Weekend Showcase: Rebecca Heald (Poet)

3 May

Spotlight

Every Friday, 1 artist/painter/poet/writer, letting their work speak for itself.

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Rebecca Heald

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The showcase must show a reflection or something of ourselves. SOS is a poem I wrote following a 5 minute wander into a Church when I was just seeking peace for a few moments from the world outside. I had a habit of the time of singing to myself and there Church appeared deserted, so I kicked off my shoes and sang made up songs… until the vicar/curate came out of the vestry and asked if I was ok. Acutely embarrassed I said I was and slipped away. I do not pretend to be the beauteous subject of the poem!

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SOS

Barefooted she stepped

Onto cold century hewn stone

Stood gazing at intricacies between function strength

Those that ancestors had created to hem in their faith

For more tangible senses than knowledge

Like them she was temporarily searching

Questing with imaginary fingers

The still cool air around her

So aware of inside truth solids

 

Before she had used this dedicated peace

Slipped off the hurried main street

For shelter – illusionary man space

To sing alone for worships sake

This time her chords were silent

She breathed

Stained glass and dust

Walked slowly on sensitised feet

To lean on eagles wings

She closed the book held open on their span

Lowered lids on noiseless waterfalls

Prayed for reassurance

 

Cold fingers hinge-opened the leaves

And blurred vision focussed to the page

Time ceased

All senses crowded in

In- and externally

They magnified

Vibrant throbbing air around her

 

“My darling, you are beautiful

oh you are beautiful

and your eyes are like doves”

 

Surface tension that damned salt drops

Broke in a fountain of pain

Standing barefoot

Toward a congregation of wood

She cried for the love she had read

 

Racking sobs stilled to shaking

As she straightened her doubled form

Gasping for grief expelled air

Caught her sleeve in trembling fist

To wipe hot salt flow

Final cry echoes played among high beams

While back to ash paper her free hand

Extended chipped varnished nails

Half focussed words drew attention

To partially unseeing eyes

Quietening all outward-ness

Dulled grey throbbed with fresh blood

As characters fell into her mind

Block printed by com-mission

Ancient Hebrew poetry relaxed her

Like a muscle rub soothing heat

Travelling to her racing heart beat

A polite cough

Cracked like sudden thunder to her stillness

The warm flush that graced her cheeks

Blanched back

A spaniel collared man stood in gathering dusk

He smiled

Reassuringly

Asked after her rightness

Guiltily she begged his pardon, afraid

Stepping quickly from the brass prey bird

She stood barefoot staring into receding features

Uncertain

Silent

He smiled again

Indicating the time compassing his wrist

She needed five minutes

Five more in this peace

Stranger solicitude again

Would she

Did she need to talk to him?

No, oh no…

Share what she had experienced…?

Tomorrow she would forget

Was forgetting even now

Five more to treasure this slipping

Feeling

She wished him gone

He told her where he lived

– Opposite the forge

Said she was welcome, turned

And went

 

Precious seconds were hers

But now authority was established

This wasn’t her rest harbour

Moorings open like public parks

Daylight only admission

She could not touch the book

It was on loan

And she was out of hours

Swift pages bought her back to her mules

The setting sun sent rich stained orange glass shadows

To halve her face

 

She would leave no trace in this hallowed place

Returned to the book

Tossed pages to disguise her source text

And ran from ancient stone

She left only her memories behind

Her cries

Dishevelled tears

Sweat marks from her naked feet

 

The quiet oaken slam vibrated through cool air

This wasn’t what he’d hoped

Times before her songs had bought ear and eye

To the dividing crack between

His vestry territory and cold stone quiet –

So warmed by her melody,

Absorbing and echoing each perfect and not note.

He looked forward to her irregular enchantful visits

 

Her startled soul cry had pulled him

From his solitary contemplation.

She’d heard him once

And gone

What now?

Maybe she’d take his offer come to his house

Speak of what troubled her

He coughed back a sigh

Began his evening rounds

Turning locks with heavy keys

Preventing charitable cases from drink sleeping

In wooden straight back pews

Owner treading he slam locked south door bolts

Into their keepers

His measured pace across rock-flags

Like every day of his term here

Bought him to his term here

Bought him to his habitually reach

To kill the ritual lights

That slow lit sun untouched corners

The last to die held the brass eagle in a light pool

Reflecting his dark figure on every cast feather

Showing her smudge marks on its polished surface

The book she’d re-arranged after he’d left

Approaching his tousled receding hair glinted

He frowned in memory recall

As the shape picture of the text burned

Large print columns of poetic print

On the inside of his frowning forehead

It couldn’t be too hard

Wouldn’t take too long

Under his searching double two tone hand shadow

The pages fanned back and forth

A recently damaged corner he noticed

And deftly his rapid flicking ceased

Glasses on he read what leapt hot from his index tip

 

“Show me your face

Let me hear your voice;

For your voice is sweet,

And your face is lovely.”

 

His trembling eyelids abracadabra’d up

Her tear stained sunset haloed iconic beauty

Hidden far from his touch. 

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Author Bio

 I write poetry for pleasure, to capture my emotion as a cathartic exercise and as a mental exercise to describe a scene or tell a story. I also enjoy writing cryptic short flash fiction. I have an artistic flair and when I can I draw, photograph and write.

You can follow Rebecca on Twitter here:

https://twitter.com/pyroyasis

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Do get in touch via the Comment box or @ArtiPeep if you would like to be showcased. You’d be welcomed!

 

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One Response to “Weekend Showcase: Rebecca Heald (Poet)”

  1. Michele D'Acosta May 3, 2013 at 10:57 am #

    Your poetry is exquisite. I’m trying to picture the amazing space that you’re in — as you write this. Thank you for inspiring me today. Peace and be very blessed. Michele

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