A Personal Journey : Polly Oliver

A lot of us have something we have done; perhaps a small childhood incident or something in adulthood which threw our self image against the wall and broke it. These things could seem quite small from the outside or they could be huge. Either way they can arrest our growth when in our own heads we let these events or crimes define us. The same mantras of regret run like cart tracks down an ancient lane to the same dead end. Til one day we stop driving the broken horses, unhitch them and wander into a different meadow to seek a new view and meet a new version of ourselves and a future undefined by our past. Or our view of our past

Cocoon 

Cocoon. Then move through.
Choose your green-veined awning.
Bind to stiff xylem your dun hideout.
Hunker down, drapes drawn.

Unplug. Slice though wires.

Digest the old, dream the new.
Imaginal cells spin in fertile dark.
To birth your imago,
Nourished in compost of what’s past.

Shake the ash from your wings.

Storm Breaks by Polly Oliver:

Too full of their burdens,
the clouds’ sides tear.
Veil of tears brushes earth,
Washing away the grime of days
Dashing flotsam down drains.

A pluviophile lies listening
Thrill of thunder
Clarion of fresh starts.

 

-Polly Oliver

A mother of two boys, scribbling from the Western coasts of the UK, mainly poetry, but whatever comes out really. Former journalist and PR professional, the first whispers of middle age and declining eyesight made having a real go at ‘real writing’ a little more urgent. A Cornish native, I made my home in South West Wales so the sound of the sea sighs through my work every now and then. Lover of nature, yoga, boutique coffee shops and occasional (and very dreadful) surfer.

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