Wordscapes

She who is the sea 

'She who is the sea'

This little foamy bubble,
Of flotsam and jetsem
Oil slick and fetchin’
Dances the salty edgings

She licks the blessed
Sway, as she sprays
Diffused mist, like bliss
upon drunk cast aways

And the heave and hoar
Of the distant shore
Whimpers Oh Oh Oh
You must have more.

So with glinted eyes
I scan my prize
The sparkle blue horize
Harks with joy her open skies

She is who is the sea
Says it wern’t me who made me
I was born from a tear, so long ago
That even I, no longer know

She hushes the hull,
The hardened the hulk
And sighs against the
Hated sides

Yet she damns you and
your metal doors
Your darkened rooms
And dirty floors

She damns the filth
the chains and hate
The masters that
Mock their forgotten fate

She damns with rust
With storms and lulls
And fetid food,
rotted in hulls

She damns with loneliness
So noble it boasts,
till time eroded the romance
and forgot the ghosts

She hisses and roars
At the arrogant ships
That dare deface her
Most sacred lips

Yet, she blesses me
As I dance iridescent and fetchin’
In the flotsam and jetsam
Of her foamy edgings

Ilona Harker

What the winds told me before I forgot 

It starts with an ache
So small and hidden you can whisper past it.
It grows, sometimes slowly and sometimes like a wild fire
But it grows and we either drown it, attempt to strangle it, mock it, or like the first dirty though you had we hide it,
ashamed we have something as raw as this within.
However sometimes, by serendipitous hap chance or
via the simple and rare moment when all is quiet within, we hear it.
This strange and new feeling, a condensed seed of longing.
And the dark space divers, the crazy bitches and the mad dogs
stop, sit and pick that thing up and say 'Hello. I see you.'
Then comes a word. Not 'the' word, just a word.
One word, then a sentence, then a phrase, then a page and then a brook and then a river and then a deluge until this ache, this niggle, erupts fiercely from within.
The last drops dangling like the most precious nectar of love.
And we drink and cry in deluded ecstasy 'I have drunk GOD!'
as our eyes roll back into ourselves.
When all we really did was look within and shut the fuck up long enough to hear.

A poem Podcast

Poem to a lover lost but around


I have called for you in the inch space of my heart
Allowing each echo to resonate and call endlessly back into each fold

I have called for you in the pin precise dark drifts
pushing further into and beyond all scope

I have called for you in wild surges of electric ecstatic submissions
as i inhaled the world

Your answers were shy, subtle shimmers yet I heard them
and I sighed knowing you had listened
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  1. A poem

Stuffing around Podcast

There is much to be said about the dreamer and the doodlers of the world. Usually what is said sounds a little like this. 'Oh she has her head in the clouds' 'Can't you just try and be normal?' 'Look its all very well and good to have dreams till you realise that dreams are not real' and such like.
I am a starer into space kinda girl and I dream of the most ridiculous things just because I like messing with my own reality and imagining new and usually improbable situations.
No one yet has walked up to me in the street and said 'We have found you, Ilona you are part of a secret society known only to a select few, You have the mark of Masthuseala on your head. It is the mark of the star child. You must come with us as the dark forces of accountable and responsiblity reality are closing in and we need you and your mind to take us to the stars!'
This hasn't happened yet but you never know....
One of my favorite times to doodle and dream is when I am home and comfy with my beautiful guitar James and we just start talking.
He is older than me and as such has stories that are rich, wild and deep and I sing songs of nonsense that he endures with little complaint.
This is my dreaming. My musical ship upon the sea of stories that usually leads me to lands I have never been to, let alone imagined.
So I say to the dream weary, find a quiet spot close your eyes and say hello to your little friends that are dancing in your mind.
Frollic with them and then get up finish your tax return and have a nice glass of pinot and sing a toast to the dreamers.

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  1. Stuffing around
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