Thresholds are good
and necessary
Setting a boundary
Not too low
Not too high
Just the right level - enough
to warn me
to give me pause
to prompt questions
to seek answers
before I step forward
instead of bowling past,
passing through, regardless

Pain thresholds are good
and necessary
Setting a boundary
Too high and you'll burn, oblivious
Too low and you'll freeze
in place, never crossing over
into fuller life

Thresholds are good

The next wave will be better.
If I just wait,
if I resist the bait
to join the others,
if I deny the impulse
to jump into right now,
then I know there's a better wave
beyond the horizon...
The next wave will be better.

Yeah, but I'm cute in the face.
Or not. No matter.
I'm chosen and loved.
That's the crux of the matter.

Yeah, but I'm still young yet.
Or not.  No worries.
I'm chosen and loved.
Not living past glories.

Yeah, but I've still got time.
Or not. No difference.
I'm chosen and loved.
I got my deliverance.

This I know.
I'm chosen by God.
I'm loved by the Saviour.
He calls me his friend.
I rest in his favour.

Cute,
like a baby scorpion
like a pink gun holster,
like a fluffy straight jacket.
You know,
not cute at all.
But still ..
You know -
Cute.

She'd crayoned indiscriminate orange cheer and saw that she'd later been placed high up on the fridge door. From experience she knew that this meant that she had created something of worth, something with a 3-year-old's indiscriminate love, kept in place by a bright red magnet right next to a half-finished shopping list.  

At their next visit she pointed and laughed - it was still there, though a little askew and over-caressed, judging by the finger-grease stains. Her pride was self-evident as she presented the picture's yellow counterpart and watched it being mounted with a matching magnet.  

This time she noticed the tears, so had to ask her mum what that meant.  

She quickly learned and later at the Royal Academy she was ready with a handkerchief when her grandfather teared up staring up at the family portrait in her signature sunshine palette. She enjoyed the smile as he reached up as if to bless the elevated portrait with his familiar caress and grand-paternal pride.  

But the repeated queries about the bright red spot that featured on most of her portraits went unanswered.

My eye was drawn to the next bridge
before I had fully passed beneath this one.
I had thought it more appealing
until I saw it up close
and looked back at what I'd missed.

The weak sun and clouds
A blanket from the back seat
It's your warmth I miss

Seagulls are massive
Intrepid and audacious
I carry the scars

Wrinkled and 60
From another century
Nothing has changed

One expensive stamp
Short missives over Assam
Wishing you were here