I went to the windy city
When the day was cloudy and grey.
The trees that blew sideways still looked pretty.
But me, & my curly hair, looked how I felt: flummoxed, & expletives were what I wanted to spray!

I distracted myself with good food and coffee —
I made time for shopping
And I went to cool suburbs — trappings and toffee!
The sun peeked through and kissed my face anew, and with all my steps, I was bopping.

How can I capture this spirit daily?
So that when I am lowly, I can
Still fill my cup merely, I say pleeeeee
se, and Amen.

Have you heard the saying, 'Act your age'?
Well, doesn't that put us locked in a cage!
If we aspire to live by that adage,
Our lives may diminish and cause us to rage —

I used to be comforted by such things: that I could manage!
But with maturity and cheekiness, these sayings I now disparage.
Instead, I claim freedom and push the mileage
Out and away; rebellious, some might say - cringe!
I plumb my way through this crippled earth and pillage
All the fruits of life’s experiences: good, bad, and homage
I'll pay to the One who is the same today and throughout all the ages.

“What are those birds?”

I find myself asking the wind.

“Life, wild with wings” ~

She whispers back.

Your eyes are so sad,
Deeply, painfully sad —

They speak volumes of grief,
And a life took so brief,
To trauma,
to “held” hope,
to limited thinking:
“I can’t cope!”

Lift your eyes,
Open them to see,
The unlimited possibilities
Within and front of thee —

Ta-ta, see-ya, bye…

When you say ‘hello” and “goodbye,’
To someone
Are they complete statements,
Figures of speech?

Or are they gap-fillers
Of awkward interactions;

Spaces —

Silences —

Incompatibility?

But, desiring compatibility.

How do we get better at sitting with and communicating our needs?
And not live out of defensive layers and mechanisms?

With presence in the present - the everyday 'gift' in life.

Abraham praised the Lord with obedience;
   Johnathan surrender —

David praised the Lord with singing and dancing,
   John, the Baptist, with preparation —

Jesus became The Way;
   Revelation —

John, the Beloved, with friendship,
   Saul became Paul, a transformation.

Mary with alabaster,
   Lavish extravagance,

You and me?


   Praise and worship;
~ Love ~

Every cut, every scrape,
Every tear and every heartbreak,
Each misgiving we have;
Are all etched into our bodies, inside out --

The first time I had brain surgery,
At 10 months young urgently,
Mum said she had to hold me so tight,
for hours after...

I screamed and I screamed and I screamed
until I was done.

Fighting the body tremors,
Eventually, I calmed as she sang.

Other scars came, later in life,
heroes of sporting accidents,
But I didn't notice.
Until the AVM surgery in my 30’s,

All these scars broke loose,
surrendering in truce --

Resulting in a devastating stroke,
After a novel surgeon made a wrong poke,
And a 40-day coma ensued.

Eventually waking up --

Numb and in shock,
All senses were blocked;
I couldn't hear,
I couldn't see,
I couldn't walk,
I couldn't talk.

Shut down; in hell --

No tears,
No murmurs,
No gargles,
No squawks.

Just numbness.

Even now, as I write, my body remembers --

Sending shivers and tremors 
Of that dreadful season,
Seeded from birth without reason.

Eventually,

I walked,
And re-learned how to talk.

Accept my joy and pain as I regained 
Mobility,
Hearing,
Sight,
And much later, insight --

But -- the grief is still stored in my heart.

Through poetry I've tried,
To make sense of and write,
Every grain and offence,
To help me re-build, lengthen and strength.

I pay homage --
To you, my body,
Tested and true,
Though no beauty queen,
You are a fine machine,
That doesn't give up,
But writes a new score;
One of the treasures I adore!

When I open my eyes and truly see
The wonders in this world,
outside and inside of me.

I ain't living in squalla
But supernatural, techno colour;

Back here on my wooden deck,
I throw back a whiskey, with lime, check √

I hear a banjo in the back of my mind,
And smell fire burning in time.

Recipe books surround and cake rests on my outdoor table,
Country living could very well be it's label...

But I see it as "God’s waiting room" --

Mowers murmur in neighbours' lawns,
Buzzing bees and billowy butterflies
circumnavigate newly planted trees,
make me yawn like a pawn.

In these moments I lean back and let my soul bloom.