Underneath the cherry tree,

Framed above in pink and blue,

I dreamed away the last of springtime;

Summer spreads her wings,

Coming all too soon.

Split open wide the chrysalis of loneliness,

I watch it fly so high above -

Free of all the ties that bind us,

Loosening the stranglehold of love.

Soldier ants are marching through the forest grown of grass.

A crow is cawing as it comes to feed.

All of life is dust, disintegrating in the breeze.

Underneath the cherry tree,

Petals rain down bruised in pink and brown.

I close my eyes, now abandoned,

Holding back the dark, the awful thought of you.

Darlin’ I’ve done it again,

said the wrong thing — 

though I don’t know what it is that I’ve said.

I should’ve brought flowers,

to deflect your attention, from the 

slow-pressure build up of pain,

that bursts into torrential rain.

Your feelings inside, 

like a summer tornado,

they gather momentum unseen.

When the heat of your passion

meets my manner of cool,

then baby, we’re in for a ride — 

and there’s no place I know where to hide.

Babe, I should’ve learned better by now,

not to tease, when the turbulence trembles 

your lips and your brow.

I should have held my peace; 

held you, 

till the raging had ceased.

Then the air would be calm,

the sky filled with light,

and your laugh would infuse me with joy.

But instead, I stand 

paralysed 

and wait for the storm to pass — 

hoping this time will be the last.

Babe, this cycle we’re caught in is cruel — 

weather patterns that happen,

no matter what I do.

I so want a new start,

a world without pain,

your eyes clear of darkness and ghosts.

But instead, I stand 

gouging my hands

and wait for the storm to pass —

feeling that freeze in my heart,

thinking this time just may be my last.

Today is an open door -

I hesitate for a moment, stay

uncertain on the threshold of

what is, and what may

come to be.

That’s me -

drawn too many ways;

constantly retracing steps

to find the path I’d never left,

just covered up in leaves.

Another cup of tea - it

comforts, sinks me deep,

deeper, in the moment before

the change. What is this thing

called life? This road we tread,

daily, unconscious of

what surrounds. A stray

word, indistinct, the sound

of bird song in my ear.

No plan

to unfold, no aim to draw -

the bow now bent and

useless. So -

here I sit, sipping tea -

Laura Marling on CD -

reading “The Glass Menagerie” while

trying, in my mind, to plot a play -

and writing poetry.

An open door.

Today.

Roses hanging on the wall

My last bouquet

Crepe paper-thin and faded

The phone is ringing off the hook

My swallowed words

Barbed with slow-acting poison

I don't know how to leave you

But don't know how to stay

While love remains as nothing but a

Reminiscent stain

I just can't scrub away

Petals floating to the floor

Swept out the door

The steps he's held from taking

Though every night he stays out late

While I hesitate

I'm scared of being mistaken

I don't know how to leave you

But don't know how to stay

The muddy clay that weighs me down

The life we share, the things

I just can't wash away

Her ghostly voice, it holds me

The claws she hooked in place

All I adored now turned corrupt

The stench of petals left

To only rot away

Roses falling off the wall

Remains of love

Of life that came before

One Saturday night I went

to see a play about chess.

More musical, than play. More

hip-hop rap than musical.

Hamilton for the Cold War,

if you will. Just to be clear,

it was a play about that

American prodigy,

Bobby Fischer. The one who

took on the Russian, and won.

Match Of The Century. Cold

War embodied in black and

white. Nineteen seventy-two.

I was only four then. This

meant nothing to me. Picking

white strawberry flowers, each

a tiny star, to please my

mum. In my mind, a small black

dish to lay them upon - white

specks in a dark galaxy -

to me the image pleased, more

than I could wrestle with its

imagery. I was sure

my mum would smile, see beauty

in all I could see. White on

black. Delicate elegance.

Absorbed in my task, I sang.

Imagine then the shatter

of her scolding! What should bring

joy, misconstrued as wanton

vandalism. Is it so

hard to see small intentions

for what they are? I cowered,

sulked, stored the memory deep

within. I never made the

connection, that my white on

black offering, denied us

sweet red summer fruit. All I

knew back then was what was Now.

The future and the past had

no hold. Not like now, when both

hound me through my waking hours,

deny me sleep. I wonder -

was it the same for Bobby?

Caught in time, a champion -

genius shattered by the

frailty of his nerves. In a

blaze, he defeats Spassky, then

fades to black. Bright star. Complete.

At last he descends, white bird

ablaze against the blue: late

afternoon aerobatics

show, and all for free.

Below

I lie in shadow, outstretched;

tethered by twisted roots of

thought, and sunk to ground.

Above

he somersaults, aerial

artist busting wilder moves.

I watch, pinned down, breathing through

my off-beat heart, a stutter

muttering darkly in my

chest.

While still he soars

higher.

Drawn by his flight,

I

fall

free.

For Leonard Cohen

Waiting out the storm,

It's been pouring down all day;

The concert's on at four,

And the Green's so far away.

You forgot to book the bus,

So we're trudging through the mud,

But look up and see the sky reveal

All blue lit up with sun;

And the words of an elder,

They ring out clear and true

With stories of the street and of the land.

Songs of innocence and stories told

Of redemption, healing and of hearts made whole.

And here it doesn’t matter

Who was right and who was wrong;

We’re just waiting for the

Grand Old Man of Song.

Seven years they call an itch -

But it's an itch just to move on.

Old ties to unbind,

But some ties keep us strong.

There’s a necklace in a drawer

For the child that never was.

There’s a photo in a piano stool

Of a father gone too soon;

And those mid life dreams

I never dared to speak,

Bound by things I’d done so long ago.

It seems that all our choices, they leave a trail,

Of everything we tried and where we fail -

But here it doesn’t matter

What was right and what was wrong;

We’re just waiting for the

Grand Old Man of Song.

And as the dark comes,

And music fills the air,

The evening star illuminates the night;

And I remember

A crystal circle held our vows,

And I think of all the things that we did right.

Hallelujah,

I'm standing with you,

In a place outside of thoughts of right or wrong;

Now we’re standing in a field,

We're counting seven years,

And we’re waiting for the

Grand Old Man of Song.

Sleep, my child

Though darkness holds you near

Dreams take flight 

To guide you far from here

Moon is high,

Though her shining face is veiled

Do not cry,

Her light will never fail

On a night hung with shadows

While the wind howled in grief

A mother rocked her newborn

Gently into sleep

As her life bloomed red on white sheets

She kissed her last goodbye; and

Melted into darkness —

Baby, don’t you cry

Sleep, my child

Your mother holds you near

Whispered words 

Only you can hear —

Though far away
My light shines through the veil
Hear me now,
My love will never fail

My first week at Legal Aid, someone from Head Office hanged herself. Laura said she was found by a friend, another defender of the poor, 'cos her little dog went off and wouldn't stop barking. And there she was, hanging in the bathroom. Naked.

Laura said her friend went all Taxi Driver, shaved his head, turned up at work like that. No one knew what to say. I thought - is this it? I'd come seeking a new adventure. Instead I attend another's end.

My boss is kind; he doesn't throw me in. I trot along after the lawyers and watch. It's not that I don't know courts; I just resolved a class action, Supreme Court, in my other job. Tales of cults and child abuse. A good result, but I'd had it. Defending drug addicts, local court, sounded like a holiday camp.

But here is another world. People swarm the hallways, and not the type in suits. The foyer smells like human refuse. And on a plastic waiting room chair, a man slumped, eyes closed, starts to retch. The stink. Rose, court clerk, takes charge, "Move him, clean him up!" I watch, frozen. Rose looks at me, says, "Is he one of yours?" I shake my head, but just don't know. My boss appears. I breathe out.

"Show's over, need some help here." It's Laura, reeking smoke, red hair dishevelled. "I can't do 'em all. Take the one in the cells." She shoves a manila folder in my hands.

It's dark below. The cops at the front desk frown when I say I'm the new girl, but they let me down. A mountain of a man, shirtless, brown skin gleaming with sweat. He's singing to himself. When I say I'm here to help, he glows with a child's smile. He thinks I'm an angel. His address is 77 Heaven Street, Diamond and Pearls. He laughs. I don't know what to do.

In the court room, I ask the magistrate for a mental health assessment. He sits in the dock with an absent smile, softly humming. But when they come to take him away, he wakes, a wild cornered beast, lashing at the officers. Howling. We can still hear him through the walls, as the next person is called.

I step off the train at Kings Cross to a shifting tableaux. A man stands motionless, straight and tall, beige suit, lion mane, expression void, clutching something to his heart. Up the escalator, a young man, hand outstretched, glint of silver tossed. An older woman, face lined and shawl pulled tight, cowers by the wall as a man bends his fist to her face. But I walk on. Outside, the flautist with wild eyes; I saw him playing this morning at the other end of the line.

A taxi screeches to the curb. A man with a shaved head steps out, small dog sheltered in his coat. The night chill slams my face; I gasp awake.

And so it begins.

Here,

Standing in the glow

Memory

Turns to smoke

I feel

Alive again

All I lose

Will never end

Loosening the hold -

Release the singing bird

within my soul

To fly

Above the 

Ash and

Flame

All that's left

is all I have

to gain -

Huddled here,

Within the pain

The body calls me

Back again

Scarred and burnt,

Hunched and broken

Wounds exposed,

Now burst open -

Frozen in this dream

The world is more than

what it used to seem

To fly

Above the 

Ash and

Flame

All I see is

what will

still remain

Soaring free 

Melt away

My body

So high above 

and so below 

Love

Shines through 

The shadow cast

By all I fear

and know

and bear