This is my house, where
I can freely dance
Where I can be,
Without a second glance.
Where I can freely pray,
Thank you for hearing,
Seeing and providing.
Your cooling rain
deepens Your promises.

verse after verse I rehearse
my inner world,
growing courage to discourage,
the lies that try to strangle
my dreams
of becoming the girl
You believed in, to breathe in.

Yesterday, I spent time with an elderly resident;
Jean, who is the ripe age of 103,
She has been dreaming of dead relatives,
And as she talked, her face shone with pure glee;
She'd spent the night communing in Heaven
Which brought her joy; the picture of eternity.

After walking in the lightly misty rain,
I fall back into bed
and think; "thank God for my home,
warm bed, clothes, and
delicious food to eat...."
but then my mind turns to all
who have not,
all who slept out in that rain,
all who don't know when they will
ever feel safe again.
What can I  do about that?!
The need for action stirs.

the smell of freshly cut grass;
so infamous that companies
have tried to bottle it a mass
but it doesn't include the many
mud, smashed sticks, twigs
insect bits, that accumulate
and get thrown in the trash.
the smell of success!

just outside my window,
there is a cacophony of loud;
from teeny tiny insects
to the birds that fly over the ground.
I also hear a labrador bark,
and children screech from being bound.
in play, life outside my window,
step outside, because it will be found!

you are my defender,
I don't need a pretender,
you hold the lock and key,
to my heart; set me free,
from the misogyny.

I am so irrevocably flawed,
That it should lead me to depression!
Perfection and not feeling worthy,
or good enough are like shards
Of broken glass, causing pain where gnawed.
But I'm reminded, of what beauty,
and reclaimed brokenness are; kintsugi,
And cry out more freely: I am flawed!
And how happier that makes me.

Every cut, every scrape,
Every tear and every 
misgivings we have;
Each heartbreak,
Are etched into our bodies.

The first time I had brain surgery,
At 10 months young,
Mum said she had to hold me so tight,
for hours after,
I screamed until I was done.
Fighting the body tremors.
Eventually, I calmed as she sang.

Other scars came, later in life,
heroes of sporting accidents,
But I didn't notice.
Until the AVM surgery in my 30’s
Resulting in a devastating stroke,
After a novel surgeon made a wrong poke,
And a 40-day coma ensued.

Eventually, waking up numb, in shock,
All senses lost;
I couldn't hear,
See, walk or talk.
Shut down; hell.
No tears, murmurs, gargles or squawks,
Just numbness.

Even now, as I write, my body remembers, 
Sending shivers and tremors 
Of that dreadful season.
Eventually, I walked,
Re-learned how to talk,
Accept my pain, and joy, as I regained 
Mobility, hearing and eyesight,
But the grief is still stored in my heart.

Through poetry, I've tried,
To make sense of and write
Every grain and offence,
To help me build in strength.

I pay homage.
To you, my body,
Tested and true,
Though no beauty queen,
You are a machine,
That doesn't give up,
But writes a new score;
One of the treasures I adore
When I open my eyes and see
The wonders in this world.

The first one whom we compare,
That can drive apart the bond we despair
Until we admit we truly care
We’re as separate as the endless stare:
At her hair, height, weight and flare,
Compassion frees us, so we can truly share
The life we’re born to live, she with me, here.

Why is it that I've tried so hard
to forget?
When I've spent so long
trying to remember.
Then, when I stop,
it all catches up with me.
You catch up with me.
I catch up with myself.
When did I lose you?
And how did I find myself in this place again?
The place of wanting to run,
Run so fast, hard and away.
From myself, from you, and from the world.
I break,
I'm shattered.
I fear all these little pieces
can't be put back together,
No matter how talented the artist is,
I'm broken.
But then I remind myself of the
Beauty in the broken places.
Breathing again, I walk on into
A new dawn,
A new day,
A new life.

Line for line,
I write my thoughts down,
Scripting my inner
Monologue.

Thought by thought
I turn them over
My motivations and intentions;
My driving dialogue.

I poke, I ****,
Scrutinise and summarise.
I leave them and walk away
And then I catalogue.

I cry out on the inside:
Why can't it just come easy
But that's perfectionism
The *****, I want to flog!

This road doesn't grow thin,
But gets deeper within.
Or is it like a diamond, 
Compressed within in the smog?

Life is but a whisper,
The volume is built in the heart,
Long before it enters the mouth, and
Henceforth carried by the atmosphere.

I am enough,
I am tough,
I won’t lay down without a fight,
I am bright,
And if you don’t stop, I’m going to get rough!

You are nothing,
You are smothering,
You try to spread lies,
To make me panic and cry.
You think you're big, but I know the One who is enduring.

So I look to Him,
Breaths calm, anxiety falls back from the brim,
I can change,
I will focus on the feelings that don’t feel strange,
But on the One deep within.

The king of eye muscle surgery
reins
Although my eye wound weeps
and complains,
He has helped me see one
Therefore, I cannot be glum
So I'll kick my heels up and count my gains.

I used to think,
Joy was the absence of sadness;
Of fear, suffering, and
Fault.
But now,
I see joy as
Embracing pleasures in the pain;
The simple and sublime,
The now and not yet.

People, people everywhere, but
No life I enjoy.
Disinterest feigns my heartbeat,
Where is my joy?

Life is not a race,
To be run, but grace.
To be lived and embraced.
Savoured.
Satisfied.
Looked back on,
Cherished.
However long, or short,
However hard, and things re-taught,
Life is to be lived; completely,
Reflectively,
Lovingly.

What am I beyond my industry?
Are we not building another Babel?
We babble on beyond comprehension, big-noting ourselves into oblivion,
in an attempt to reclaim the lost,
Our lost selves...
Could the career path lead us back to ourselves? Beyond ourselves?
To our true selves?
To be selfless, seeing others in loving kindness?

I was really sick
But not anymore.
I'm just tired,
Tired of playing small.
I don't know how to be
Confident
But that's all I wish for.
I keep trying,
And trying,
But I stumble back
And fall.
How can I change?
And stand tall,
Be not shameful
But
Live fully and give it my all!

stop.
no, don't stop.
go. go farther and further than you've ever been before...
don't stop,
go.

Make money;
Make more money.
Sell yourself to this world!
This world, run by thugs;
political puppetry.
Self promote; share and gloat,
On Facebook & the ‘Gram
To get more likes,
And fuel the adrenaline spikes,
You’re a slave to this world!
Doom and gloom **** you dry,
Until there is no more.
The drugs run out,
The emptiness overwhelms me.
But, there is much more...
So much more!
If only you would turn,
From the vortex,
Rebound with your reflexes,
And rage against the machine.
You’ll need to detox,
It may take some time,
But see the light,
Don’t turn in fright,
Rest, and follow thee!

Have you ever felt unsafe in your own skin?
If you haven’t, I don’t even know where to begin.
To get you to fathom,
The deep and lonely chasm.
When you speak,
Sounding only like a squeak,
Yet rattles around in the dark,
Trying to find the harbour with Your mark.

In the heart of the secret garden,
On my morning walking track,
Kokoburras crack the darkness
And sing a love song, cajoling
Other birds to cackle back in return.

I've got to protect myself
from myself -
sometimes.
get up and move
and groove -
always.

life is a series of edits
and re-edits.
nothing uneditable;
perfect.
life's not over, yet
so I will allow myself
to keep editing.

I don’t feel seen,
which he doesn’t mean,
he just doesn’t know,
how his pain affects me so.
Nurtured by a narcissist, he bleeds
his pain all over us without knowing his greed.
As his air dries up, he uses it not to love,
but to slip subliminal slime:
I am never enough.

Morning rises with a misty mirage
welcoming the brittle breeze,
Knowing the stiff chills could stifle life
and courage before it receives
The promise of warmth to wear down
The freeze; worries and self-protection, reprieve?
to grow again; try again
Believe.

Homeward bound,
Where my true self is found,
Free.

Purposed, surrendered and ground,
Happiness, peacefulness and sound,
Free.

Sitting in the Aged Care Pastoral Care room,
Drinking a warm milky tea and eating a Monte Carlo.
There are beeps outside from staff going in and out of ‘secure’ rooms,
The hum of the dishwasher in the kitchen nearby,
Gentle clanging of knives and forks being sorted,
Staff chatter going in and out of Residents’ rooms.
Life in an Aged Care Center.
Taking in this precious moment; I am here,
I'll never have this moment again,
A moment I've been working towards for years through study and practicum.
I am a spiritual carer!
Walking alongside the life-full residents;
Their crinkly, sagging skin, lines that tell a thousand stories
Of love, loss, despair, and hope for repair
oscillating between the past lives and future selves
Some are only just here for the minute.
So much they can teach me,
And like my younger self eager to learn,
I listen hopefully.

I miss my best friend;
She brought adventure to my life
We hiked Machu Picchu and Kokoda,
Tasted dumplings at Holy Duck! in Kensington.
We were close for eight years:
Preempting needs - bringing her back a lg, skinny cap
after my morning walk around the Kirribilli shoreline.
But somewhere along the way,
I lost myself in her.
Love turned to hate.
She didn't see me, need me anymore
And it became too late…
I miss her.
Well, the idea of her anyway.

Doubt, an insidious strain of
Forgetfulness, wrestling with the wonder of
Love.

Reckless abandonment;
Wild love, sunshine stretched out
Overall, no monthly contracts,
Uninhibited; so we can be.