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martin challis Oct 2014
Walking down the hill
I thought about the view

Walking up the hill
I thought about the hill




MChallis © 2014
martin challis Oct 2014
Morning
Soft light
And light sleeping

She sighs and lifts and sighs and falls
Her breath the gentleness of day beginning

I sit and watch her
more lovingly than a child could


MChallis © 2014
martin challis Oct 2014
Who will lead us when we do not lead ourselves?
Who will know us when we do not know ourselves?
Who will love us when we do not love ourselves?
Who will trust us when we do not trust ourselves?

None.

When we name what gets in our way of leading.
We find the courage to speak what is true.

When we name what gets in our way of knowing.
We find the wisdom to shape our world.

When we name what gets in our way of loving.
We find the heart open to find the heart.

When we name what gets in our way of trusting.
We find the will to move beyond fear.

We find our place of leading
And others know this
And find it
through us


MChallis © 2014
martin challis Oct 2014
Your power lies within you. Life endowed you eons ago.
Your work today begins with knowing this deeply.
Your power does not lie in the minds of others,
you do not need their approval for what you already posses.
As you practice today keep your attention on giving,
on being generous without the conditionality of it being reciprocated.
In this moment now and in this breath you are free.

MChallis © 2014
martin challis Oct 2014
The way each hill runs down
The way tree-lines suspend the turbulence

My father’s arms are in these hills
taking timber from the gully

The crest of his hat starts at the waterfall
his toes peep through lantana

His advice trickles into pools from the hollows;
as his boots peeled open, dry before the fire

Lizards bask like heat-curled nails in the sun,
billy smoke whispers its tale through the canopy

Through the slow step of a century
he has turned one-eyed squinting toward the sun

The scrape of sharpening-stone on an ancient scythe
sets my teeth on edge

The whistle to the bullock team calls me back
but it’s too late, my ears have gathered for another harvest

I'm already removed from his wilderness

MChallis © 2005
martin challis Oct 2014
sweetly
simple
surrendering
softly
sensuous
simililarly
spontaneo­us
spilling
subtlety
essing
secrets
sharply
shooting
satisfaction


MChallis­ © 2014
martin challis Oct 2014
My father shouting at me
loud enough to wake my dead grandfather, the
red air is frightening     I try not to tremble,
it makes him worse,
he hits me with a strap -  but his anger soon passes

Tonight the moon seems old,
if it cries it can cry for me because
my sadness is deeper than tears and
the old man I will one day be    will remember this.

--

My mother,  happy in her freedom    swims naked in the bathroom
Swims an olympic record from the tap end
to the end where we keep the shampoo.

Beneath the waves she can't hear the
crashing and shouting from the next room.
The bathroom light is  turned out,
the moon fills the bath with its soft-milk.

--

Sad is my sister crying tears like wet feathers.
Crying for a pain she wants to, but can't feel. Her tears
are starved birds that never learn to fly.

--

My sister cries the guilt of an expert,
My mother tends herself with soft lotions,
My father, a helpless bystander to his own rage,
wears spectacles passed down by his father.

--

Tonight the moon is my quilt
Heart-beats are held and all is muffled
The rage is the sea
My skin milks the light now.




MChallis © 2014
www.martinchallis.com
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