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.

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 didn't know —
That is, I just discovered —
That in the Christian calendar, alongside Lent and Easter,
But before Advent and Christmas,
There is OT…no, not The Old Testament,
I am talking about:
“Ordinary time”
A period of reflection after Jesus’ resurrection —
And how our lives have changed, or have not.
How sacred can OT become when we peer forth with this lens on —
The smile,
The small act of kindness,
Washing the dishes,
Picking up a piece of *******
left discarded on the side of the road.
A listening ear in a busy world —
Silence —
After chaos.
Forgiveness —
Second chances —
OT:
Sacred.

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.

Slow us
Lord, that we watch our ways
And about turn
To Your face.

Sunrise, breaking
Is like a distant friend
Returning
From a long sojourn.

Slices through heat 
Similar to "Singer" sewing scissors on lace
Destabilising --
Equilibrium 
With a casual, cool, calm, collectedness,
As if nothing could 
Pierce its particles;
Ruffle its feathers,
Unsync its code.

The coffee dripped
Into my mouth,
little droplets of life;
The rich, dark roast
Layered my tongue
Like velvet;
So sensual —
I could wrap it around my shoulders like
Helen’s, my Nan, foxy-red fur coat,
From the 1920’s and 30’s,
I am back there with her now —
With each drip,
And the zoot, zoot, zip
Of the trumpet
Bleating out
As dancers flapped about.

I just had a flash,
An image that's come to mind...
of little (me) bek (lb) splashing
knee-deep in puddles,
in the grey shallows of rain clouds
that's me...
always seeking,
searching for something in the gallows;
in the ebb-n-flow of life.

Sure
constantly o'er searching
for who I'm meant to be —
always peering, hoping,
that they'd pick me —

but

then

A ray of light dawns,
Someone peeks behind
the curtain, pulls me
out from the shadows

What I've been dreamin' of?! —

I freeze —
like a deer in sight

And I try to shrink
back in slight.

I discombobulate
self-destruct.

I don't know how to act this part out —

How can I move forward, be lb in the sunlight?

Gently, and lovingly, accepting that I am alright...

Running —
Running —
Everywhere. 
No destination to be found?!
My heart longs,
For what cannot be satisfied;
With meaninglessness abound...in.
Stop!
Cease chasing after the wind. You'll n'er catch him.
Stop!

Take off that old self; 
With old thoughts and old patterns,
And patent yourself on Yahweh!

Because
My heart longs —
To play, to dance, to sing, to be free;
And find strays today!
Look up and see the new path before thee.

Why do I walk?
For exercise;
For an influx of oxygen?
No.
For poetry’s sake —

Each step I take
Unlocks thoughts from the deep,
And I reach in to take a peep.
What peers back
Is not a gasp,
Not a rasp rattling:
“Get back to walking!”
But a friend, 
Who hears my thoughts
And welcomes them —

Who says: once more,
“Yes! Here we go again”
And by the time I stop
At my destination,
I've taken those steps,
And released my vocation
With unequivocal elation —

I have never
ever been a skylarker,
have you?
I think it would take
a bit of engineering
to come up with a gimmick or two.
I believe the term, rather, is skylarking
but I wonder if it can become a title too?
Or a role,
like the Joker or the Prankster
or is it just whimsical fun?
requiring no skill or gumption.

It prompts me to ponder
alternate universes
or realities;
other paths
my life could have taken —

Would I have been
wonder woman
wild on a stand-up stage?

A doctor,
or a nurse?
Breaking off death's curse!

Could I have been
a circus performer
Or would that have
concluded in a hearse?

I will stick, for now,
with poetry, and prayers,
and promises of life beyond how —
that's a trick worth playing!

Winter afternoons, when the sun sets soon,
Whiskey shots with a touch of PB spooned,
Takes the edge off —
Those missed moments;
Whispers of ‘not good enough’
And turns them into lessons learned;
War stripes rough —
Psychological scars of the well-lived.

Flames lick —
The candle’s wick
Consuming all — 
Waxy thick.
Fire purifies
Impurities’ sick
Enflaming all diseases
And sin’s teases
Leaving them but a speck.

Dear Rosemary,
Your scent is so lovely;
Piney and fresh
I want to mesh
Your menth with mine,
You taste really divine 
With lamb, red wine and more
You linger in my garden galore.

Roar...
Wild, uninhibited: free.
Living authentically me.
Ready for more?

Moving beyond fight, fleeing and freeze,
To green pastures,
Living beyond disasters,
In peace, free to feel the gentle breeze.

Risk...
Pulses surge,
New thoughts emerge — 
There are no boxes to tick.

Reward...
Works expanded,
Creativity flows,
Freely as the wind blows,
I move, no longer stranded.

Just freedom to be,
Imperfect, in deficit,
Out of control: incomplete.
Opening up to unforeseen possibilities.

Loose curls —
found scattered throughout 
my house
DNA traces —
Declaring existence
Beyond these poems;
Manifestations.
And fleeting interactions
In tight and wide-open 
Spaces.

Brave birds bop 
On bare branches outside;
Grandpa’s dominating morning —
Grey and makes everyone flee.
Logic larks: get up and walk, see!
But bed, with an abundance of blankets
And rain, lots of rain, drips don't be insane,
Get warm!
Despite this, cold sausages and coffee call:
“Eat me!”
And I do oblige.

Thank You for the pain —
Thank You for Your wisdom.
Thank You for the angst —
Thank You for letting it run its course.
Thank You for Your grace —
Thank You for letting me be,
fancy-face and free.
You are gracious and kind.
You are loving, Your words bind.
You are tender.
With no remorse, You're re-making me slender.
Your fingerprints are love marks all over;
Kisses from heaven.

Lying here,
again, in the bath.

My thoughts turn
To the Ancient Romans
Gathering together
At their community baths;
Sitting naked,
Talking politics, pottery
and…poetry of course…showmen?!
Did they have no shame?
Did they let it hang
For all in sundry to speak
Their ancient prose
And then finish up
With a wash-down, cold hose?

What is it about loose eyelashes
That prompts wofty wishes;
Are they heaven’s kisses
In disguise?

We all want to lift our eyes
Above the cloak of disguise
Even if it may compromise
The facade, and authenticity’s surprise.

This world is concrete;
In Western buildings and streets,
In the here-and-now, we can flee
And dismiss lofty things as absolute.

But we are meaning-makers,
We are constant risk-takers.
We are pursuers for magic’s sake,
And may our quest we foolheartedly take.

Wear your heart on your sleeve…
And let it get *****!

Love fully, but be prepared for heartbreak.
Know that these are the best 
Days of your life; 
they won't last forever,
But the memories leave traces rife.

They will reveal parts
You never knew existed,
Never knew you resisted,
And never knew you needed.

A true friendship is like a mirror
Where you see yourself reflected,
In the gaze of the beloved.

My voice may not be sung.
But tis in the things done
In the choices I make — 
Good, bad. Unknown, they leave their wake — 

In the stories wrote,
In the battles fought.
In the colours I paint,
And decisions without constraint.

On the quiet places, it resonates,
Growing deeper with faith,
The tune changes,
With the new victories, He arranges.

Are we but pawns on a chessboard
That God just moves about haphazardly?
Or are we placed strategically;
And through God’s plans can claim: “Checkmate!”

They say with age comes wisdom — 
Yet, I am now at the stage where I know less.
I have piqued and critiqued
Myself and others, to the point of illness,
Sublimating for acceptance,
serving and fighting for the rights of the masses,

But — 

Killing myself quietly;
Loving others and receiving stress
Oblivious in blindness.

Wide eyes now,
And on the eternal quest,
to love wholeheartedly, subjugating wild-brainless
And embracing my divine mess.

How quickly we’ve been brought down,
On bended knees, crying please,
Stop the disease, we’ll take off the crown,
To our lives; listening to lies, mantras of self-help tease,
Hope beyond now. Clear the mental fog; refocus.

Our thoughts,
And our ways,
Become whiter than snow
When we gaze, without haze,
Lovingly upon the Lord.
We rest, cease the quest
And invest where our fortune
Is outside of time;
outside of oughts.