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.

As I cracked my farm-fresh
Egg into the hot, hubbling, bubbling
water this morn,
Swirled it around enough
So that egg whites formed,
A soft, safe sack, encasing space
It became poached.

Is that what you've done to me?

Kept me safe and poached me?!

Is that not the very act of
L O V E…

As I climb
The mountain of road
On my sleek steal, bony bike
I glance back in my mirror...
At the rich-reds, Oxy-intensified oranges
And burnt-brown trees and leaves
Lining the streets that dance;
Snow-capped Mount Kosciuszko in the background,
Wind whiplashes my wide agape
Mouth as I scream:
I am alive —
Euphoria!

I dedicate my days
to worshipping You
And writing sun-filled,
son-fuelled poetry.

Under the cover of darkness,
I plucked that rose from its bush.
I spied it two days ago,
even snapped a photo of its lush
Foliage.
I feel guilty now,
But is that because, I stole it stealth
Or is that because it now droops, lifeless?!

Poetry
May seem a solitary
Pursuit.

But,

In every
Poet
There is a myriad
Of multiple memories,
Classic characters
Distorted demons
Vying to be released beyond the vault.

To take root

In your minds and hearts

Forever a part of you,

And me.

Hey there,
Look at me!
Mixin it with the "big boys"
of Helloooooo Poetry.

I may be old[ER] in-age,
Grey and less slender,
Pumping out words
Like bullets with no gender.

But I hope,
The war I wage
Is of love and peace,
not one's re-locking the cage.

How do we use our platform
For things that matter?
Ego-crucifixion;
Liberation and not just idle chatter?!

How long —
Have I been holding my breath
Waiting for things to go wrong?

How long —
Have I been
Playing that same old song?

How long —
Will I adopt this pose
Furlong?!

I long for You —
I pant for You —

Desperately, I scream, internally,
Till my face is blue —

Here, there is no water,
Only rock, capturing no dew;
But devastatingly reminds me:
There is no home but You!

I am gonna come clean...
I think I am just a
tinsy-wee bit of a
DRAMA QUEEN!

Seeing things
in hyper-colour
When really it's black and white
and lacking wings

Yep,
I’m a queen
Of drama and melodrama
Take me down, down into the deep.

Where there is no sleep,

But a perpetual stream,

of life...

I wake,

To Heaven’s tears

Dripping down...

Their gentle potter-patter

Kiss the earth--

God’s promises:

To make,

All things new again;

Right.

I am a speck of sand,
on an earth made up of star dust.

I am both nothing,
and something; wonderlust?!

There is something about a library
That gets me thinking,
All those volumes make me fiery.
The mind travels far and wide, linking
Me to places I can hide. Lives lost
In dusty old books,
New lives imagined where there is no cost
But farcical flying carpets high above chinooks.

I cook delicious and dainty treats,
And watch other readers’ faces post euphoria.
I learn how to write a cinematic screenplay that’ll get bums on seats,
Ideas generated a plethora.

A quiet and soulful space,
Libraries help you positively grow.
In here, I can understand the myriad of lace,
And how to safely stitch a satin dress to flow.

In here, I've also fallen asleep,
So tired from overstimulation.
The overseers struggled to rouse from deep,
As these books hastened satisfied adulation.

This is a base
That deserves your attention,
We’ll benefit from reading your next case
Transported to lofty lands by the prose you mention.

We were created uniquely,
We prize individuality.
Yet we cheapen it by cloning.
We strive for innovation,
Yet we sell it to China for cheaper.
We dull our senses,
So we don’t miss what really matters.

I've been cut —
Down on all sides.
I've been lashed —
From the pain within.
I've severed —
Head and heart,
To avoid any further future fracture,
You could say:
“I've been to hell and back!”
But, extraordinarily
A shoot of hope
Grows within,
And I will water wastefully
Because I am worth it!

Fasten your mind on God;
Untangle the webs of my mind
As I step away from the
Webs of this world.

Nothing is constant;
Neither my sense of satisfaction --
or loathing?

Does that bring comfort?
A yearning? Distraction;
from and liberation!

If Shakespeare were here now, what would be his wisdom
In the times of 'Trending' like fashion;
Would 'star-crossed lovers' be a clickbait sensation?

I always feel
like I am behind.
Like everyone else knows
The secret, or look at me
with those kind, sad eyes...
"You'll get there, honey...
in 10 years' time."

Okay, so maybe
I am a little beyond.
I come to things so **** late.
But at least I own my mind.

I choose my way!
Even if it's a pebbled path in the desert...
That goes round and round,
and round in circles so things aren't unlearned.

But when I look up;
take my nose out of a book,
I see that I am still reading Jane Eyre
other than cinematic thrillers with never-ending hooks.

Even today,
As I ponder this profound?
thought, I make sure I slurp coffee, [yay!!]
observe with all my senses, surround...

I want that feeling
that thrill;
Where my heart flutters
And my voice lifts in exultation;
a climactic shrill!
Is this fleeting?
Or is this real?
Is this my heart dreaming
Or is my desire the ideal?

I love my job(s),
But today, I want to skip
Work.

I want to lay, lathered in the bath with bubbles
For hours.

I want to find a new favourite
Cafe and try a new flavour.

I want to pick up my paintbrushes
and swash down scant dashes
Of paint, ink, and textures
On a canvas.

I want to write
Poetry while drinking Plonk.

I want to play dress-ups
That's yet to come.

Today.

I often write about birds and insects
and the sounds of nature
Around me…
But this morning,
A different kind of gallah
Sounds off;
The builders’ gaggle…
Construction cackle?
The workmen wag?!
Whatever it is,
they woke up the neighbourhood
With their speak
About as-phalt, bricks, and cm of gravel
And then it turned to
Their planned weekend escapades,
Too explicit to share here…

The earth still groans;
We lost our Shepherd
We’ve been left alone.
Now we have a lion roaming the earth, calling His herd,
Celebrate.
Lift your head,
Renew your hope;
Our best days are still ahead.

I love learning, I always have.

Curiosity compels,
To understand all the spells,
Bells and whistles.

Forever the learner, and never the learned.

The more I know,
The more I don't know.
It is troubling and yet…
Freeing.

Insight?

It's dark when I get up
To write poetry.

Who is awake too?

It feels so solitary,
But words are my comfort;
Or are they my tools?

We wangle together, wrapping each other up.
But I am no-one’s fool,
The ones that ain't got bite
Lie dormant in my mind's eye.

Potency propels prompting forth
And when I'm done, I sigh…


Relief.

Do you stop and take notice —
Of the sirens wailing in the background?

Wonder…what trouble has been seized,
A damsel relieved, or a criminal taken to jail?

Do you hear the sirens of trouble?
Or celebrate justice received?

I was in a deep slumber,
And You reached out to me:
“Awake, my darling,” You whispered,
And I opened my eyes anew.

Repeatedly, I have gathered you.
And yet you still fall, **** leaves, you're like a floating fault!
Killing me softly with your incessant grin;
Endlessly gloating: "I've got more where they've come from!"
Declares MN as she blows her windy, willowy waves of air through the trees; nice breeze but...






"Come on, give me a break!" I shriek.

Good and bad —
Light and darkness —
Day and night —
I've tried to be divine,
And I've run from evil,
Or so it seemed...

But the evil within me —
Wouldn't leave;
I pray,
I repent,
I accept shame
as my cloak;
I shrivel the goodness
Unseen...

I split,
Disconnect;
Become a kaleidoscope
of regret.
Days lost
in a fruitless
quest —

Isn't it easier
to just
Embrace the evil within me?!

Are all our words
enchanting works
of witches--
We wield them into submission
while we drink
from others'
intoxicating feasts
of fruits;
blood, sweat, tears from the gloom
And words hidden in remission?

As the sun slumbers in the dark
The background music:
"tchik-tchik-tchik”  
The cicadas pressing against the bark,
Their rostra stuck into the trunk
to pump out the sap
Just like us as we nap
In these states both parading as drunk.
High in the deep blue sky,
Swifts glide like arrows: “Weer!! … Weer!!!"
They paint ‘Van Gogh’ esk clouds with effortless cheer,
All singing goodbye to the sun with gleeful sighs.
Large, loud locusts oscillate above
Their wings like cymbals: "tsk-****-tsk"
Acclaiming their love with a cheeky wink
Hello darkness, they shout with a buzz!

Baths are a curious thing,
That I would lie in one, serene,
For hours —

The water, once clean
Washes off all that was obscene
Then I wrap myself up in towels.

It’s a place where I dream,
Of far-off traces, I would see
poetry inspired.

Also a tranquil pool where I grieve,
Catching all my tears for reprieve;
I then leave relieved.

Mornings are a sacred time
For me.
It's the time I'm most vulnerable
Raw and rare.
It’s the time I seek God,
And speak to Him face-to-face.
It's the time when I hold His hand
And He leads me back
To the Garden,
Free to be seen.

Today,
I am wearing
One of my father's old neckties.
I know it might be a red herring
But it reminds me of him,
so I look past all those lies.

It is a pink one,
With silver diamonds scattered.
I think it's rather fashionable
So, caring about others’ hasn't mattered.

I don it with a navy jacket
Just like the ‘ol' days: suit & tie.
I’m not here to make a racket
About it, but just to state a point, I cry!

I am a femme fatale —
Not a butch!
Rose-gold sneakers attire
Or coloured-heels as such.

It always gets a comment,
Sometimes a whistle or two.
I never thought I was attractive,
But these feels...
while I’m wearing them, surely do ensue!

In the silence,
A scream came forth from nowhere.
Not prompted by anything or anyone.
It startled me, at first,
As the tremors reverberated in my body, still.
I pondered its origins;
A groan of all the screams I've suppressed
Leaked out:
Layered losses claiming their voices.
With their release, came space,
And grace…and strength and power.
I'll harness, to use in this hour.

We don't fight
With fists or guns
But with words;
Ideas, ideals and puns.

The air sagged,
Like an old and ***** blanket.
If mothballs had set in it their tapestry,
That may have been a delight, 
And a slight respite from the 
Grey and wrinkly clouds that 
Stared dreary-eyed offering
No hope but empty promises:
You will be fruitful again!
When?!

In a world that celebrates beauty,
money and success,
Brokenness and incredulity
Is too hard, so we suppress.
But for transformative repair;
Vulnerability and acceptance
Breeds healing, restoration, care;
Real beauty and justice.

pearls
are my favourite
of all my jewels.
the way they're made,
from scratching, slashing, ocean water splashing fuels
intricate transformation, done in no haste,
but time.
not one is the same,
just like my curls.

These are interesting times,
forced in-doors, distraction-free;
distilling all the fear-mongering themes,
naked and bare, illusions fall, truth is what's seen?

All the chasing’s fruitlessness revealed,
we are but flesh and bone,
could this be blessing bestowed?
Distortions, disillusions, dangers healed; all soul secrets are known?

I live,
in the country
with dams salivating for rain,
Their mouths agape and the wind sweeps them dry.
The scene is like the Saharah Plains
But peppered with ‘Stralia green gums;
A wellspring on how to survive,
wild-eyed.

It's been snowing last
Night, golden leaves of Autumn
Cover the once-green grass,
Hiding the Summer days.
Button-up, little lady,
It is time to go into hiding.

Do we all need a season,
Of hiding? Cocooning? Intimacy
With our Creator? To be remade without hesitation
A squall of geese squawks
Overhead, moving on...

With Mother Nature.

Today I pulled a plum,
Apart with my fingers and my thumb.
I did not use a knife,
But held it open to examine life.
And when I finally ate
It tasted all the more richer.
And the texture
Was a virtuoso in visceral sensuality;
Vibrant and mouthful.
The enveloping heat from the sun
Moved through my body like a homerun.
And sounds exploded in my eardrum,
Replacing the peace with a sweet hum.

Even though I hold a bouquet of regret,
I shall not fret --
        Because You will ensure
        I never fall.

I've just noticed, 
as I looked up from writing poetry,
A magpie purchased on the high back 
of one of my outdoor setees, 
Staring smack at me 
as I sculpt words.
Fixed, it holds itself still, measured.
Scheming its next swoop;
Taking in my features, 
I was a moving target.

Deep darkness, despair.
How could you know, you’re not there?
Empty mind I crave,
But constant chatter takes me to the grave.

Fleeing, running; working, studying, drugs, and stuff,
Distractions from revelation; I am enough.
Progress is prized; the final nail,
We need true clarity; the holy grail.

Opening out and up to the mystery unknown,
Here, flourishing can become our own.
Insights of the true us,
Found when there’s nothing, no sound, no ***...

Embracing loneliness can be the pearl sought,
Moving away from things ought,
Turning to the unknown,
Is where true dreams are sewn.

It is lighter outside now,
Rather than the tar-dark
Of the night.
Cars are streaming past;
Their swoosh is like white-noise,
In the early morn.

Things are relatively static
Right now,
Until then busy-ness of the day
Commanders,
Then colour-blinds
All the senses.

Is writing poetry like my fidget toy?
A warm bath or a workout,
Still-ing, stalling and styling
My next proposition.

I stand.







In the middle of my lounge room.
Not wanting to sit,
In case I crease
My cream linen suit
I just so tirelessly
Ironed.

The birds tell a story,
Of what we humans do.
Their chirps and their tweets,
Are confirmation of who and what we knew.

Though we may not see
It, their eyes scan the skies.
And other varieties capture
our uncommunicated idiosyncracies.

The birds in the sky,
Test the temperature of our times.
They hold our secrets,
And much more importantly, our lies.

And so shall I.

Whispers deep within, cry out “hear me, here in,”
I desire to be heard,
I desire to be seen,
I desire to be acknowledged, as something more than what could have been.

You’ve tried to ignore it,
You’ve tried to do what’s right,
What’s sensible, what’s to be applauded,
Rather than what your heart yearns: to be revelled in delight!

Pure indulgence,
Disdainful scorn,
Narcissisms decadence,
All that should be off-sworn.

But denial has only left me stuck,
I have lived a cognitive dissonance existence,
A state of **** and muck.
I wish for more, I want to rise above the resistance, insistence and self-persistence…

I wish to be MORE curious,
I wish to be larger,
I wish to be more spontaneous,
And live a life full, but not “full” of what ifs, that’s what I rather.

So here I am,
Now, what do I do?!
.
.
.
.
Take the next step…

into the dream,

For there, I hope,  will be the next clue!