Spinning in Spiral

spinningspirals

Spinning in Spiral…

I creep into a tangle

Mildly plucked,

I’ve spun forsooth, a silvered web

Draped in need,

Dressed in lust, and endeavour

Sparkling eyes.

 

Look how she tries, endlessly tries

Let’s douse oneself,

Submerge ourselves

In dancing, we’re disguised from

Expectation’s hollow cries

 

I once hopped here, swirled in spiral

Trickled like a breeze

Upon an Autumn leaf

Where I joined in a dance

Red, yellow, Amber

Swivelling in splendour

Where here we lived within the spirit

Spurred on by the moment

A gust of sweet wind

Broke the grip of our comforts,

To free us, as we danced our way

Into the ground. Slumberbound.

 

We’ll still rise once again,

Like geometric, spiral soup

Nature sets our rhythm, and conducts our pulse

Nothing lasts forever,

Yet somehow the new sing, still

In a musical order, carried on

By the past and the older, time spent

Still timeless.


Written by Ellie Neves

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The truth about the lost car keys, dawns upon me…

The truth about the lost car keys, dawns upon me…In the flowerbed I was trying to uproot a stubborn Dandelion in, back in about June this year. I didn’t have a trowel to hand at the time, and obviously thought I’d improvise… and this is probably why I’ve not seen my car keys since around June!

Note to self- think it through, and next time, take a garden basket for actual garden tools (excluding self).


 

Witchcraft

Hung Witch

 

The Haunt

Which hangs,

In the air

Like static, unspent.

Is the fear of time, and purpose wasted.

Everyday which goes by,
 (Bye, bye)

Without a routine,
(With, or without?)

It can scratch against my ‘ground’

Like a big fat Bat (or a rat)

Round  bound   (hush hush, why why!?)
Hard sweeping brush.

It’s etching away at the trail which I’d marked myself, in the vain hope I could ever, if needed, turn to the tattooed ground.
(What, and be found?)

To remind myself of the way I am headed, and the way I have come.

The path upon which, I thought I had gained some footing, it’s fading.
(and i’m not far behind)

It is during these moments, when locked inside,

A tightly binding labyrinth,

Of excessive reflection, that I long for the traveller’s Compass, to remind me of…

Which direction to take? In order, to step forwards and march on!

 

Sometimes, the colours on life’s map become faded.

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