L E O N I E . W I S E

all
these things are seemingly unrelated;
some not even visible to the naked eye.
they laugh at me, daring me to speak only truth.

twin
lights stare back at me from the reflection in the mirror:
who are you? what are you doing here? how…
is it possible that we even exist?

infinity
is the colour of invisible. i
want to buy a cloak that colour, fade
into the sigh of eternity.

twelve
shuffles itself around my brain as if seeking
a purchase. it has no meaning. i am searching
for meaning.

© 2010. leonie wise

run storm goddess.
your mad blue-moon beauty,
drunk on cool water,
will crush their want
take a delirious
forest smell with them,
and honeydiamond singing.

not very good at self-promotion, i pretty much forgot to tell y’all that for all of august (my birth month), there’s free shipping to everywhere in the world for the poetry book all of a sudden…

so, if you have a copy (and love it) you can get another one (or two, or three) to give away.

or, if you don’t already have a copy (and want to get your hands on one) you can do it now and save yourself $5. go buy yourself an espresso or a card to send in the mail to a friend…

awesome
(please tell all your friends)

1. they will still come with 2 postcards, be carefully packaged and contain a couple of extra goodies for the recipient
2. can be inscribed for yourself or your friend. just leave a note in the ‘message to seller’ box when you checkout
3. oh, and because i carry limited stock and these books are print on demand, there may be up to a 2 week delay between ordering and shipping. if you need them quick, please let me know!

i am the first coffee of the day
i am a broken bottle
i am the handwritten letter
i am the last page
i am your word for 2010
i am borrowed time
i am the lid you can’t get off the jar
i am the stuff collecting in the back of your couch
i am underscores
i am the squeaky wheel
i am the cheque that is in the mail
i am your first bite of watermelon
i am the perfect spiral
i am unsubmitted
i am a birthday party limousine ride
i am an empty box of matches
i am the smell of your grandmother’s talcum powder
i am the dead plant on the windowsill
i am the piano tuner
i am the mice in the barn
i am the dust kicked up from doing doughnuts in the holden
i am a swing made from an old tyre
i am the promise of things to come
i am the old man’s slippers
i am forgotten stories
i am burt munro’s vision
i am more than my 800 words a day

hi everyone,

i am delighted to have been invited to participate in the NINE interview series – the brainchild of the lovely liz who I had the pleasure of meeting at squam last september.

you can see my answers to her beautiful questions here.

to celebrate this lovely interview, i would like to offer all my readers a giveaway:
the chance to get yourself (or a friend, if you already have a copy) the recently published book of photos & poetry all of a sudden…

to enter, simply leave me a comment giving me your answer to liz’s question #2.
you can use words; or leave a link to an image, or a story, or a song, or a blog post, or…. let your imagination run wild!

1. entries are open to everyone, so tell your friends
2. winner will be drawn at random on monday 3rd may and notified by email

arohanui (big love) to you wherever you are and whatever you love.

-leonie

i am the wood fire burning beneath your outdoor bath
i am the dawn chorus
i am a cup of sugar borrowed from a neighbour
i am your mother’s favourite recipe
i am light filtering through the trees
i am the angel of death
i am the broken wing of an owl
i am black candles, lit for casting spells
i am the clock ticking loudly on your mantlepiece
i am a collection of shells from the beach
i am a stack of recycled paper
i am a stolen credit card used to purchase a brand new pair of shoes
i am a basket of freshly picked cherries
i am a lock that’s missing the key
i am prayer flags
i am a secret that’s dying to be told
i am the ribbon you wear in your hair
i am unknown, even to my friends
i am forgetfulness
i am the harley my grandparent’s used to ride
i am a pen-ink drawing of aphrodite
i am gum, stuck to the footpath
i am the tickets to a show you’ve always wanted to see
i am melted butter, dripping from corn-on-the-cob
i am a broken fanbelt
i am the art of non-conversation
i am all the colours of autumn
i am valuable

the carpet is growing weeds again and
crocus blooms keeping thrusting themselves
up through the charcoal flecks
adding patterns of joyous colour.
it’s kind of annoying though,
i have to watch my step when i get out of bed.

we have guests coming on friday. i’m going
to have to put a sign up outside the front door
“beware the plants” or something like that.
and at this rate, i’ll be able to set up a stall
outside our flat, with an honesty box -
flowers for sale: 50p a bunch.
come back tomorrow, there’ll be more!

i’m half expecting to arrive home today
to find my husband clasped in the arms
of an affectionate nasturtium, or
wedged beneath the rowan bush.
i’ve no idea if the neighbours are having issues
they always take pains to avoid us.
have i got twigs in my hair again?

wow. thanks. to all of you who ordered a copy of the book.

i sold out of the first print run (20 copies) in three days.

THREE. DAYS.

i am humbled. flabbergasted. spinning.

and just a little worried. whatiftheydon’tlikeitwhenitturnsup?

and… for anyone who would still like to buy a copy – or 2 or 3…. – i have listed another 20 in my etsy store.

from my cracked-wide-open heart to all of yours, thanks just doesn’t seem big enough.

arohanui
x

it’s not about being published;
though that does bring some degree of satisfaction,
feathering my ego’s nest with soft white down.

it’s not a desire to be noticed;
all this visibility often makes me want to hide, sneak away
and pretend it’s someone else that does this.

it’s not about what you think of it,
though i’m glad if it speaks to you, or if you recognise
some of your life in the words.

it is about the overwhelming urge to write, write, write
thoughts scamper about, teasing my pen, mocking my hand
for not being able to keep up.

it’s about the feeling of expressing in short form
a feeling, a snapshot,
a life being lived outside of the page.

© 2010. leonie wise

just cos i’m goin’ thru shit times doesn’t mean i need rescuin’
do you ever stop to think that hugging might make you feel better
but that i just want to be left the fuck alone to deal with this
and that i need to make my way out in my own sweet time?

please stay though, just don’t fucking touch me
whatever i’m feelin’ is likely to discharge
giving us both a shock and breakin’ my concentration
just sit there okay? hold me. but only with your eyes & heart
and not in any kinda physical way.

and don’t say you understand. because how could you?
you’re not me. like i’m not you, so kick me if i ever say
“oh honey, i know how you feel” because how can i?
you have your shit. i have mine. we connect. but our shit doesn’t overlap…

yeah, it might seem like the same shit sometimes (and possibly it is)
but thinking one of us can fix the other is so totally bullshit and all ego.
i can’t fix you any more than you can fix me.
and what if it’s not something that needs fixin’ anyway?

so yeah, stay. i’m just workin’ through my stuff.
it might not look pretty from the outside
but trust me, it makes everything better
and more beautiful. i just have to live through it.

© 2010 leonie wise