Just Another Drunk On Words



On a good day

I'm a word-willing secular shy shape-shifter
a sentimental singing sentence-spinner
a seeker of sense, sensation-sifter
a pure gold optimistic heart-expresser.

Literally

a manic pen-scribbler on any piece of paper
an egotistical juggler of diffident difficult words
an exotic rare bird of a radical researcher
a sometime big-thinker, an excitable
stentorian investigator.

Nights find me

a metaphysical plumber, a loner, a fussy lover
an utterly voracioius goddess-gobbler
and when Moon transits the right house
I'm an occasional seriously deep soul-searcher.

Frequently garrulous

a gorgeous giddy-gardener, sacred seed-sower
a seminal sun-reeper, completely naive butterfly-catcher
of ecstasy I'm a drunken-diviner, a dreamer, a doer
a been-here-before-savage-soothsayer.

Saturdays at the Dan, Sunday Unlash
Babble on Wednesday, Monday the Retreat
Tuesday spins at the Duke of Windsor -
and who am I ?

Why, I'm just one of those passionate poetic-partakers




Pamela Sidney 2000

Given Free Rein



Having skimmed the rim of existence
listened from the edge of the universe
for the last breath of a dying star
you bring back star-dust
from un peopled space
collide with lives adrift in the ether
waiting to begin again

having lost all but yourself
you wander for years in a personal desert
to find yourself again in a cave
where a whirling trance spins you outside
confines of mind, beyond everything
to speak with ghosts and other beings
who live parallel, invisible, between worlds

you return again obsessed, chasing invisible lines
that criss-cross the land in power places
where you feel earth speak
in forgotten tongues
that sprang from bazaars in Kazakstan
you mingle in the dust of caravan trains
wear the veil, learn modesty
find love by a well
you though fathomless
only to be abducted by bandits
hauled over mountains
to live in a forest on the edge a sea
where you scavanged for amber, became wealthy
traded with tribes who bury their kin
dressed in Apollo's burning stones

you were there when smoke filled the temple
as hordes descended, sacked the altar
slew the women, who give their lives
to the utterance of spontaneous truth

you find love in strange places
weave daisies, worship the moon
dance in the smoke of pagan fires
only to wake with his breath on your skin
but he had left, his presence a memory still warm
scarpering across your hungry heart
always looking for love
to eclipse those
gone before



Pamela Sidney 2002