I have reams of unfinished poems scattered throughout my life;
On my phone, in Voice Memos,
On the numerous laptops that I've had,
On serviettes, scrap paper and on my heart.
Will they remain incomplete;
Hidden works of art?!
Or will they spill out one day
As complete works to part?

Argh!
Pain and torment overwhelms,
Trying to express saddness,
Is like giving birth to death —
Which has led to denial, distraction and disconnection…

Ohhh!

Stunted grief equals stunted growth?!
But…
Reconnecting equals reclaiming;
Not fast,
But slow —
The slow food movement has infiltrated my grief,
On trend,
Or just on point?!

Have we been sold a lie,
That has kept us from ourselves?

It doesn’t have to make sense.
No pretty bow is needed,
No sugar coating,
No sweetness full stop.

Grief is messy!
And freeing —
And long,
And painful,
And healing,
And sweet.

But it needs working through,
For blossoms to bloom —
New beats to croon,
New tastes to tantilise,
New colours to be canvassed,
New sights to be seen.

Don’t rush, just stroll.
Don’t shrink for others,
But rise up,
Against the machine,
Let anarchy wait,
For new life to be claimed,
In due time…

Step outside the box,
Nothing makes sense as,
This is a new experience,
Made just for this season.
Don’t fight to control,
It’s just for a reason.
Release and let go —

Have you ever just wanted to eat sugar straight from the bag?
To open your mouth wide and pour?
Not stopping for air.
But gasping for more --

Sometimes I have these cravings,
galore --

My mother has a new relationship!
After the death of my father,
I wondered if there’d be another -
When we meet up, in the morning, to go walking,
She shares about the back-and-forth chats, that stimulate her mind, heart and spirit…
I wonder who he is…
Is he tall?
Is he dark?
Is he handsome?
He is none…
He doesn't speak, or interrupt,
But grows and challenges her;
Together they formed business ideas and
last night they formed a new nation?!
Who is this ‘ideal’ fella?!
ChatGPT!
Technology meeting the needs in this day and age —

When I was younger,
I kissed a lot —

I mean many, many lips...

I kissed in dares,
Men with hair
and without.

I kissed in hiding places behind trees,
In dark movie theatres,
In sunshine and under deep blue water...

Oh, the places my lips have been.
Breathless pants,
mouthing moans at just a glance...

Oh yeah, I've been there!

And what about the inappropriate kisses?! Trauma kisses from people you trusted; my History teacher, when he took me up to the Monument one day after school,
we sat there in his car, stroking my hand, he leaned in and took it way too far...
Eventually, I moved away and we "lost touch"
But I still think about it...and moving home, I often wonder if I will ever see him walking somewhere near?

But as I've matured,
and become more discriminating...discerning --
I've run out of kissing stories to tell.

They now feel like the lips of a princesses waiting in the tower
Waiting for the kiss from her prince --

I long for a kiss --
that takes my breath away...

What is that saying?!
“All good things must come to an end.”
Jehovah Jireh, You are never ending
And, Your love knows no bounds.
You are outside of time,
And this world.

smoke
from a nearby chimney
subliminally
merged with the fog that spoke covering
like protection
but indeed looked like
silencing screams from the wild.

the grass,
ghostly white,
snaps as I tred upon
it and the remnants, aghast,
yesterday's memories
lay frozen in time 'neath
my feet that live steadfastly.

It struck me,
When my phone asked, no, demanded—
To back it up,
How machines claim their needs...
Sometimes, more often, than not,
better than we do!

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

While waiting,
Outside in the cold weather,
My breath, forming puffs
Like smoke;
My mind melted back, memories —
Of a young-ish Little Bek,
Holding a “***”* in my right hand, 
puffing rings
Of imaginary smoke.
Thinking of this made me chuckle,
So much, I almost choked 
On the imaginary frosty smoke.

Your name just appeared on my screen...
I didn't write it and you didn't call ==
I hadn't seen it for a while, I haven't thought of you for longer.

It came from a misspelt word: a bunch of odd letters scrambled together trying to form coherency.
What it brought back were memories much;
Memories of our time together, which in the moment felt thrilling, exhilarating and reckless ==

For a long while since, I've been reflecting, refracting and returning ==
I now understand you were like my father,  trying again to have control over me;
You were unresolved emotions, actions and words ==
Things I was not conscious of.

Now, more adept at decoding subliminal thoughts and actions,
I want to push you right back, from the darkness whence you came.

It wasn't the freeze that took my breath away, 
this morning, it was this memory of you ==
A cloak of chains that spoke.
I want to shake it off and run free, far from your memory ==
Like a babe in the Garden of Eden
not knowing the evil that surrounded them.
But I'm not losing a single hair to care
that life is not fair.
Just enjoying the freedom == 

I don't know what you want from me,
That you prompt me with this memory ==
I don't know what you expect,
Demanding reciprocity,
Obliterating my freedom, when you extracted,
All the foundations of connection.
and thresholds of compassion.
All the holdings of collaboration.
Leaving nothing but destruction.

I walked through a pond of croaking frogs, loud and strong and forever a gallant song until I approached --
Whence they ceased their tune.
I wrapped the silence around me like the silver lining of Joseph's dream coat.
And rode the waves of fog around me, strong, confident and unimpeachable.
Shadows loomed, daring me in the face of darkness to stay strong.
I picked up the pace, and I ran my race home yelling --

yippeeeeeeeee!

I think you still look at me,
like you did when I was a kid —
Forever seeing me
as my younger, wilder (freer) self,

When you look at me, still,
All my childish ways were for nothing,
But, I see them as my "red pill"
transforming me into something —

I think you also still see me
lying in that coma.
Your dreams dashed for the ideal daughter's glee
You wished to live out your long-lost desires...

So you dressed me, did my hair
made me up like a daisy doll
lying there without sound to share,
I couldn't protest, I wore that knoll.

But, now —
Here I am,
With a voice less shallow
Yelling:  "I am not that kid anymore!"

So, how do you like that pill —
to swallow?

Some men
get knocked down far too easily.
They're as solid
as a sandcastle when the air is breezy.

Are we now a world
where our values do not matter?
They beg for coin,*
but deliver poisonous words that shatter --

I am not a "man hater"
I am desperate to find,
Men who can stand the test of time,
And know and whence speak their mind --

But all I see are puppets --
tied to the TikTok
Of public opinion that changes every season,
dancing to the worthless tune run amok --

There you are little wren,
Drawing my attention in,
To your looping, lonely, little psalm —

You give me life,
While he tries to ***** it out!

You build me up,
While he tears me down.

You bring clarity,
While he stirs up confusion.

You repair,
He retorts.

You restore.
He doesn’t stand a chance in hell!

You have a right to change your mind about me,
yes, you are free, to think what you like about what you see,
and what you think you see —
don't see —
about what you want me to be.
Because that's more about you than me.
so, go right ahead and think differently —
it is freeing then, immediately.

I've spent the majority
of my life performing to your tune,
the one you fiddled on your flute
rather than changing your own swoon,
it must be pretty difficult
waiting for others to change
all the while stagnating
in your narcissistic slime.

You have a right to change your mind about me,
I'm a maverick, you'll see!
Through trials and forced transmutation;
I am a girl and a woman,
I am a heart and an evolution
of a story still being told —
That's just it, never will my spirit grow old.

A voice of melody broke the numbness,
‘Good morning everybody, have a great day,”
Light in the darkness
Love in aloneness
A witness in the masses.
Small acts are noticed —
I receive your love.

I saw them rain clouds —
In the far-off distance.

So I went about my day;
Flipping and fleeting,
Bopping and bleating,
Swiping and sweeping.

Until they were overhead —
And didn't they get me then!

Poetry should  be taught —
But it's better to be tried.

Poetry can be taught;
But it's better to be lived!

About turn,
Face fear —
Discern, and
Have faith  —

No more looking
To the left and to the right,
But investing right where you are —
In You and realising in Your love.

I’m ready,
For a new season of faith,
Less heady,
And more heart.

Delving deeper,
Within Your loving embrace —
No longer a sleeper,
But expansively awake!

Truly present in life,
And Your love.

How is it that the bath gets cold,
Yet, my love for them never gets old!

A Matisse-painted sky
dawning this morning,
So that I could peer,
seeing, Rembrandt-esque
Trees lining the Murray River
crossing the bridge that joins my two towns:
“Twin Cities” Albury and Wodonga.
Banksy’s streetscapes then brought me into reality:
work time —
Who paints that?!

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

No more performing —
No more presenting —
No more people-pleasing,
And seeking attention.
Can I do that? With no treason?
Is there a people-pleasing anonymous?
PPA?!
Dismissed from long ago,
When? I don't really know.
Wallowing can now wait
It’s time to live, not hate!
Wounded,
But loved —
Coveted;
Beloved.

Sporting spotty socks,
would not seem that obscene,
but under a pristine cream suit
they poke fun at the ‘proper '”
at the crème De la crème.

Maybe that’s the theme of my curly locks;
Subverting the straight-jacketing of everyday life?!

I hold this space
For you to be —
Vulnerable and wholly.
I hold the space
When you stumble,
I come alongside,
on bended knee,
So that I can see —
Your bright future in my eyes.
I tell you what's ahead
It's more exciting than you can imagine —
I encourage you to look up
And out,
And live with no regrets.
Isn’t that what it's like to love?!

We transition in-and-out of moments;
In and out of life,
In and out of lives.

Sometimes, we transition with ease,
With poise,
With grace.

Sometimes, we transition with wounds;
Defences up —
And ready to attack before they hurt you back.

I am scared right now,
And my defences are wall high;
Self-imprisonment —
So that I don't get hurt,
But I'm hurting in here, all alone.

I am sitting here:
On a bright Winter’s day,
Squinting into the sunshine,
Seeing the sparrows climb
The fences, trees, rooftops and leaves,
And I ponder --
Have I lost my “mojo”?!
I am feeling flat; my ego’s splat
Against the wall of hope;
Have I run out of things to say?
Have I no whim enough to dance and play
With letters and words, sentences and phrases?
Is this it?!
Have I lost my “Po-Jo”?
Do I need to get up and shake my "J-Lo?"
Or "Bon-Bon" if you're more a Ricky Martin fan!

In You, I am alive —
In You, I can try; thrive —
In You, I can create,
In You, I know my fate —
In You, I can fail.
In You, I can see all,
Now, truly.

I owned the streets this morn,
like darkness owned the night.
And with each step, I owned the street
like winter owned the grass;
tight and stealth,
sleek, powerful and full of wealth,
as I walked those streets,
I reclaimed my health,
as I walked those streets,
I reclaimed my  voice,
as I walked those streets
I told MN who was in charge --
not her or any other man or woman!

Sparse cars slipped past like whispers of the fog,
their gas fumes slid into the clouds: no beginning and no end.

And Blackbirds, oh Blackbirds,
You were my lagging escort this morn,
You sat still, like frozen shadows
too cold to move and too scared to be seen.

What has come of those days,
That I longed to pass?
What have come of those days,
Now that I long wish they last’d?

A lonely Wren
Called for me --
Inviting me out to play,
But I was greeted
With bone-shattering coldness
And not the joy-filled soiree.

What do You see when you look at me?
Do you see Your crown of glory hovering freely?
Do I please You, even though I make mistakes?
Do I please You? I'm not as good as it takes.

I wish I could be better, smarter, stronger —
But then, I’d dismiss and punish myself for longer.

Is acceptance the key?
When I peer deep into me,
Here right now, being?

One step at a time —
There’s truly no rush; I'm fine.

Just breathe and smile,
And live life for a long while.

Is a tree still thirsty when there's dew on the ground or is that the blessing of mother nature's kiss?

People share
Stuff with me,
From the mundane
To the horrific;
When we sit together
It all comes out
In drips….
Free flow, and like
***** —


     I hold it
As if it were
A porcelain vase;
Fragile yet robust
And I triage,


The greater needs
At large:
Safety,
Reconnection
And calm.
So their sense of self
Is held.

The world is a good place —
But there are some f#*cked up
People in it.

I can't stop the damage;
But I can hold the fragments
And pay homage
To the extraordinary
Lives of courage.

Rainbows and vanilla marshmallows
Fill the grey-cloud streaked sky,
The trees on one side
Blow backwards, holding on for dear life.
As I went under the joy-filled coloured high,
I thanked God for His nature’s blessing
And the forgiveness of all my
unnatural thoughts, deeds and messing
And I let out a sigh.

When we sit,
I hear your tears,
On the inside;
Crying out: “See me!”
They shout!

When we sit,
I see your heart,
On the outside;
Singing: “Hear me!”
It hums.

When we sit,
I feel your spirit
Between us
Vibrating: “You belong!”
Deep within
And deeply strong.

The cows and sheep.
They lined the street as the sun set on Violet Town.
Reminiscent of a 21-gun salute.
You felt the Spirit hover in this cute little nook of mound.

Beyond the town
Rolly Hills surround.
Making it a playground for many;
The black-faced cuckooshrike sound!

Are there any other towns
Of colour?
Orange! Tweed Heads?! Can you name any more?
Curious about how we name things
And do their names prophetically claim their tread, galore?!

I bleed in life
As I bleed in my words;
All over the place
And without convention or order.

I was dead, even when alive.
I lived, but lived for others,
Surrendered my soul,
I must have existed, but did I truly survive?

Denial? Busyness? Constant comparisons?
Are all good contenders,
(Do-goodness and perfection add)
In the throes of destruction.
But now I heal, trusting in God, the true hero —
there are no human barriers.

However, this truth, 
The hustle continues,
Life should be sweet.
But instead, we struggle, by struth!

Mindfulness may be the key,
Cocktails of alcohol and drugs?
Or constant distractions and selfies?!
But Jesus trumps all these; seek Him, you'll see!

He is the life and resurrection,
He is our true peace and protection,
Our hope and life,
And should always be our concentration.

I take you everywhere I go
I take you everywhere, slow.

The sun sets to sleep,
The last of its rays reach the backs of the sheep.

From golden sun,
To rose-red set.

What's left of the turquoise blue sky,
Humming out its lullaby.

The cows mo(O)ve us on,
And the roadside trucks rattle strong;
Carrying next night meals to the city gone.

I take you everywhere I go,
Searching high and low.

You're all around, this I know.

I hear "the birds"
outside calling —
but at zero degrees
I am sorry!
It's like Emily's phrase:
"When [even] shadows hold their breath" --
I will enjoy you from the inside
and warming,

Sad,
Scared.
If I don’t have a plan —
The unknown...
Isn’t that where faith steps in?
Yes! but I’m scared.
Or alive?
Scared.
Or awake?
Stifled?
No, alive!
Feeling,
Not censoring.
Being,
Not just existing.
This is the beginning.
Allow yourself to feel.
Emotions are a gift to the soul.
Embrace "The Feels"!

Oh, Mr Darcy,
You truly are
One of my first and longest loves.
Those dark, brooding eyes,
And sparse words did his tongue speak.
I always did hold you up as
My favourite,
But I have come to find out,
not too handsome to tempt me.

Sliding into the bath this morning,
Was more an act of defiance
Then a ritual act of cleaning,
And a pleasurable dalliance.

Yesterday —

My doctor said (strongly suggested)
That I shouldn't have baths, showers are safer,
If I ever, on the off chance, seizured, because I forgot to take my medication,
Or, as I am trying to do, stop taking them altogether,
Aren't the laws of nature good? Just? Complementary?!
If I have another, isn't that injustice?!
Isn't cleansing the body, an act of worship?!

Should I live my life by the law of ‘off chances”?
I think not!

Today —

This bath is my protest.
And I am sipping coffee and eating pastries in here, too!

seeking,
slicing,
selfies,
'ice-ing,'
the 'Golden Age' is gone.

weeping,
swiping,
exhibiting galore,
pricelessness pawned
for ****.

texting,
sexting,
'Brexiting'
'****'ing,
endlessly searching for that score.

the jungle was out there,
but now it is in the norm.