Image of my Soul by Ame Hughes http://www.amejohughes.com/

To Mum

The Inspiration

I have always written poetry, it is a way to reach and understand what is happening internally and sometimes to talk with the voice of my Soul. My poems are not edited, what I write stays as it is when it first emerges on the paper. That way, nothing of that connection to me is lost. 

Similarly I have always created pictures in a variety of mediums. I love colour and tend to work in a very heart based way, letting my feelings out onto the paper. Photography allows me to be creative within my beloved nature, capturing moments as and when I feel the urge. 

Many of these poems and pictures have been seen on my blogs, Facebook page and websites but have never been collated into one place, as a representation of my inner journey. I hope you recognise yourself in some of them, and I hope others reach that most inner, intimate core of your being and spark there a moment of connection and understanding for what it is to be human.

I spent some time considering the order in which to put these poems, but then decided it didn't matter. The processes I have gone through on my inner journey has spiralled both upwards and downwards, and quite often side to side. There is no logic in this process, it is what it is. The pictures hold something of the feel of the poem in them but can be viewed separately too.

I recommend reading these poems in a quiet space, perhaps with your favourite beverage, and a view to stare at, while you savour the flavour of the words. And when looking at the images, let them take you where they will, just allowing, flowing, being.

Enjoy!

Kirsten Ivatts

Parwich, England 2014

All the images in this book are my own except the title image which was intuited for me by Ame Jo Hughes.

Kirsten Ivatts

I sit, the rain pouring,

Sipping red wine,

Listening, listening.

What do I listen for?

What is that disturbance,

At the edges of my perception?

Something is changing,

Changing.

Something is forming,

Beginning.

Something is shedding,

Leaving.

I know not what.

Where I am is here.

Where I am is now.

The dusk seems more present this evening,

Intense, so intense with premonition.

I sense an edge,

A precipice,

Yet where I am

Is not there yet.

I sit, the rain pouring,

Sipping red wine,

Listening, listening.