Archive for the ‘Intimacy’ Category

. . . find your sleep

Posted: December 28, 2016 in family, Health and wellness, Intimacy, lost, love, People, Poems, portraits
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I must have said the words a hundred times that night

close to mother’s ear , in hushed voice with shushes,

‘sleep mam, sleep,

try to find your sleep’.

to an ear that had heard my first ever cry,

and the first sounds uttered by three others.

A shell that had heard the lap or crash of many sea tides.

pinned back for orders in service as a Wren.

A vessel generously lent, often bent,

but thrilled by a husband’s laughter.

An organ that balanced her true singing voice

given in celebratory song for her belief,

that absorbed a bible and Salvationist’s songbook.

Open to aid all others, never deaf to need

this was now the phone for my repeating

‘mam,

try to find your sleep’.

. . . . the stuff of upholstery

Posted: October 14, 2014 in Intimacy, lost, love
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. . . . . something strange, but perhaps inevitable has happened in this world of social interaction, pinging pictures and words off anyone with a IT device (and money for the charge-up), must by course, must navigate one towards a second encounter, with that unique first person.

the first, boy or girlfriend, the first kiss in passion, the first glorious smile of focused recognition when you turned up early or late, it didn’t matter and now as tactile as you may like to be, you can’t touch, you can’t speak as you once did, you cannot spin in that universe. I should not be typing this. She may see it but I cannot help myself, I could delete instantaneously (ctrl+a)+(delete) select all erase and F4 to close this program.

?

But I have not closed this page…. yet.

I am genuinely happy for her and her family of 3 children, her life and her newest skill making chairs comfortable or even glamorous again. She has her own little business, and does good work. (I once spent my career teaching others and the upholstery next door studio department tutors became my friends and showed me a lot of restoration work they did beside teaching. So another vein of the past is stitched into my encounter with a school friend’s Facebook friends list, Don’t say that too quickly you may hurt yourself).

I cannot believe beyond the sayings and expressions of “first love” how strong 40 years later, feelings actually are when she acknowledges my presence in this world with a click or tap on a thumbs up symbol or an unlit star to make it shine. Of passage it is a broken link but it has been repaired so rapidly that the link is of a 16 year old’s feelings that were filed away a long time ago, brought out, dusted down, resprung and adequately upholstered to its full form. I am stopped in my tracks.

She was the one and the intimacy was depth itself. I still cannot believe the feelings her name, words, picture will always invoke, like fabric pulled tight and tacked, the form and shape become right and compliment the structure. Love is not a four lettered word it is a pathetic attempt by language to explain pure happiness in unison with another.

forgive me for this,

dwk

. . . . . . . over there

Posted: August 5, 2014 in Intimacy, love, memory, People, Poems, relationships
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like a canyon’s span
the space between us
is now immense.
that speck of light & shadow
over there,
was once our planet,
was our delight of tactile warmth.
the prism of touch that brings bliss
beyond lips and hands.
the rock over there, where she stands
is her life sphere, her family and friends
that’s not my place,
over there.
but laid out like a drill sample
for inspection on electronic pages
it churns emotion like the blade
that pulled this strata cylinder
out of the background.
separated by existence itself
life has slipped through fingers
to make our places, there and here
and lost, infinite possibilities,
had I not leapt from the rig
over there.

© dwk

where?

Posted: July 1, 2014 in Intimacy, love, People, Poems
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 where are you?
I look everywhere
for the foundation, something solid
on which to plant four feet
and enjoy the sun
and yet we have hardly begun.
 
Your laugh echoes
disturbing my natural compass
my balance, my wanting,
the happy but ricocheting sound
defies the possibility
of physical mobility
 
so that we can simply meet
in measured, metered ground,
that suits your needs.
Should I build this place?
Should I continue searching
and end this eternal floating?
 
Is that you, behind the sky
that is so impenetrably clouded
by the devils of others’ reality?
Then an opaque realisation;
your shadow glanced there
but again only fresh earth bare.
 
Where are your footprints
in my tiny sphere of reference?
Is that your dear, soft face,
in the shattered reflection
of my pooled teardrops.
Please find my arms and make this stop……………
 
dwk09

. . . . slipping, shifting shingle

Posted: June 28, 2014 in Intimacy, love, People, personalities, Poems, Seascapes
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was it ever quiet? were we ever still?

 every day a struggle to master the storm? gusts of passion drove us from youth and innocence. love was tempestuous and softness and fragility became hardened. deep scars healed, taught and changed us. left us clinging to rocks in a sea of fears.

was it ever quiet? as we made our passage from ignorance to knowledge. were we ever still enough to find the stars, to feel tide flow, to plot our course? we hurled ourselves against the breakers, blind in passion within the foam and clasping hands, struggling for balance, for a foothold on the slipping, shifting shinglestone.

were we ever still? as bitter brine washed wounds with wet and cold reality, cooling the ecstasy of experience and now here, aloft in the safe arms of the rigging, over a green grey sea I search horizons for that elusive point of light and persist in hope,

a moment of peace in the skyline of your deep eyes and the sun of your smile.

for V

©dwk