiftly. Sadly. Surely. Slowly.

But I am awake.

My eyes open.

My heart beating softly.

Summer time comes in drifts and drabs.

If only constant.

As my yearning.

A space left empty, amongst books and dripping candle wax.

Waning. Waiting. Wondering.

Ripples of love’s tide, returning.

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