When the dolphins come then let them take me,
When the dolphins are seen in Morecambe Bay,
let me go to them,
and we will sing a song you cannot hear,
and you’ll never want to,
let me walk alone along the flats,
between the sucking sands,
let me walk alone out to the dolphins and we’ll swim forever,
no selkie song for I,
just the dolphins calling to the sun.
How short is this life,
Too short to be stuck,
too short to be here for the rest of my life,
and life is too short for us to fight,
when every falling snowflake could be missed.
‘Tween
I long, for a space,
between the other spaces,
I long, for a time between the moments,
somewhere warm and safe,
a tangle of limbs,
and a blanket,
stretched over heather,
somewhere between, a smallish space,
with time to spare,
in falling, falling, moments of time between times.
I long, but cannot act,
trapped in the time of now,
and all the spaces that are real,
or at least,
spaces that stretch me out,
and I cannot find those moments
that fall, somewhere between.
How I wish I could.
A Girl
There’s a girl on the dale ahead of me,
Beyond the trees, I can barely make her out,
the wind pulls the branches so hard and
my hair whips before my eyes,
She’s out in the buttercups,
She’s pushing between the ferns,
and the wind is loud and long,
I sit on this log and I finish thinking inexpressable thoughts,
finish drinking, the missing wine.
There is a girl below the branches,
up against the sky, her arms out welcoming the wind,
and I am in the trees, hiding away,
scared in case she turns and I am seen
and this moment of my watching,
is at an end.
There’s a girl on the dale ahead of me,
her arms are out and her hair streams long in the wind.
A dark shape on the green horizon,
her hair is blonde and long,
and I am sitting on this log,
incapable of seeing anything but her,
out amidst the buttercups,
pushing between the ferns,
taking refuge in her oak.
And I, am quite alone, further out than I thought,
and refusing to wave lest she turn to look.
No right to take the bite, and no right to spurn it,
Didn’t earn all this spite, and I couldn’t learn it.
Take the olive branch and burn it,
Got no right to take a bite, got no right to want it,
got no rights and it’s hard to sleep at night,
not unless you want it, and if you can’t want this too,
and if theres nothing I can do, then what the point in all this night?
and wheres the right to take a bit when I’m going to burn it?
I’ll take the spite and put it in a kite,
to see the sky turn as black as I am with it,
and theres no right to take this spite and I cannot spurn it,
all they say, all through the day and well into the night,
I just cannot unlearn it,
and theres a bridge for me to burn, and theres a star for me to learn,
and there is nothing left not in my sight,
and I am scarred and burned beyond the night and there’s my life,
unlearn it.
Poison
I thought I had an immunity to poison,
I know, I kept the antidote, took it regularly,
Though my immunity was assured.
Now it’s been pouring over me for years,
and I haven’t had the antidote, in only a month or so,
Can’t remember where I put it,
did you give it to her? Over eggs one morning perhaps,
did you give it to her? She needed it, certainly,
far too susceptible to poison, she always has been.
I thought my immunity was assured,
I’ve swum in lakes of the black stuff for years.
Now I find, it dripped into my ears,
and I’m not laughing now,
we used to laugh about how poison was so irrelevant to us,
and now he’s dripping it into my ears,
I’m not laughing right now. Its never been like this before,
I used to be able to eat anything,
but my cast iron stomache is turning.
Did you give my antidote away, I know that I thought I didn’t need it anymore,
I just wish I could remember where I put it down.
Other people are passing that poison hand to hand,
and my throat is gagging,
I don’t think that my immune system can take much more, too much thick blackness,
too much and I’ve swallowed.
And again, before I vomit, please, what was that antidote I used to take?
How do I let this flow over me?
HW
Lead me to your Lyonesse, like a lion, stalking through grass,
Running past the couple from the north-east, who thought that you were fae,
and said so loudly, though you didn’t hear.
Sit then, golden on your tower, look out across your bay,
Survey the land and dream of flying, jump from where we stand,
and the waves break white across the lake,
Lyonesse below the surface, and the wind sweeps the grasses as our hair,
We are below the sky, and the lake is there.
Unseen Deer
Over buttercup fields the wind danced,
and the day was over far too soon.
In amidst the trees the unseen deer ran,
and the day vanished into the sky’s blue.
Over buttercup fields, in amidst the lakes,
a running deer and a following wind,
the land took it’s price as I crossed the stream,
and raced the deer as the wind it skimmed.
Handsaw
And do I love you?
How could I not,
a thousand times on wings you fly,
and still I have no words.
November 2007
November 2007 marks the point where I made the choice,
to change my basic values, well, not so much,
but to confront head on, what I had run from before.
The sea is a messy being and it feels as if,
I’m swimming through solid glue.
But I said, I’d turn and face, head-on,
everything that had been too much before.
No stepping out then, acknowledgement then,
and the mocking laughter still, of those who used to hurl abuse.
luvlymish
Mish's Quick Kisses 