Journey of the Heart

My poem relates to the periods of time after loss… Those periods when we can’t see the wood for the trees, aim and miss, or cling to what is not meant to be. There is an art to healthy endings and I was experiencing the first adult lesson of ‘letting go with grace’ and having to move forward: which I must confess, can still be a little tricky at times, even now. On occasions it can be easier to dwell and continue ‘suffering over our own suffering’ whatever the reason, much longer than is good for our souls. The poem was written late one evening in May 1988; I was 20 and had not long split with my first serious boyfriend of 2 years.   I was completely devastated by the break up. At that point in life, I didn’t really know how to cope with the loss, and the next year or 3 became an extended period of mourning. On the night in question, I had gone out into the countryside on a hazy summer evening to meet mutual friends camping out for the weekend. The field party was ...

I have always been a writer… I have always had this calling to express my feelings through the magic of words. Sadly for a very long time in my life I have silenced this voice. Whilst I have written countless poems during endless nights, I never thought that I would be good enough for this. There are so many gifted souls out there, tell me, who would want to read my poetry? For a very long time in my life opinions and approval were very important to me. I always wanted to live up to people’s expectations. Be the good girl, the one the others are proud of, as she lives the way they think is the only way, their way. I tried to be very thin. I dumbed down. I put on makeup and chose high heels. I studied law. I wore a pear necklace and a white blouse. My hair, ever so perfectly layered. I was everything that others wanted me to be and nothing that I am. Slowly and steadily I drifted away from my authentic calling. Illnesses started to manifest in my body. And pain of all...

  I have a tendency to over-analyze things... Beliefs, methods, values, emotions and conversations, and even my technique and form when I play music or run. Analysis isn’t a bad thing; it’s born, in the first place, of questions and curiosity and a desire to be better - to learn. This is good. It can take over, though. When thinking about something, or trying to measure it in some way, becomes bigger than the thing itself - bigger than the enjoyment of it or the beauty of it, the just because of it - I think it can be damaging. Certainly, I’ve seen this with my musical performances, amongst other things! I love blowing bubbles. I love balloons. I love the blooming, the colour, the “just because” of being a part of their release. There’s a symbolism there, for me - a metaphor for letting go and letting be - even if only for the sake of a few glorious moments of translucent colour, set free. Everything floats away - our lives are transient things - and it’s goo...

At times I feel words are rushing at me… Unable to get them all down on paper in time before they are lost memories. Panic replaces the calm, what must I know? I remind myself to let go, just breath, if all is important the words will reappear. They are never truly lost. Only at times I feel like a ship lost at sea. Ideas too many. Conversations with self. Painting by  by Tomasz Alen Kopera All in a Day by Kim Buskala Stop for a moment Let me catch up The dance that you dance Is two steps too fast The coarse that I am on Is ready to crash Hook line and sinker I'll catch me a catch A phrase a sentence A letter away Scribble it down All in a day With subjects there are many Issues to cover Recover Discover Do not delay The seeds have been planted They are ready to grow I am sure what emerges Is something I know Others have interest in The knowledge you hold Get it on paper So it can be told Over a...

Hopefully, we will all fall in love in our lives, and hopefully that experience will show us more of who we are, instead of less… In my own life, there was this one person who gave me immense happiness, and brought a glitter to my eyes with his smile, small talks, jokes and voice. I loved the way he called me up every morning to start his day with my voice: he called me every half hour because he was missing me, reminding me that he loved me time and time again. I was his secret keeper, his patient listener, his crybaby. He was my guide and even mentor at times. He gave me clarity in my life.  It even felt as if he had become my reason to live. I built a dream with him in it, and could not imagine my future without him. Irrespective of the geographic distance between us, I felt him near me. Distance, rather, made our relationship stronger! Or so I thought. Then, one sad day, he started changing and I didn’t understand why. He was still my priority but I was rarely on h...

Nearly everywhere we look nowadays, Mother Earth is being used up and destroyed… I see this ravaging of our planet as a metaphor for women in society. This makes me very sad. Sometimes we are taken for granted, used up. Destroyed. The fire within us dies out. My poem serves as a warning of what could happen to us, and to our Mother Earth if we don’t each do something now to prevent it from continuing toward total destruction. Mother, Lover, Lady Hope by Alise Versella She used to light up like tinder Crackle like burning wood Her embers would burst forward Like moths from their cocoon Now they say she shatters A little more each day Breaking under the weight of Fallen trees and tidal waves The broken wings of traveling monarchs Are dying in the sky like her orange light Their fragile skins dust the cracked earth Broken like sockets of the eyes that lost their sight She was a force to be reckoned with Fire and ...