a star unrepentant

a pale star through the benighted branches blurred by lack of glasses i breathe four point three below zero and blink out of order where the crows sleep secretly black shadows on black, their dreams contagious, simple, crawling with edible garbage in plenty more steps over the brittle dead leaves smell like so many autumns…

Twenty. Gifts

i am part of a denomination which has a very strange attitude to women. women in general are, not unlike the children of the victorian era, to be seen, but not heard. women who think about ministry, however little, are to be walked through like they did not exist at all. yes, there are few…

rose vs. begonia

roses look cool, and are interesting to raise. begonias look green and red and white and yellow, and are not presumptuous. but if asked to choose between them, i will probably say that i like chrysanthemums best. those shaggy, yellow or white, heavy-headed flowers with the bitter smell. kiku-no-hana.

time like amber glass fluid in motion

a pre-historic insect trapped in glass; the vague wings beat against the fresh tears of pine only to bring death deeper, twine the moth and the resin the now and the found; the chunk of what used to be sunlight and trees and birdsong so long ago that it almost echoes the first light falling,…

rites

rites and rituals make the world achievable, structured, thinkable. lists go in threes, and if one is missing, we add the etc, just to complete the ritual of lists going in threes. there is the personal morning ritual with the beverage and alarm, and hunting of socks, and the greetings, and partings – the oil…

kā reizēm gadās uztrāpīt uz cilvēka lappušu malām, un baložu vietā sirds vēstules nez kāpēc pārnēsā dzēse (jo baloži vienkārši nav pārāk inteliģenti)

uz malām, mēs toreiz rakstījām uz malām un neatgriešanos, kad vēja pusē salām mūs gārņi ievīla. uz malām un vienā laidā, tā bez kādām šuvēm no rokām vien mēs ugunskuri kļuvām uz neatgriešanos. kā dzēses ūdensrozēs mēs lapas sagriezām, kas tika tev, kas – man, to neizlasīt kartupeļu grozos. uz malām mēs rakstījām no paša…

considering

well, it seems i have started drawing thought-pictures or feeling-pictures or those pictures where there is sth of  the other-ness. and this time i have as much clue as to whether that is good or bad as the last time. the change is in the air. have to think of that. meanwhile, here is one of…

nineteen – reverence

like that first moment of truth, when the eyes of lovers meet never to be repeated, never lived again, but ever remembered as the foundation of all that was and will be  – that first breath in you extends over all my days and unslept hours. in you all colours are bright, and all the…

memories – or maybe false

a song about how life is like a ball of yarn, made from that one single moment of truth, that one meeting, that one memory, around which all else rests. and that sometimes the making of the ball becomes far more important than the moment in the centre.

september 28

the little wings of a ladybird flash by my face, dissipating into the distance of speckled reds and greens and the smell of the leaves, falling. i regret forgetting my camera.

flying with silences

i look to the night moth when the wind waits patiently in the susurrus of leaves to borrow the silence of wings that carries me back and onwards, into the sigh of memories, moments, remembrances, shared shards of a life and experience that are lost irreversibly. under the cover of midnight green i will put…

sunday, march eleven

this was a glorious, epic, spectacular fail day. no, not fail. FAIL. thus: in order to be in time for the church event, i put up 3 alarms: 6.30, 7.00, 7.30. i woke up at 8.30, and someone had pressed all the alarms without me even as much as remembering getting up and catching the…

pilnmēness/ pustrijos naktī// joprojām nav iespējams gulēt

skumju putns izplešas vējā un tumšmelnām spalvām ieķeŗas mākoņu malās. viņš plīvo starp zemi un debesīm, starp to, kas varēja būt, un to, kas nenotika. viņa kājas iejūk vīnogu zaros aiz loga, un viņa sirds sitas stiklos, klusumā, pārtraukta. sarāvies kamolā, skumju putns tup uz palodzes, un ir krietni pāri pusnaktij; viņa acis aizsedz mēnesi,…

the grey sun

and suddenly it is december, and suddenly the sun wraps herself in pale haze and does not rise over the horizon for more than a few hands. darkness has come slowly, sneaking, and has taken over completely. and the snow tries falling, and fails miserably, epically. the earth is peat-grey, the sky is grizzled, the people throng…