Sitting in the Aged Care Pastoral Care room,
Drinking a warm milky tea and eating a Monte Carlo.
There are beeps outside from staff going in and out of ‘secure’ rooms,
The hum of the dishwasher in the kitchen nearby,
Gentle clanging of knives and forks being sorted,
Staff chatter going in and out of Residents’ rooms.
Life in an Aged Care Center.
Taking in this precious moment; I am here,
I'll never have this moment again,
A moment I've been working towards for years through study and practicum.
I am a spiritual carer!
Walking alongside the life-full residents;
Their crinkly, sagging skin, lines that tell a thousand stories
Of love, loss, despair, and hope for repair
oscillating between the past lives and future selves
Some are only just here for the minute.
So much they can teach me,
And like my younger self eager to learn,
I listen hopefully.

Morning rises with a misty mirage
welcoming the brittle breeze,
Knowing the stiff chills could stifle life
and courage before it receives
The promise of warmth to wear down
The freeze; worries and self-protection, reprieve?
to grow again; try again
Believe.

I miss my best friend;
She brought adventure to my life
We hiked Machu Picchu and Kokoda,
Tasted dumplings in dippings
at Holy Duck! in Kensington.

We were close for eight years:
Preempting needs - bringing her back a lg, skinny cap
after my morning walk around the Kirribilli shoreline.

But somewhere along the way,
I lost myself in her —

Love turned to hate.
She didn't see me, need me, want me anymore
And it became too late…

I miss her!

Well,
The idea of her anyway...

poetry has become my drug.
when did this happen?
what was once a source of healing,
now causes scorn.
three times of torture;
I write, re-rite and write again
but like an addiction,
it soon loses its thorn.
did anyone read it?
I check, re-check, triple-check.
do they like it?
will it 'trend'?
what was once my life source
I now mourn.

As the world waits, expectantly,
For that unruly, invisible strain
Of fear to seep back from whence it came,
Or obliterated, vaccinated intelligently.

If miracles haven't happened yet...
Hold the tension,
Of the now and not yet.

Reckless abandonment;
Wild love, sunshine stretched out
Overall, no monthly contracts,
Uninhibited; so we can be.

Standing alone in a clothes room,
Looking in the mirror directly.
Crying out on the inside;
I still haven’t found what I’m looking for!

Is it just me?
Or is it the world?
When will the mirror show completeness;
When will it show joy?
Standing alone in a world full of people,
But when will I find the second half?
Is it Your plan,
Or is it just for laughs?

Still haven’t found what I’m looking for!

In a city of rushing,
And everybody pushing
There's no stopping
To smell the roses,
We’re all glammed up,
Putting in the poses.

Still haven’t found what I’m looking for!

But as I quieten
The inner me,
That no one can see
No longer am I frightened,
I will just be.

Standing alone in a clothes room,
Admiringly
Satisfied with the journey
Releasing the bags of gloom.

What I've been looking for
Was here all along
You are what,
I've been looking for!

Strain, after strain, causing pain with no gain.
Fight it with love, patience,  
kindness. Rise again.

People's reactions
aren't a reflection of me,
but of themselves,
you'll see --

I’ve got nothing 'cept grit,
You told me: need nothing 'cept believing it.
But doubt overshadows me,
And I crumble rather than being resilient.

I need faith; in the end You'll make it alright
Hope, when I can’t see it,
But doubt locks me...
So I flake and fawn, and fake it.

Somewhere, deep inside a voice full of trite,
Says: get over this ****.
And doubt blinds me,
So I quieten my ego and have a go of it.

Suppression and revelation,
two entwined masters of destiny?

"I want to know what love is!"
The ballads croon...

A yearning I can't dismiss.
Seeking love in all the ‘right’ places,
But come up short,
heart strewn, finding no traces —

Straying in dares and when curiosity flares,
Overwhelming sensations birth animosity.
Pushed down, down, down deep below,
dormant, to 'fit in’, the bitter ‘pill,’ I swallow.

Much older now, can I claim my truth?
A Christian? Does that free me: a rebirth?

Am I ‘queer as f#@k’?
Can I truly love without feeling stuck?
The heart requires courage,
But weak am I; keep praying for marriage.

Am I a hopeless case?
Or will I love and truly embrace?

Will I ever be free?
To be fully me?
Or will I keep denying,
and forever friggin' trying
to fit the mould
told of this world?"



f#@k!!! f#@k!!!