Monday, 18 February 2013

Spirit Meditation


I saw my spirit in the sea
that spirit would not come with me
‘I do not walk on earth’, said she
I turned my back and searched.

I joined my spirit in the sand
that spirit would not take my hand
Said ‘I dont stay long where I land’
I folded up my arms and searched.

I heard my spirit in the sky
that spirit would not tell me why
nor how her soul had come to fly
I dared not jump but on I searched.

I touched my spirit in the flame
another I had hoped to tame
it scorched my dream but never burnt
I sat in search of what I’d learnt.

I rocked my spirit to and fro
In boughs where fear had come to grow
Though all the while my spirit sang
I only heard the Shadowman.

I asked the Blue Boy 'bout that song
To find I'd known it all along
Thought spirits chorused by the sea
I never heard till I swam free.

My spirit found me on my own
asked me to tell what I’d been shown
and there we sat, without a clue
I don’t no where but how we flew.

Hollows Song


I call out from my 
hollow to say 
good night and
tickle your jolly till
you fall over yourself to

ask me many things 
more times and over
I call for all of this 
and more, 
to your hollow

chorus
I will not speak of love
I will not speak of sores
I will not speak of Paris
nor any other girls
but my hollow will resound
as a whisper at night
if you wish it so

tho you may not come through 
with the goods in the end
and i may be right to flee
all hope may seem hollow
but my call will not be

I fill your hollow up
tell you who it is I miss
not just the body of you but
the free man
the laughing man

the silly certain man and many things 
more times and over
so sure of himself
sure he’s under cover in that
hollow of his

and what I think of your freedom?
it's as a lonely plait
down the back of 
some girl’s dress
in the midsummer

too long ago can't recall
was it St Tropez where you lost it?
was it on the hill? in that cabin
as a boy?
i will not speak of that either

chorus
I will not speak of love
I will not speak of sores
I will not speak of Paris
nor any other girls
but my hollow will resound
as a whisper at night
if you wish it so

mid 8
now we have found our
secret hollows
many dreams are lost
at least the bells of Dame
still ring there
though not of our love

not even to ply from you 
your fears
nor ask whether you have
soared such heights since we last
threw the covers off

not of paris
nor any place you yearn for more
nor the bells of the Dame
as they ring out 
your name

oh you 
hollow 
hollow 
heart
who are you ringing for?


© 2005 Rebecca Rennie

Down At the Station in Paris


the roman gypsies get hauled down
to the station with
a guele & a little ratty
case of the pick

but the Texans get their own receiver
down at the station
at last there’s a cactus language
they can understand

as the fox wraps its way around
the show-pony’s shoulders
it's off
to the station we go

with the desperate down & dirty
alligator in his pocket
there’s something for every toad
to report

and though all the charm in the dame
comes to nought
there’s no harm in trying it on
that’s the racket they run
down at the station


© 2005 Rebecca Rennie

On The Mend


on the mend

my bed has your scent
laid out ‘long side your memory
it is simple
& beautiful
they sleep well there

but memory is safer than
the true body you
and nothing is 
solid 
as it seems

chorus
i can see you are
not quite breakable
but you can fold
and you can bend
there’s a tear here or there
a ripple on the surface of you
but not quite broken
you’re on the mend

i’d dive in
make a splash
but i resist the urge
to wrangle about with the
qualities that crack you

I’d take them all on
pin them down
but i don’t know my way
around
you
yet


that veil you cloak over
that soft boy of you
to the core i can see through
you drive a hard bargain
and it only gets tougher

so i keep my
edges on
sharpen my tongue
don't give 
too much away

and sure enough 
in the end
all said all done
and you beg 
for me to stay

chorus
you’ll see how
neither one is breakable
but we can fold
and we can both bend
there’s a tear here or there
a ripple on the surface of us
but not quite broken
we’re on the mend


© 2005 rennie

Wednesday, 9 May 2012

I Crack Myself Up


I crack myself up over
how I cracked up
over you

I crack myself up
these days
before my temper
gets a chance to
crack something
I get in there first

I crack myself up
since you stopped pressing
the very buttons you
once adored
it all cracks me up now

I drop the grater
I say, Great!
Funny girl I say to myself
and crack up

You see how
I crack myself up
these days?!

© Rebecca Rennie 2005 (Completed 2012)

Tuesday, 1 May 2012

Insomnia ***(favourite)

please poem
do not come now
away! down! rise with the sun!
let me be.

you turn up now
despite the dark &
these brick lids,
to suck me out of my
bouyant raft where
I would rather float off
than go under with you.

you cry,
like the unfed child i never.
you want milk ink -
you want it now -
you will wail in my head
till I lift you soft from
your cot, my heart.

i would orphan you
at once if i could

where precisely do you sleep? within which ravine of my soul?
let me find the spot and
put you back there.
am I mad there? am I stale?
tell me about me.

and about that sculptor -
you his sub-pilot too? nagging at him of a weary night
till his hands take off like mine?
do you ruddy pummel at his core until
he rises to the throng to
be done with it – you?

alright, you win
if one must carve
one must.
you lurking chunk of rock
waiting there in the
mildewy recess of consciousness,
you catch me offguard every time.

there
are you out now?
may i go? you had your way with me you
mysterious organism –
soul-fired, you feed off me, you little animal.

you are born, bled and fed.
you are done, now let me go.
but wait, i hear another one
don’t tell me you brought friends?

 
© Rebecca Rennie 2000 (Edited 2012)

Sunday, 1 April 2012

Once We Were

Once you were 
My forbidden treasure
Once you were 
Just there

Once you were
A lot of things
Once you were
More or less

We let go 
all that though
Didn’t we?
Or did we?

Once you were
So many things
Once i wasn't
Quite myself

Once you were
Trying very hard
To make things right
But i wasn't 
was i?
Or did i?

© Rebecca Rennie 2009