Joy Ride

On Christmas day, Thom got up at 3:20am,

ran downstairs to have a look under

the adorned fake plastic tree yonder

and ran back upstairs to tell me, excitedly:

We had to get up quickly!

these presents under the tree

were not going to open themselves.

So we had an early start that day… and I got my new bike.

If you happened to drive through East Grinstead town centre

in the very early hours on Christmas Day 2019,

you may have seen that crazy woman

riding her new bike in the dark

around a public car park…

That was me.

And I have really enjoyed cycling ever since.

Later on I found myself riding around that same car park:

full speed, just for the heck of it,

and it felt like being 10 again.

I had forgotten the cheer joy

of pointlessly riding a bike

around the block, outside my house,

without actually going anywhere.

I really enjoyed it, yet

something inside me was ordering me to stop.

Like an old lady shouting outside her window:

Telling me to just go home

and get on with all the things,

the very same things I do everyday

and that always need doing.

I often have this feeling, that when I’m enjoying myself,

I ought to stop. “Now”.

Like I shouldn’t be allowed,

for who am I to have fun?

I’m not worthy of that Joy.

Where does this feeling come from?

Time well spent is time spent doing

something productive instead.

Meanwhile, so many people

spend tons of money trying

to retrieve that long lost spark.

Adults don’t have fun.

they only pretend.

They think they like getting pissed

in a crowded pub on Saturday nights,

standing there, pretending to enjoy it.

But a lot of them have secret wild rides

in shopping trolleys after pub hours.

Adult fun needs a few pints,

and the cover of the night.

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I thought I’d share with you this poem I wrote back in January, before Lock down. I guess I just wanted to remind you that this too shall pass and better times will come.

XOXO,

Noémie.

From the ashes you will rise

How do you measure a dream?

In feet, grams, litres, brush strokes?

Meters of films stashed somewhere?

Dancing quietly upstream,

With the sharp eyes of an hawk,

Storm of meteor showers.

A tale of motherhood

It begins like a Tempest,

With a storm at sea.

I do feel like adulthood

is over rated.

It’s a palette of feelings:

Green Tara

A delightful line drawing of Green Tara by the master of Tibetan arts Sherab Palden Beru.

Green Tara

As I sat in the lotus position

I settled in meditation

I noticed the rainbow in front of my eyes

Nature reminding me of the beauty

In the world all around me,

No need for because’s, no need for why’s.

Then this message came to me:

“I know no fear”

I felt that familiar comforting presence

Of Green Tara, I can feel her near

“I know no fear”

“I know no fear”

I can feel her pouring strength,

into my whole being.

And the little rainbow has turned green and is flickering.

As I start chanting Tara’s mantra in my head

My lips followed

I can feel my soul, my heart, my physical body

Filling up with courage, strength and feeling invincible

I keep chanting and the energy inside me

Keeps filling up, up, up, like a bottle.

The rainbow is now completely green

Green. Emerald green.

The colour of my heart chakra

Emerald green.

The colour of Green Tara.

Now I force myself to stay still

to NOT reach for a pen and paper

to write down how I feel.

Sit still, observe, take it all in

As the blessing is taking place

Stay here, stay now, plugged in

As the healing is taking place

“Please Green Tara can you help me

Please can you heal my back

So I can be a better karma yogi,

A warrior staying on her track”

Then I felt the warmth

Enveloping my body, going down my spine

I felt that loving healing light bath

Coming from the power of this feminine divine

Green Goddess who appears

By the side of those who need to be reminded

That THEY, too know no fear.

May I be still enough to appreciate the beauty around me,

May Green tara always bless my life and the life of all sentient beings

May I make room for my yoga practice everyday

To remember who I am:

A humble Karma Yogi on her path to help others.

Just a comet.

Noemie.

Poem to my son

 We all have a voice

And we all need to be heard.

We all have a choice

To be here or to be blurred.

What will you choose when you’re older?

What will become of your dreams,

As they join into the streams

With everybody else’s hopes and fears…

Will your world become smaller?

As you learn to deal with your own tears

What will you remember of our days?

What will you tell your friends about your childhood

Being busy climbing trees in the woods?

Will the world be your playground, always?

Will you come to terms with the truth,

That you can’t always be the first one

And that there’s no longer Sonic Youth

Their Poison Arrow has been shot and gone.

You will sometimes feel rejected

And there will be times where

The Battles at the Berrics are all defeated

There will be times when no one is there, here or anywhere.

Sometimes no one will pick you up.

Times when you will be too tired to try again,

Times when there is nothing left in your cup

And you feel your world is hiding under a heavy curtain.

In these moments, just close your eyes

And remember this little red star

Inked on the table in that bar.

I know that time just flies,

I remember that blue cadillac that you used to park in the corner,

And purple naans, and blue car with a squashy roof…

The Clash and the 3 men and their 3 trumpets… Remember

The three kittens and the geese, Peter and the Wolf,

Henry and Big Bala… Woof!

Most of all remember that we’ll always love you so very much!

Noemie aka Mum.

My cat is a wild rose

My cat Henry, is a Wild Rose.

He often says, in his usual prose:

“Feed yourself, be inspired

Don’t be scared to choose:

There are so many paths ahead,

Comparing with others is no use.

Everyone has their own unique flavour,

We are all perfect, exactly what and where we are meant to be:

I’m a Wild Rose, with my own endeavour

But one may be a red scarlet poppy

If you are a wild weed, then you should be proud

You are free to grow wherever you like

And your colours can speak aloud

You may have thorns or spikes

But your wildness is your beauty.”

Snow Balls

Snow Balls

I need to turn my emotions into something

Write them down, lock them in a book

So they can let me be, a freer being

A better me, or try again, at least , to unhook

From my need to control, to decide, to know.

So I take a break and sit down

On a rock, by a path.

So I can watch everyone else passing me by.

I become the witness,

of my own mind. Of my own life

Of my own lies.

“You’re no good at this!”

Says the familiar voice in my head.

I can feel tears filling my eyes

So I gently smile and crave for bread.

I do think I’m no good at this

But it only matters if I care

About feeling worthy of any value

If you remove the thought of self esteem then I dare

Walking around bare feet and taking things on a new face:

faith value.

Noemie.