Poetry Blog by Hazel ettridge

Life is  a fabrication of palatable lies.

Swimming through consciousness,

Shoaling like fish, open mouthed,

We take in all that we can swallow.

Hallucinating a fragile reality

Clinging to shreds

Pulling at threads

Holding our heads

We long for dignity.

Pulled to the earth

From a home in the sky

Spinning between birth and death

Eyes tightly closed

We swallow l...

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I am a snake charmer

My father was a snake charmer

And his father and all the fathers

Who came before.

I have inherited the gift

Of charming snakes.

I tame them. I make them dance.

People say that I hypnotise them

But they would be wrong. 

I play my pungi 

I breathe in and out

Slowly.

I sway from side to side 

I fix them with my gaze 

But, if truth be told...

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I am a snake charmer

My father was a snake charmer

And his father and all the fathers

Who came before.

I have inherited the gift

Of charming snakes.

I tame them. I make them dance.

People say that I hypnotise them

But they would be wrong. 

I play my pungi 

I breathe in and out

Slowly.

I sway from side to side 

I fix them with my gaze 

But, if truth be told...

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There are two yous.

The reality of who you are and

The you that I project

The you that I want you to be

The you that I fear you are

The you that I have created from

Little glimpses of the real you and

From a deep well of guesswork that

Some might call intuition.

*  *  *  *  *

There are two mes.

The reality of who I am and

The image that I project.

The me that...

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She was standing alone on the shingle

Unmoving.

Gazing across the

Silver ripple green gray water

To a horizon lost in mist.

She was tall

But not tall enough.

Wearing his too long baggy jeans

His old maroon cardigan

His worn and worn and worn again flat cap.

Tears coursed, unchecked, down her cheeks.

I tried to witness the fathoms of her grief.

She glanced over h...

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As she cracks, water

Gushes from her open veins

To nourish new growth  

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I'm leaning against this Giant Redwood

A beating pulse spreading

From the belly of the earth

Peristaltic through my bones

I'm feeling warm and held

Feeling known and owned

Like someone/something's 

Got my back.

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I spent my entire life looking up at this mountain.

Yearning to reach the summit.

Now that I'm here,

I look down with fondness

At the places I have come from

And long to relive the journey.

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This is the last of the Walking Backwards poems (probably)

Confidence growing, my stride lengthens

I open my arms wide and

Walking backwards I break into

An awkward, lumbering

Run!

Not knowing what lies behind

Flailing to stay on my feet

Like a drunk in a graveyard

I stumble back and back

Euphoric in the madness of it all

Laughing with shooting ...

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Stepping back into the unknown

The not yet created

The not yet lived

Hoping for solid ground

Fearing the void

A faltering footstep

On the yet untrodden path

Sensing with all my might

No eyes with which to see

No clues, no markers

Just blind faith

With everything to play for

And nothing to lose

Walking backwards

Into the realm of Gods

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Running with the pack

I slow my pace.

Jostled from behind

I resist, come to a halt,

Dig my heels in tight.

A space forms around me as

The multitude swarms past

And I become

'Other'. 

In this space 

I hear a humming bee

I smell the seasoned earth

I feel the tender sun

Gently kissing my cheek.

And slowly I take a step

Backwards.

And as the human murmur...

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Crushed beneath millennial weight

Hardest core of stardust matter

Black eye of Baba Yaga glints

Slayer of saints and heroes

Seducer of maidens

Worn tight at the throat

Binding wrist or ankle

Like mistletoe on oak

Trickster magic

Love potion

Hard jet black

Whitby kisses

In mourning

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Crushed beneath millennial weight

Hardest core of stardust matter

Black eye of Baba Yaga glints

Slayer of saints and heroes

Seducer of maidens

Worn tight at the throat

Binding wrist or ankle

Like mistletoe on oak

Trickster magic

Love potion

Hard jet black

Whitby kisses

In mourning

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I could have stayed home

And cleaned up the mess

The grandkids left behind

I could have stayed home

Changed the bedding

Laundered the sheets

I could have done the washing up

Hoovered the lounge

I could have, should have,

Washed the kitchen floor.

Instead, I have come here

To this beach.

A cold wind blows, gently.

A low sun spreads a glinting softness

Acros...

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My intention,

When I remember to think about it,

My intention is

To know God.

A phrase that drips

With poisonous interpretations.

But, when I walk

For thirty minutes or so

Into a wood,

And the rhythmic padding

Of my boots on leaf mould

Soothes my thoughts,

And my mind clears,

Awareness seeps in 

To the space where

My busy mind held sway

And suddenly ...

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The reason I want to die today

Is my overwhelming shame

At being a human who rapes the earth

Pollutes the air and sea

Demands the right to take what I want

With no notion of, or interest in, the consequence

The reason I want to die today

Is my heart breaking sorrow

For sentient beings waiting in abbatoirs

At this very moment,

Hungry, de-hydrated, trembling

In ...

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