JANE EYRE to EDWARD ROCHESTER

Could a man so high-born, noble,
Even see a girl like me;
So low-born and unnoble,
Non-aristocracy?
Or am I just as air to you
Invisible but there,
Something you can look right through
Without the slightest care?

You passed me on the stairs today,
I had no time to hide.
I saw you turn your face away.
Will my presence you never abide?
It seems a governess pure and simple,
Unconnected, dowry free
And plain of face without a dimple
Is all you see in me.

Too often now you're far away
And oblivious to my heart's woe.
Oh how I dread your return one day
With the lovely Miss Ingram in tow.
For I've heard that you're soon to be engaged,
It's the talk of the servant's hall.
And I'm haunted by visions of you both unclothed
After the wedding ball.

How I wish I could be those things
That I can never be.
I'd make you suffer the million stings
That you daily inflict on me.
I'd be a lady of great power,
Of wealth and beauty too;
And I'd dwell high up in my ivory tower,
Unattainable to you.

Perhaps only then would you understand
How it feels to be me:
That although I'm far from a lady grand,
My feelings are the same you see;
For I have as much heart and Soul as you -
Thoughts and feelings the same.
So I can't help longing to be with you
And to someday share your name...




 

SLUG

A homeless snail appears
out of eventide's gloaming.
Delicately ribbed body
in variegated brown
glistens beneath golden arc
of garden lantern:
slithers soundlessly, hunger-driven,
towards greenhouse larder.

Eyes follow your trail in reverse.
An indirect route map of silver
that plays with imagination.
Is it a Faery Path?
If I shrink and walk it
will it lead me into another World -
your World,
where I can learn your ways,
perhaps even earn your friendship?

For although in forms so utterly diverse,
this journey through life we share:
two Spirits woven from a single thread
of Sacred Divinity.
And I so love you, little brother,
and will shield you as best I can
from all the heartless barbarity
inherent in my kind;

whose lethal poisons would leave you writhing
in indescribable agony - your punishment
for needing to eat; and for offending
aesthetic sense of  'civilised' race,
who've decided you have no right
to sully 'their' beautiful land.
And they have the audacity
to call you abhorrent?

Little one, in your innocence I see
a beauty unique, unrivalled.
You have no eyes to see me
so I gently stroke your back, just
to say 'I'm here, and I care.'
You cringe violently - could it be
from the warmth of my hand,
or is it that instinctive fear
of human cruelty, common
to so many species on Earth?

And who could blame you if it were?
Limbless and with no means of defence,
you're an easy target for the Spiritually blind
who would delight in squashing you underfoot,
oblivious to what they're destroying:
an irreplaceable work of art
lovingly crafted by the hand of God.

 

ANOMALY

To see your drama clearly
is to be liberated from it.
Ken Keyes Jr.


My love, I think this item, us,
a peculiar anomaly
of incompatibility that

is never mawkish, lovey-dovey, all show;
but like true life is flawed.
Gritty realism uncontrived:

bears scars of word and deed
that cut to the quick, drew blood,
yet somehow failed to kill:

is trampled and marred with threadbare patches
like an old Persian carpet
that can only wait, longing to be perfected

with compassion and exclusive loving attention
that only faithful minds bestow.
But ours are so easily distracted...



I glimpsed a couple in the street today.
Strolling hand-in-hand, they gazed
deep into each others eyes;

then stopped to kiss - and in that moment
nothing else existed for them.
Just you and I in an unlit window.

FLUTTERBUG

It all began as a bit of fun:
his secret weekly treat.
But never a day passes now
without furtively sneaking out,
avoiding detection by suspicious wife
while she's busy cleaning the house.

Closing front door, quiet as a mouse.
Very carefully does it:
mustn't crunch on the gravel drive.
Phew!
Safely obscured by conifer hedge.
Now for freedom a desperate bolt.

Neighbouring houses, trees, stream by
in a dizzy blur of elation.
Distance rapidly increasing between
himself and feared detention.

Tingling from scalp to the soles of feet
that barely connect with asphalt,
as breathless excitement propels him on.
Supermarket, chemist, newsagents; all
rise up then retreat in a flash, while he flies

over Mediterranean sea in his mind
to sandy palm-shaded beaches,
where gentle blue waves lap the shores
and exotic cocktails await him.

The doors swing open and pure adrenaline
shoots him straight inside
with the full force of a strongbow bolt.
His eagerness he can no longer hide.

Proffering his Soul to a Deity in exchange
for wealth redistribution,
he slams his coins down, loud as thunder
on the bookie's dark green counter.

'Two pounds on Russian Boy, please Burt,
in today's two-thirty race.'

And, without a doubt, he's doubly sure
that this time he's onto a winner...

 

COMMON GROUND

Consider your life - has it
really been the catalogue
of disaster, annoyance and discontent
you believe it to be?
'Why is everything always against me?'
you often wail, 'Why is no one
ever on my side?'
Actually
your life is progressing perfectly.
You are simply being groomed
for Soul integration.
That is the purpose of physical life...



So your parents weren't exactly loving,
and encouragement appeared to be
an alien notion to them.
You felt overlooked, unwanted,
worthless.
Why?
Yours was no accident of birth.
You chose those particular circumstances
in order to learn independence
and self-motivation.
The lesson was simple.
The difficulty: perspective.

And those school bullies
who made your life hell on earth?
Best friends in disguise.
Think for a moment:
who else could have taught you
to stand up for yourself
and your principles as effectively?
Or instilled lasting self-confidence?
When you're backed into a corner,
inner reserves have no option
but to rise up and save the day.
Didn't you turn out
to be much stronger
and able to stand your ground
than you'd ever have believed possible?

That demoralising first betrayal
in love?
Phew,
what a lucky escape!
I mean, did you honestly want to be
stuck with a bore like him?
(Or any of those other self-serving
liars and cheats who followed
for that matter?)
Think of them as minute, insignificant squalls
on the surface of a bottomless ocean
of genuine love.
Instead of crying for weeks
you should have been out there diving deeper!

And failing those wretched exams
was no more than the blocking
of an inappropriate career choice.
There is no shame in being destined
for much greater things, and you know
that stagnating from nine-to-five,
seven days a week
in a solicitors office -
just to impress your parents -
would never have made you happy.

So, you see, your vocation as a human being
is to follow the promptings of Spirit,
while searching for the positive
in every situation.
Because each challenge you overcome
brings you one step closer to The Infinite.
Nothing ever happens by chance.

Above all, think of how little
these things will touch you
in middle-age
when you have arrived at your Greatness,
and can see in retrospect
life's lessons for what they were.
And no one will know, then,
how hard you once struggled
against the truth except, perhaps,
those who are struggling still:
those who sense in you a Kindred Spirit,
and search your face
for common ground.






 

PARALYTIC

Sometimes it just happens.
Seems like a good idea at the time.
I'm sure you get the picture:
It's been a bad day -
one of the worst,
and you've had it with everyone,
everything.
So you decide to go out,
to forget.
Here, there are a myriad of diversions
in multi-coloured cylindrical forms
that seem to say,
'We can make you feel good!'
And that's all it takes
today.
So you succumb, all too easily,
to that exhilarating transition
into an alien world;
where walls are alive,
floors undulate and ripple.
And it's funny.
So funny.
You stumble.
Concerned faces loom over you.
Picasso-like,
their absurdity provokes
paroxysms of giggling.
You have to get out.
You need some air.

Streetlamps.
Golden globes that float
in a black Universe.
Dancing, swirling.
Mesmerising.
Trying to catch one
in your hands, but
the sidewalk tilts
forty-five degrees and splat,
you're flat on your face.
There's no pain, but there's blood.
A lot of blood.
It's dripping onto your hands,
making pretty patterns.
You stare at it,
detached, without wondering why or how.
It just is.

Iron railings
become a crutch.
You're on your feet
and begin staggering off
in what you hope
is the direction of home.
A car parked in the street.
Catching sight of your reflection
in a side window as you pass.
'Carrie', the movie,
comes to mind.
Your laughter dies.
You feel suddenly sick.
You lean against a wall for support,
only to slither back down
onto the pavement.
Cheekbones and nose are beginning
to seriously hurt.
Fumbling through contents
of your bag
for something to numb the pain.
A vodka bottle comes to hand.
You try to line it up with your lips,
but that hand seems to be a separate entity
that you have no control over.
Heavy glass bashes against tooth enamel,
knocking your head back against red bricks.
A pointless exercise anyway
because the bottle is empty.
But the beautiful red patterns
your hands make
on the smooth glass
remind you of
a Turkish Delight sunset.
And you smile,
for the realisation dawns
that you, too, are a part of this miracle;
just as it is a part of you.
And today no longer matters.








 

RAIN

Oh woe, oh woe,
It's raining again.
The sad sky is weeping
Cold tears for my pain.

It clearly must know
That you're leaving today
In your silver bird
To fly far away.

And does it know, too,
Who awaits you there
Behind pretty pink walls
In her Stockholm lair?

My trust you've betrayed
For, alas, it seems
You've abandoned true love
For ephemeral dreams.

So with broken heart
I make my way home,
Getting soaked to the skin;
Feeling so alone.