it is much too cold
to stand outside
and look at the moon

though i dearly want to
my feet are numbing
and i’ll start to shiver

it’s not the cold i mind,
but the compulsive
tension in the body

when you are cold
you can never

or maybe i’m just too tense
i just need to look at the moon more


I walk through two sets of electric doors
and my heart opens with them.
What does Christmas mean, now?
The children are all grown.
Their own babies too small yet to know.
I am clinging to my
warm sense of magic
that sparkle in my heart still ignited
by twinkling lights and spiced drinks
a sense of love in cosy-ness;
I hold this sentiment tight
in the face of my lover’s grinching
and general spite for all things
red, green, and glimmering.


Blue heals.
A long commute
is robbed of its poison
when the view from the air
is blue,
if there is sky
and ocean too

blue heals
Like the presence of a bruise,
passing slowly to let you know
the progress shows,
pain’s transient hue
that healing blue

and night falls sweet,
true natural darkness
under stars and moon,
not black, but whispering blue
the deep inhale before tomorrow
breathes out all anew,
this quiet indigo
in which we rest;
this healing blue.


strange electric insects
guide me home
line the path with their
sacred circling of trees
their private gods

I have circled the ocean
to pay my respects,
long overdue
anointed my head with holy salt
as the ocean circles me
I have followed the long arc
back home
to the better air

and now the dirt path back
to the house, more solid
and real than anything
a year in the city has shown me,
my feet here have certainty
and rhythm, as my breath,
as the ocean,
as the circling of the stars
and the seasons
as above, so below

in sweat and breath, I’m almost home
guided by the buzzing beetles
rhythmic in their singing
to their private gods.

no answers

my mind opens up.
direct focus on the smallest details
opens a wider universe

just soaking it all in.
at this stage,
like a blind child seeing
like a new colour discovered

there are a great many questions.
I let them turn over inside me.
considering the idea that

there are no answers.
just movement,
just forward momentum
& exploration
just play.



I love you so much.  it’s eating away at me quietly tonight,
a slow ebb of dissolution
how warm and calm it is here and i
want more than anything to sit on the porch
with you and talk
or be silent.


do you feel
how the words have died
become empty & dry

but words are all we have
we try to touch
reaching out over the distance

but the space
is too great
and the words are dying


i love you


This blog is the collection of my poetry and prose, in chronological order from most recent to oldest.

Constructive critique is actively encouraged!

I am usually singing words as well as writing them, and make lots of other art. You can find me & my other art at any of the below links. x

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All content on this blog © Rebecca Tilley, 2003-present


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