© Toni Stuart

A statue of Salvador Dali's 'Clocks' below the London Eye

 

finding his way home

I watch him move and shift in his skin, trying to find the way it fits, but he can not. Not yet. Not now. So he lashes out at the world, because to lash out at himself would mean his implosion. Do not let his anger scare you: he is simply shouting at the demons that sleep in his bed, crawl into his head. Just give him space to spew. Douse his impatience with patience, and help him laugh at his idiosyncrasies’. And his bitterness, just let it fall from his lips, for that is better than letting it stew in his heart, for a heart filled with bitterness will only grow brittle and wither away.
Just watch him as he moves, as he squirms to find his place, watch him as he questions and give him space to breathe. He is exorcising his demons, leave him be, leave him be.
Just love him, from as close as he will allow you to get, love him unconditionally. And show him he is loved, and leave him signs along the path, so he can find his way home...

©Toni Stuart, May 2008, London

she paints...

she paints charcoal wishes with light

as something moves in the wind tonight

and the moon hangs low

as its white-yellow glow

casts a shapeless shadow

over ash-midnight sky

aching hearts wash out to sea in silence

as fear licks her cheek he’s not kissing

too much past in her heart

grow her limbs thin and hard

so her tongue cannot ask

if the dawn means goodbye

when yesterday’s sun shone through old wounds

she knew the time had begun for forgetting

so the fear unravelled

till all she had left

were her unkissed cheeks wet

with winter’s new tears

tears that carve a hole through her smile tonight

as memory mourns the pain she’s not missing

so she paints charcoal wishes with light

as something moves in the wind tonight

and the moon hangs low

as its white-yellow glow

casts a shapeless shadow

over ash-midnight sky

to hold her muffled cries ringing out

in a lonely lullaby

she knows all she can do is let go

© Toni Stuart –2010

Phoenix - commissioned by Agenda Feminist Media

The following is a link to a podcast of Phoenix - a poem I was commissioned to write and record, for Agenda Feminist Media. It was first used for their radio documentary, A Perspective on Girlhood. Visit http://www.developmentagenda.com/2010/05/poem-the-phoenix/ to listen

untitled

beautiful Friday morning,

woke by wind’s

whispers and feint

wisp of sleep’s breath.

In dreams

We know who we are

And in day

We spend our hours

Searching for the souls

Who will remind us of this.

She loses herself in the rain

Eyes closed

Heart open

She waits for wind to wash her clean

South-easter’s spell will

Mould magic in her belly

till she calls forth

her own voice

and speaks with such

clarity

the blade of her tongue

will strike like

a scythe

to reap the truth

from her dying body

it’s time has passed

now only her soul speaks

Listen…

And you will hear it:

A single breath of silence

Between a hundred voices of wind

©Toni Stuart, 2010

letting go in autumn

 the seasons have a way of pulling words out of me... life and people do too - t.s

letting go in autumn

I will
no longer wait
for you to
return my love

you
and your quiet
stealing of breath by
moonlight,
your feeble stealing
of day by lying,
will not be
carried into the
new season.

autumn comes and
with its arrival demands
a new leaf. green
gives way to brownorangeyellowred
brittle leaves
aching to fall off their trees.
their time to die is now.
they understand this; but we
do not.

we stand in dying’s way
silently scream as it pulls
what it needs
from us: the ever
receding
light
of truth.
and leaves
in its place, the dull
greyness of only
existing
because we could not let go.

we held on to
yesterday’s joy. held on
in fear of never
knowing joy again,
in fear
we would never
find a new laugh to
paint our faces
the colour of summer
to shade us
the tone of
rain on rooftops.
we don’t know
what music
sounds like any more; we have
forgotten its tone and pitch.
now our walk sings
sombre songs of loss longing and
wistful waiting.
the hunger has returned, perpetual hunger never to be fulfilled.
there is no thirst here…
that too we have forgotten.

I will
no longer wait
for you to
return my love

the autumn
is here
and like those brittle leaves
I ache to
let go


© Toni Stuart – Cape Town, 2009

cafe

café

this stone café knows our routine:
mushroom omelette for me
two cups of coffee, for you
‘chutney on the side and a glass of
water, please’
as we watch the sea.
we’ve been here before

it is here we talk of everything
but us
chew each mouthful
and with it swallow words of the questions
I dare not ask
afraid of turning this light breakfast between us
into something else
I cannot name,
cannot hold in my palm.
just like I cannot hold you

and again,
I ignore the
words that beat against my chest
like the waves beat against this village’s harbour wall
the one we will again walk along,
allowing my footsteps
to tap the rhythm of wishing
I dare not bring into daylight

and as we stand on that wall’s edge
watching fishermen and boys
wait for a bite
we have the same conversation of
talking much saying nothing
biding our time till you drive away

: a goodbye of silences
of tears cried silently behind closed doors

©Toni Stuart – December 2008/July 2009