By Philip Cairns

Copyright 2010 by Philip Cairns



Emeralds are shooting out of my crown chakra.

Tiny rubies fall gently from my tearing eye sockets.

I’m spitting deep blue star sapphires from my mouth.

There is no pain,

Just jubilation and sparkling colours.



The bitter old man was tarred and feathered with vicious lies.

Vile allegations of dark troubles and misplaced fears.

The twang of deep-rooted illness hovered over his head.

It was all profoundly untrue.



The paintbrush shook in the artist’s slender hand.

Indecision and self-loathing prevented him

From diving into the sea of discovery,

The bejewelled well of creativity.

The critical dialogue in his head played, repeatedly.



Listen to the wonderful words of dance legend Martha Graham.

Don’t question or criticize.

Just do it.

Let it flow.

Use your Goddess-given talents without fear or crippling uncertainty.



Create the new dance.

Sing higher than you can.

Dive off the mountain without a net.

You will surely land in a safe place.



Let the spirit of Rembrandt or Rimbaud inhabit you.

Throw out the soiled detritus.

Sometimes the world won’t understand or even care.

March forward to the sound of the soothing music in your head.



You might fall into that bleak rabbit hole, one careless day,

The bottomless pit of despair,

Hitting the hard sides of the abyss, as you tumble down, down.

Listen to the faint, cheerful words calling out to help you.



He put on a wig of sunflower yellow.

A sleeveless black dress with silver overlay.

High-heeled shoes covered in rhinestones and sequins.

Glossy lips of ruby red.



The fit young man danced like a dervish on the float in the parade.

He flirted with musclemen and twinks.

He gossiped and giggled, had the time of his life.

He’s dancing in the Gay Pride parade.



Baby-faced gym rats, transgendered delights.

Bull dykes and fem boys and bears.

Drag queens and leather men and PFLAG moms.

They’re all marching in the Gay Pride Parade.



A diamond popped out of my ear canal.

I attached it to my lobe with a piece of golden wire.

Freshwater pearls swirled fashionably around the width of my over-fed neck.

Pink pearls hung round my slender wrist.



The middle-aged man got in a pale blue car and drove to the Pacific Ocean.

He lay on the beach and lapped up the soothing breeze.

The tiny white bikini he wore attracted no crowd.

Solitude engulfed him like a warm cocoon.

He captured the glorious seascape on his artist’s canvas,

With layers and swirls of acrylic paint.

Blue, pink, yellow, mauve and lime green.



The ephemeral fish tank was full of delights.

Shells of every colour and design.

Semi-precious stones were shimmering placidly in the hot sand.

A sense of peace and calm soothed his tense nerves.

A tiny quartz crystal sat right in the middle of his Third Eye chakra.



Just breathe in the vibrations of the stars.

It takes no effort whatsoever.

Think of the timeless questions of the infinite Universe.

Living your life is the hard part.