The Curling Things

  It is the curling things that encourage me to move the perfect symmetry the fibonacci of chaos that licks me on the inside and spurs me into action It is the hardness that looks soft and the elongation of rational thought I am bound to the unravelling of design I am clung and sticking

Sometimes Heart Dances

  Sometimes and then others… an aching stone a vibrating tessellating gravity a thick beating pane cracking glass for nought but a thought of something easier blue sighing and it falls feather quality quill first softly splitting spilling shattering    

breaKING OF tHE AgReemenTS

the cloud  I AM suspends from The centre of this Space i am Salacious and Intrepid Dare I strip back the confines of this, might i Dissolve ? the mortar that sticks me here? Nebulous horizons offer Solace though Uncertain and there is a tough Stretching A beginning Song a tugging and puffing Of dense Flesh A

I AM ELEPHANT

      Storyteller mirror silent giver of wishes true. I am an elephant. Oh how I love me this way, my close up folding, my sheets of warm skin, the magnified texture and pores of space. Dust rises under lined feet, planets rotating from bone to bone, across arterial heart, kicking up dreams. These eyes are before,

Sand and Feathers

Feet and art make I (n) den tati on the earth the heart is large and deep thinking the hull, buoyant and safe the smile sometimes steel sometimes butter squeezes  in between words like itatoron do flying fish have feathers ? Owls tell me father’s secret his love is not hollow noise but like air

My Yearning Throat

Some things burn like acid, searing the mind on both sides, etching the air that fills my body. Stark, intense, marks, Molten fingertips, a tiger’s scratch that draws the breath and drags me back again. These things are born of storms electricity, thorough strokes that cut and slice right into my yearning throat.

My Heart Pocket

I must say thank you  to the wonderful Jennifer Bullis for her inspiring tribute, created in response to a series of art work I did in which I posed the question ‘What Would Fall Out If The Heart Were A Pocket and We Were Each Turned Upside Down?’ Please pop over at her blog Poetry at the

Fleeting

    slipping fingers in-between fingers, slender-pink rose light sliding, through a window in my beating heart. i skim the temporary fragrance that is you, the ribbons of connection swallow me in a blanket of love, i savour

Morning Earth

  Deep breath clears the words so, like full cocoons they split and flutter off. Morning earth makes small gestures moist fragrant whispers dance persistently in my breast. The sun holds it’s majesty between my eyes and purple blossoms……hazy winter….. What IS this morning saying to me? What IS this dewy touch I feel in

From Man To Woman

From Man to Woman                                                 Arna Baartz *2006   Beautiful and kind heart open wide like womb or time, soft edges undefined. Man is here wants to be loved we see…..to exist is all. Making the rough the tough spearhead, the phallic reaching, mother womb fertile fields a sad man’s tomb. A question soft and true;