Hey there,
Look at me!
Mixin it with the "big boys"
of Helloooooo Poetry.

I may be old[ER] in-age,
Grey and less slender,
Pumping out words
Like bullets with no gender.

But I hope,
The war I wage
Is of love and peace,
not one's re-locking the cage.

How do we use our platform
For things that matter?
Ego-crucifixion;
Liberation and not just idle chatter?!

In the heart of the secret garden,
On my morning walking track,
Kokoburras crack the darkness
And sing a love song, cajoling
Other birds to cackle back in return.

Rome wasn't built in a day;
Life isn't a task to be ’completed’
Puzzles are to be enjoyed,
Complexities marvelled at,
One bite-size at a time.

As I de-program to reprogram,
The big picture held
Open-handed, eyes wide, spirit ready, mouth agape to wield
The mysteries deposited, and
The rich tapestry revealed.

Mosquitoes
Are pesky, little blood suckers
Aren't the ones meant to be eating tonight!
They weren't on the invite list,
But alas, they crashed the party
And gave me more love bites
Than I bargained for.

They outnumbered the guests,
And at my behest, I shut the party down.
I heard ‘Pink!’ protest: “Nooo, get the party (re)started!”
So, I did spray, lavishly, a perfume of Aeroguard,
but all that did was send shards of poison
in the air and me gasping.
O mosquito, this is no ode to you,
But an antidote to the hot air, mine
and sister summer.

Life is full
Of contradictions.
Embrace them all,
Or you will get bitter,
**** them dry
Til you are sweet!

What would Barbi wear,
If she went to Church?
Would it be white?
Would it be a modern mini
skirt, or would it be a pantsuit?
Could she be the new high priestess,
or would she be relegated to the sinners
confession box to cast all cares?
Or would she be Hillsong's worship
redeemer, belting out blessed
croons to lull our sins'
anxiety-inducing tunes?
It would be a shimmering
rainbow-sequenced number
flowing with loving kindness.
Maybe Barbi could save the Church,
elevating it to a new perch.

Judgment, misunderstandings, self-protection,
all weapons of mass destruction:
wounding others and ourselves,
with each thought and resulting action.

Lady Macbeth knew this,
why did we not heed her justice?
Warning bells clanging,
freeing us to step onto a new precipice?

There's blood on my hands,
every time I don't trust and understand,
but think I know it all,
and make my many demands.

Perfectionism has been my cleansing balm,
but, in the end, it's just caused more harm,
relearning is my matrix,
continuously transforming and becoming calm.

Here I was thinking
I looked all dapper:
With my cream pants,
Cteam top with a woven stitch waver,
And my cream suit jacket.

My royal blue glasses
Shielding my eyes from the rays of the morning sun,
But a small nick to my pinky finger
Left blood stains a run…

We all walk around life
With our pains imprinted in our skin,
And sometimes clothing.
As much as we try to hide in,
Wash away impurities,
We are left stained --
With life.

Twitches, goose pimples (bumps),
shivers and hot and cold flushes,
Body, you are speaking to me.
I hear you.
I notice you.
I encourage you to talk;
Tell your story.
Discharge all your anxiety,
Release all your rage,
Unfreeze all your fear,
With me, you are free,
My container is cosmic now,
I have matured, I have calmed,
I am listening.
I am trusting.
You can be free to feel,
So share.
I welcome you.

I hesitated,
That's my sin.
I should have gone forward
Not back to where we begin.

I hesitated, 
And that's annoying.
As I could be bombastic
Yeah, that'd be more gratifying.

Being
Real
And
Valuing
Everything about yourself!

Do you know how hard
it is to pick up broken
eggshells scattered?
They shatter smaller and further
making picking up the pieces
painstakingly difficult;
fragile matter.

The Australian bushland;
A menagerie of sound and life
Step back from distractions
And walk wild, rife.
Rekindle your inner animal
And free yourself; flee!

You are the moon
And the sun.
I am but a star;
Not to be diminished,
I sparkle bright, light, fluorescent
and far —

What are our lives for? But to reveal our maker,
If we try too hard, we end up highlighting the faker.
Taken off path and into uncertainty, we copy
Others to fit in and minimise the ill feelings of being a nobody.
But it's not too late; turn back around and seek,
Another vision; your authentic self, even if she is meek.
For, one day she will grow tall; into herself once more,
She will be stronger, as she releases the angst from her ankles and pain from her core.
Masterpieces take time, discovery and delight,
Open your eyes and welcome new sight.
The path may not be what you dreamed - but it may be better;
Sweeter, freer, costlier.
But Yours.

Deep darkness, despair.
How could you know, you’re not there?
Empty mind I crave,
But constant chatter takes me to the grave.

Fleeing, running; working, studying, drugs, and stuff,
Distractions from revelation; I am enough.
Progress is prized; the final nail,
We need true clarity; the holy grail.

Opening out and up to the mystery unknown,
Here, flourishing can become our own.
Insights of the true us,
Found when there’s nothing, no sound, no ***...

Embracing loneliness can be the pearl sought,
Moving away from things ought,
Turning to the unknown,
Is where true dreams are sewn.

Priorities —
Obsessions —
Where our focus flares
So too do our fixes —
You have become 
Another line item,
Order #
Thank God that I can pivot,
And return my focus to You.
Then
The obsessions fall by the wayside
And I can re-shuffle my priorities
Back to You —

my old photographs hang
on a wooden frame, found
on the lawn of a house
whose man has no name.

do we still print photographs these days,
or just keep them on our phones?
I don't. We take them, edit them,
and make them into something we can clone.

photographs, something I prize;
the whole journey of discovery,
timings: early morn or sunset,
capturing moments of gratulatory,

but I don't take many now,
why? where has my love escaped?
do I now just capture them with my eyes?
have I hung those dreams too, where my lost hopes are draped?

The quintessential Aussie experience:
A meat pie with tomato sauce 
in one hand and a cold beer in the other 
At the Aussie Rules Football finals with your brother
And every man and his dog.
Cheers crooned from the crowd,
‘Carn the Lions! ‘Carn the Swanies!
“Carn the pies! ‘Carn the doggies!
Which way will it go,
No one knows.
That's the thrill, that's the chase,
That's what it means to be Aussie in case!

We become blind when we cease
To see, the extraordinary within you and me.

We blame and name and attempt to tame
Others to be the same, for peace?

Open your eyes anew, please!
And open your hands trustingly.

Right and wrong.
Black and white.
Giving voice to the darkness
Being open to the light.
Uncertain.

I’ve lived my life
Wanting certainty.
I’ve lived my life
unable to handle uncertainty;
Wanting to stay out of strife.

Fear of the terror in the night,
I tried to be the ‘good girl’
Fear of stepping out of place
I worked out the rules
And stuck to them uncertainly.

Lord, you see all things,
Please help me understand.
Lord, you know all things,
Please help me to stand.
Because I crumble in uncertainty.

Confusion reigns,
Doubt appears.
The terror increases,
Inadequacy jeers.
Uncertainty.

Argh! I cry out to you,
Please show me the way,
Lease reveal the truth,
Just as you rested, on that seventh day.
Certainty.

Can't beat a great coffee;
delights all the senses with rich,
silky milk, all frothy.

Running —
Running —
Everywhere. 
No destination to be found?!
My heart longs,
For what cannot be satisfied;
With meaninglessness abound...in.
Stop!
Cease chasing after the wind. You'll n'er catch him.
Stop!

Take off that old self; 
With old thoughts and old patterns,
And patent yourself on Yahweh!

Because
My heart longs —
To play, to dance, to sing, to be free;
And find strays today!
Look up and see the new path before thee.

I went to bed last night
With a little square of chocolate,
And woke up with
chocolate sheets --

This track is well-trodden,
But it does not serve you any more.
Be courageous,
Choose a new path;
Choose life.

The trees stand, clustered behind the clouds, their trunks and branches forming streets and towers, like a city on a hill.

They part just far enough apart to reveal a hidden story—
Is that Summerland?
Is that reality or is that just a dream?

I keep looking into the distance, hoping to see You coming,
Down from the clouds,
Into the city of trees—

Grief is like being drunk...

Hungover with grief; the heavy cloak of love
Cutting you off from reality,
Cocooning you, all the while changing you.
Surrendering the struggle, to survive
Paradoxically helps you thrive.

Clone stamps don’t exist,
Heaven's kiss only breathes originals.
But when darkness overwhelms,
It’s hard to embrace lovingly,
The slump of a body,
The shadowy figure,
The shallow intimacy it gives out,
So they are overlooked, not seen, not valued.
Commodity is an exchange price,
And if your invaluable tag has been ripped off,
Who can speak of your true value?
Back to the breath.
Recreation can commence for the adventurous,
New life with wisdom,
How ripe a red wine will that drop be?

I changed my outfit
at least three times
this morning...

Each time changing
an item,
adding another —

The top —
from dark caramel
to honey beige...

From dangly dark loops
to my first pearls, a gift on my twenty-first...

Each change of clothing
Changed me too —

From uncertainty, to exacting —
From tired and worn, to dapper and fresh —
From old and haggard, to ready to take on the world!

I spend my morning,
Sipping coffee (no surprise there),
gnawing breakfast (in bed), 
while reading poetry.
It is still.
As I scroll seeds 
Of insight from others' experiences,
Vulnerabilities and creativity.
I could be in Paris or Milan, 
Or in the Kimberleys;
I am transported with each line.
Inspiration poured into mine
soul. I feel I've lived a thousand lives
With every verse believed.
Relieved though, I'm safe at home, 
And the life I'm walking is my own.

So, I was feeling tired this morn,
dizzily walking headlong into a heat storm.
unable to quickly reboot,
so I put five beans in my porridge soup.
the so-called 'magic beans'
didn't have the desired effect [insert scream],
but sent me back to bed,
with my arms wrapped around my head.

I have several large, red chillies
Stored away in my freezer,
Awaiting the next time
I chop them up and smash them in my blender -
I will load in brown sugar, caster sugar when I have none,
A squeeze of lemon, or lime,
And then I eviscerate until slender.
Will the frozen chillies transform the taste and texture?
Or will they wilt, weathered and wounded by the dramatic snap,
And make the taste lacklustre?
Or send my tastebuds into an all-out baritone rap!

Brave birds bop 
On bare branches outside;
Grandpa’s dominating morning —
Grey and makes everyone flee.
Logic larks: get up and walk, see!
But bed, with an abundance of blankets
And rain, lots of rain, drips don't be insane,
Get warm!
Despite this, cold sausages and coffee call:
“Eat me!”
And I do oblige.

Come,
Dip your toes in,
Delight in the silky cold
That refreshes both
Body and spirit.
Notice how your breath
Gasps, reciprocally stiflingly 
and in liberation.
Come and enjoy
The simplicity.

Comparing is...
Having your eyes blinded to
The reality of who you are,
Really.
Reality is stark; it holds no glamour, but
A life well lived holds the tensions of
Reality.
Hand-in-hand the joy in the pain,
The reality that this is life,
This is what we’ve been called to live;
Loneliness in the ordinary,
Joy in the pain of the everyday.
This is life.

No word, now, spoken is new,
Except for thought in my mind,
Entombed in my mouth, spoken and
Embraced in your heart.

I often write about birds and insects
and the sounds of nature
Around me…
But this morning,
A different kind of gallah
Sounds off;
The builders’ gaggle…
Construction cackle?
The workmen wag?!
Whatever it is,
they woke up the neighbourhood
With their speak
About as-phalt, bricks, and cm of gravel
And then it turned to
Their planned weekend escapades,
Too explicit to share here…

Eight years ago, foggily I awoke from a 40-day deep, deep deep, sleep,

Seven times I've donned the sackcloth, which may continue seventy times seven in acceptance of my new reality.

Six years of gratitude directed my heavy heart and thoughts, to reframe and good perspective keep.

Five rehabilitation programs, cross country, helped regain vital functionality, to commence

Four years of study, processing grief, re-skill, and grow more confidently, despite my

Three-second memory retention, slowly, but surely, my amazing brain rewired grey space. My

Two eyes view life in fragments hoping to be restored, by the

One Almighty God, who has blessed me with life; I stand in awe of His grace.

sometimes,
we live in
conversationless routines,
trying to get
our needs met
without risking vulnerability,

sometimes
that works,

mostly,
it does not.

In this world,
We live but a corseted
Life,

But, in You,
We live full and
Free --

Daily, I work so hard
To be straight,
Perfect.
To need not.
But daily, I am reminded
Of how crooked I am;
Abundantly needy.

the tears are deep,
deeper than my skin.
they come up from the deep,
fears and lost dreams from within.
the tears that come
from all the lives not taken,
the tears are cries
from all the paths mistaken.
the tears were all
the dreams I've shaken
and nothing comes from
but only depression was awakened.
but then the tears were a release
from all the sorrows brazen.

BS, BS everywhere no authenticity to be found,
We all put up facades that ultimately **** us around.
Why do we kid ourselves,
Hiding our true selves,
Because the reality is too painful? so we bury our heads in the sand,
Rather than investing in self-care.

How conflicting life is, to which we desire:
Fame, fortune, faith, fellowship and all freedoms;
To wonder with open eyes, all my heart sucomes,
Being fully present in the beauty and mire.

One man's shoes: ***** boots laden with pebbles
Brothel-bound, consumed by ****** delights that bleed,
Poison in others’ souls, from which he fleed,
To find comfort elsewhere, the ego revels.

Another sacrifices her desires but still hordes
Possessions and worldly opinions consume,
Drunk affirmations that do not comfort or bloom
Known to him only horrors in which his mistress lords.

Coin and notes, to the world, connotes successes,
But inwardly hollow; the soul finds rest none,
White walls, stone statues, pillars aplenty plom
Yet free is not them from psychological stresses.

It is theirs to endure while here...

I'm one of those,
There are many of us now,
The daughter of a narcissist, exposed.
It should be his cover that's blown,
But I guess now it’s my own,
So I can see the cost, all the talent,
confidence and opportunities lost,
Because of small men,
Cowering.

I know it seems like there's someone else,
Who's always in the limelight? 
But, it is also true: we all have our day in the sun.

winter produces
dead leaves,
that when raked
breathes
life in the soil
that creates trees
in months to come,
air in my lungs now; reprieve.

When is the dead of winter;
Is there an exact time?
All winter feels deadly cold to me —

Dear imperfect me,
You are your own, just be.
You wrestle with insecurity,
that you can't settle peacefully.
Dear imperfectly,
The way you are is how you're meant to be.

Don't close your eyes and pretend you can't see,
Cos when you do, you're missing free
dom, and the richness; vibrancy,
of what it means to be living, see!

  Dear imperfect me,
The devil wants you to be devastatingly,
lonely, to isolate yourself from me,
to run around, head cut off, me.
But dear imperfect me,
there's no such thing as superiority,
it's just what we do when we are achingly,
small inside, and out, dumb wittingly,
disconnected from reality.
Such a waste; insecurity, obligatory shame, we accept begrudgingly.

  Dear imperfect me,
Can we try something new, happily?
Can we live more peacefully,
seeing ourselves progressively?
As beauty wrapped, uniquely!
As unsentimentally evolving.

  Dear imperfectly perfect me,
You are, you are, who you're meant to be,
For now, until you're not; key!
Grab this truth wholeheartedly.

Death hath befallen us
Of a patient and kind
Resident, curious
She often quietly sat, her mind
Observing, empathising, harmonious.
She now leaves behind
Her memories; ghosts of good times?