Lucky

You are the seven colours of my rainbow,
The seven days within my week,
The seven wonders of my world,
The only prime number I seek.
You are each of my seven continents
My seven deadly sins
You’re the seven seas I travel, the seven notes I sing.

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The Masterpiece of Nothing

Can you see the picture?

Maybe.
But it’s only a smudged sketch,
A half thought out drawing.
It’s no painting:
Framed, technicolour,
Hung for gallery exhibition,
Fraudulent copies made of,
Art heist kind of stuff, is it?

No.
Just a charcoal outline
Misinterpreted
Painfully.

A masterpiece of self-deception,
Makes out it’s something that it’s not,
From a distance.
But get close up.
Get.Close.Up.
And you see

It’s just rubbish
Really

The Invitation

By Oriah Mountain Dreamer

It doesn’t interest me
what you do for a living.
I want to know
what you ache for
and if you dare to dream
of meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me
how old you are.
I want to know
if you will risk
looking like a fool
for love
for your dream
for the adventure of being alive.

It doesnt interest me
what planets are
squaring your moon…
I want to know
if you have touched
the centre of your own sorrow
if you have been opened
by life’s betrayals
or have become shrivelled and closed
from fear of further pain.

I want to know
if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.

I want to know
if you can be with joy
mine or your own
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you
to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us
to be careful
to be realistic
to remember the limitations
of being human.

It doesn’t interest me
if the story you are telling me
is true.
I want to know if you can
disappoint another
to be true to yourself.
If you can bear
the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless
and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see Beauty
even when it is not pretty
every day.
And if you can source your own life
from its presence.

I want to know
if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand at the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon,
“Yes.”

It doesn’t interest me
to know where you live
or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up
after the night of grief and despair
weary and bruised to the bone
and do what needs to be done
to feed the children.

It doesn’t interest me
who you know
or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand
in the centre of the fire
with me
and not shrink back.

It doesn’t interest me
where or what or with whom
you have studied.
I want to know
what sustains you
from the inside
when all else falls away.

I want to know
if you can be alone
with yourself
and if you truly like
the company you keep
in the empty moments

Source: https://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/the-invitation-by-oriah-mountain-dreamer

Damage

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I tried to reverse the other day.
I found looking backwards difficult,
The scratch on the surface
Cutting deeper than you’d imagine,
Leaving marks that won’t go away
For all your optimistic talk.
Even moving forwards, I have discovered,
Is fraught with complication
And kindly old men
Who perhaps see the scuffs
And damage already there,
Take pity and let me on
My way.
To where?
And sometimes I just get locked out,
Left to wait on my own
For someone who might pick me up and rescue me.
Fix the damage.

Looking Down At The Cathedral

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Walk out with me upon the hill and feel
Words which are like this place I could not find.
Let me root you in the roots of my youth,
Now you cannot go and leave me behind.
See the stalagmite spire as it rises
Majestic, monument to our worship.
There’s ancient magic here in this place
Prayers and spells that hover over our lips.
Looking down we feel like the Gods we forget,
Anything possible in this moment
Because we are alone in paradise
Where love lingers immortal, heaven sent.
Fields of green fan out like fate far below
You’re already mine, I already know.

Waterloo Station

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I like looking at the people:
Grey, gaping mouthed, headphones in, aimless in their hurry,
Disembarking strangers; embarking lovers…

I imagine I see two years ago us
As I stare from the window of my train.
We are shiny and new against the pallor of everybody else’s everyday dullness.
We stroll side by side down the platform.

I am on the wrong side, of course,
To truly picture the scene
But then I am always on the wrong side,
Wanting to step out into that remembered picture,
Hold the hand that wasn’t held,
Kiss you on the mouth, on the platform,
In full view of the me
Staring out from behind the glass,
On that other train
That idles here. Waiting.