I want to live my best life;
Getting back up, after I fall.
Forgiving myself, after I fail.
Laughing, when I make mistakes.
Being patient, when things take time
(to re-learn).
Because I have time;
To fall, fail, learn and get back up again.
I have time to live my best life,
Every day —

In my need for control,
I became the monster —

Man and men everywhere;
Silver-fox, gay, several-times divorced,
But not one without baggage to be seen.
Pimped up with ****,
Waged weary by work or
Isolated through layered losses,
The modern man: a peculiar specimen.
It seduces the obvious why we turn to women to fill the void;
Upside-down desires? Or love that truly inspires?

You hear the "experts" declare:

We’re seconds away from ultimate destruction...

nuclear war —

While that may be true, the threat won’t turn me blue,

My days are numbered by, and for, God.

Hope —
It's like fire in the frozen days,
Water in the drought,
And joy in the brokenness
Of life —

I love Spring;
When all the trees
Practice re-clothing!

Down here by the Murray River,
where life swims all around;
above and beneath the surface,
in this heat, everything flows —
Beers, BBQs, budgie smugglers and babes in bikinis,
memories bobbing above ground
capturing freedom; post-pandemic and pre-celebrations.

Down by the Murray River,
watching things flow safely and soundly,
birthing new possibilities:
boyfriends, babies, businesses and brews?!
Endless possibilities abound,
prophecies realised; salvation.

Down by the Murray River,
with nature, our souls sing loudly,
simplicity is possible,
trusting and enjoying,
everything is allowed.

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.

Live now!
You may not ever get this moment again —

The fight of the mind twisting and turning,
tortured; I am learning,
my mind and soul conflict.

Desire enlarges,
but duty surpasses,
action thus constricts.

Dreams or delusions?
Passion or fusion?
Which am I to pick?

Where can I go?
to see this through,
and become the one who I seek?

There are parts of me I've hidden
from long, long ago —
There are parts I have treasured
and let the world know.
There are parts I have shunned
what I didn't want to show,
And there are parts I've enlarged,
magnified in my dreams - my ego!
Some have danced on the pages of journals,
some I have lived out, so —
Those that don't serve, I've  exiled
to antipathy's limbo.
Intellect will soldier on in the face
that only trauma knows —
But somehow, the playful one
charms and warms me aglow.
Remember, I urge,
there's more in me than I know!



Don't be frightened.

I hear you, little girl,
You don’t need to hide.

I hear you, little girl,
You don’t need to perform.

I hear you, little girl,
You are now growing into a woman.

I hear you, little girl,
And cry for the things that were stolen.

I cry for you little girl,
You can just be.

I cry for you little girl,
You are brave with much to offer.

I smile for you, little girl,
And am so proud of who you’ve become.

I heal for you, little girl,
And let you rest for a while.

I was out foraging in the woods today,
This morning, when it was cooly,
dark, and quiet, only the birds had a say —

I saw the sun force the darkness to hide,
Allowing me to see;
Strewn branches, twigs and leaves astride.

Dead waste or my fire’s delight?!
I came home successfully,
Joyfully and proudly with the efforts of my might.

simple delights: warm air carrying buzzing bees,
pollinating big trees, bringing me to my knees,
alive and grateful; yes, please!

Acceptance is sweet,
But takes time —
It's hard to achieve.
And it cannot be worked on like a muscle;
Quantity is not the answer,
But time —

Acceptance comes like a timid mouse,
Rather than like a herd of elephants.
Walk the journey,
Traverse the landscape,
Feel the sensations of emotions.
Be present.

Grief is a vital ingredient.
Embrace it with both hands, and
A warm heart.
It’s time for winter to thaw, and
Spring to have its way.

Feel the joy of new life,
Harness its power;
Acceptance is a force to be reckoned with.

I never thought
my poetry was ****** —
But do I want
to arouse; stimulate evocative
emotion,
and stir longing
irrevocably within —
Yes, undeniably, YES!

Do not all of us want that full-body
retort?

Richly —

That leaves us out of sorts, compelling us to transform —

Hanging on my walls are two pieces of art;
large canvases boldly splashed
with colour, stroke upon stroke form vivid arcs.

I wish I had kept my father's paintbrushes,
they were tools of masterpieces.
From them, my strokes could have made faces flush
and inspired songs and poetry; love?

*
But, perhaps…
‘twas a blessing to create with unique expression and freedom.

The rain,
makes my grass glow fluorescent green,
and grow like it’s on steroids.

Love,
makes my heart a mix of hyper-serene,
like out-of-water chimaeroids.

How do we ride these natural phenomena?
Trustingly —

When I asked my mother
What she sees when she looks at me,
She fondly replied: “My girl!”
Warmth filled my heart.
With those worthy words,
Such a visceral response received.
Is that what truth and joy feel like?



~ Love ~

Little girl, big brimmed hat,
alone, with suitcases, travelling to boarding school she sat.
Wanting to be embraced by loving arms,
reassuring tones, peaceful pungent breaths, she calms,
but, the war loomed outside,
and onwards she tried.
The constant Chameleon: hairdresser, interiors, reporter and healer,
now, the season of inner healing to transform into a counsellor.
But, it’s the true counsel she heeds,
to transform from the wounds that bleed.
May she hear from You, Emmanuel; the One who truly heals.
May You lovingly embrace and hold all she feels.
May the little girl grow up into the woman You imagined,
And may she bloom into a lush garden with seeds You've planted.

i hear
the birds fly
overhead,
their chirps, squeaks
and squawks
inviting me
outside
to join the
morning party.

The time taken was not what I dreamed
of, craggy paths, dead ends, or so it seemed.
But now, with back a turn, I see a glimmer,
of the bigger picture, that calls me nearer.
With eyes wide open, listening ears;
a heart full and my spirit clear,
peace and acceptance: my purified pearl.

It was the frogs’ croak
That greeted me as I walked this morn,
Oh nature, how lovely is your cloak
All varieties with it are adorned.

I always thought I had green eyes,
They are, in fact, blue.
Envy has discoloured them
and obscured my true view.
Having now matured;
trauma, aging, greying (audible gasp),
healing is happening
in ways not anticipated,
nor valued at first.
But now, I am embracing
my true blue eyes to see anew.

Was my stroke a cruel, twisted f#@k up?
...
Or one of divine luck?

Has it not taught me compassion?
Anger? Acceptance, how to ration criticism?
And laugh when I muck up?

Now, I breathe in gratitude,
And my world has opened up
to new experiences, people, and circumstances,
even living in new towns, cities and states.
Mastering REHAB, new knowledge and careers.
Working through old fears, sure, I've got new ones,
But who hasn't?

Connected and trusting this journey.
...
Now, that's the silver lining!

You are not known, but
You are welcome,
Free breath provokes hope,
The future will come,
Your timing is perfect.

The grief is deep,
It wells and swells
Deep inside.
I now want to draw near
The deep, and
Peer down inside,
See the waves crashing,
See the pretty foam
From the chaos,
Deep inside.
When I come close,
It’s refreshing,
Calming,
Mesmerising.
Lulling me into a deep sleep.
Transforming me from the inside out,
So that Your new creation
May come forth.
Be present.
Even in the cold,
Even in the chaos,
Even in the unknown, and
Even in the loneliness.
Even. Deeper.

No word, now, spoken is new,
Except for thought in my mind,
Entombed in my mouth, spoken and
Embraced in your heart.

Judgment, misunderstandings, self-protection,
all weapons of mass destruction:
wounding others and ourselves,
with each thought and resulting action.

Lady Macbeth knew this,
why did we not heed her justice?
Warning bells clanging,
freeing us to step onto a new precipice?

There's blood on my hands,
every time I don't trust and understand,
but think I know it all,
and make my many, many demands.

Perfectionism has been my cleansing balm,
but, in the end, it's just caused more harm,
relearning is my matrix,
continuously transforming and becoming calm.

I have a bashed-up coffee donker,
From too hard and too much dinking —

It sits there, next to my retro, white barista-chine*,
On my movable wine bar,
Slash coffee trolley cart;
My all-in-one entertainment station.

Where, previously, I had a silver aluminium bucket
Storing all my coffee sloshes.

It seemed like a convenient (cheaper) way
To free my frustrations fancifully —

I could have gone to a firing range,
Or let some golf ***** fly,
Usually though,
I just internalise the anxiety and rage —

Life is fragile
Like a china tea cup cracked —
Do we hold on to these crooked pieces,
Like we hold our inner wounds,
Hoping to mend them one day —
Is it something sentimental?
Mindful?
Frugal?!

Precious.

From the alarm
to Instagram,
FB,
TikTok
and beyond…

The external world is screaming:
Watch me!
Follow me!
I’ll show you where you belong!

We’ve been led, by the piper, into 'other' consciousness --

Happily, we submit to its authority
Because this world is too much.

We stuff every gap,
every silence
with ******-fanatic thoughts, slap!
Running further from our true selves --

How did we get swallowed up
in this chasm of chants;
That said we are not enough?

It’s time to do something revolutionary!
It’s time to sit in silence;
Befriend the bewildering quietness,
And accept with loving kindness.

That, which is before me, I take hold.
Stepping forth with the "keys,"
Once wearily, but now growing bold —

Down, black dog, down!

Joy: light in thin cracks extol.
My heart, growing in strength,
stepping out bold,
It’s the only way to learn, heal and grow peacefully old.

Down, black dog, take off your crown.

See the world distinctly?
Pearls?
A kaleidoscope of memories?
Or lucidly look differently?
A beggar, or free from the constraints of Western reality?
New eyes take in all perspectives: perceptions,
Compelling new experiences: horizons.
Releasing shame; distorted distractions.
Embracing imperfections, peccadillos,
Layers of realities,
Depths, and
Rationalities.
Diversely.
Maturely.

Every moment is precious
even the mundane and superfluous.
The torment, grief-stricken and disastrous
all these moments, yes all, are the days of MY life.

New secrets discovered__
more moments cry out to be recovered.
Embracing all, nurturing, to be mothered,
anew, renewed, refreshed and restored.

Press in; delight.
Expand; day and night,
Rejoice; praise despite,
living as new, but in the old.

Maturity presses sweeter wine,
Wisdom pearls are mine,
all these gifts are thine,
I drink this cup, now and forever.

I don't think I spend too much,
But then I spill out my shoe
Collection, an addiction, sorted by hue.
Cupboards flung open to reveal the gradient of such
And don't get me started on bags and the clutch!

Rivers of life run deep,
But then I look at the contents of my journals;
The "now and not yet" cries reveal how hormonal
Am I. Dim focus on the eternal creeps —
To cover more of the heart, I try to keep.

New year near and nearer;
But a return to stillness yearns.
When we hide, these addictions burn,
Igniting guilt, shame and all —
Where are you, simplicity? Is this the fall?

Pen on paper is like breath in my lungs.
It is my write to live;
Describing, birthing, embracing.
Permission to give.

But the pen used ineptly,
Causes death.
Like throwing my pearls to swine,
Snuffs breath.

She passes faster than we can grasp,
We try to capture her, firm in our clasp.
But she runs right through us,
Savouring, she becomes our mistress,
She rules indiscriminately,
Sometimes, not always, distressingly.

Oh,
Mistress Time, you're full of beauty,
Admired, best in the present, free and fruity.
If we don't, we'll mourn,
And if only despaired, she will scorn.
But now, she comes alive,
Invigorated, we thrive.

Yes,
Face-to-face, she tells tales,
Of the dreams, places we’ll sail.
Future fantasies, we indulge,
"Temptress Time", let us divulge,
Our secrets,
Worn down, we slip; more regrets.

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!

"I want to know what love is!"
The ballads croon...

A yearning I can't dismiss.
Seeking love in all the ‘right’ places,
But come up short,
heart strewn, finding no traces —

Straying in dares and when curiosity flares,
Overwhelming sensations birth animosity.
Pushed down, down, down deep below,
dormant, to 'fit in’, the bitter ‘pill,’ I swallow.

Much older now, can I claim my truth?
A Christian? Does that free me: a rebirth?

Am I ‘queer as f#@k’?
Can I truly love without feeling stuck?
The heart requires courage,
But weak am I; keep praying for marriage.

Am I a hopeless case?
Or will I love and truly embrace?

Will I ever be free?
To be fully me?
Or will I keep denying,
and forever friggin' trying
to fit the mould
told of this world?"



f#@k!!! f#@k!!!

Eight years ago, foggily I awoke from a 40-day deep, deep deep, sleep,

Seven times I've donned the sackcloth, which may continue seventy times seven in acceptance of my new reality.

Six years of gratitude directed my heavy heart and thoughts, to reframe and good perspective keep.

Five rehabilitation programs, cross country, helped regain vital functionality, to commence

Four years of study, processing grief, re-skill, and grow more confidently, despite my

Three-second memory retention, slowly, but surely, my amazing brain rewired grey space. My

Two eyes view life in fragments hoping to be restored, by the

One Almighty God, who has blessed me with life; I stand in awe of His grace.

My bones creaked
As loud and as long
As the frogs,
On the logs and in the peering pond,
this morning --
Aging is as ubiquitous as nature;
In that sense:
You could say:
‘I am at one with nature.'

is it curious that we spare our souls
through poetry,
but remain closed books to our "family"?!

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

Angels —
Heavenly creatures;
I have oft thought of them
As far off, mystical beings with porcelain features,

But, are they in fact here amongst the living?
Daily? Hourly? Even in this minute?

Or are they only present
In the presence of those who are dying,
As a gift from the Alpha and Omega —
Reminding us He’ll bring us home, dancing, not crying?!

What if we could see them angels?
What if we could feel them, sense them
Be vessels of their love.
Surrounding people in pain, grief and disdain, holding them close like a hem
Holds the loose strands of life —

What if we could be the angels —
To each other, loving without demands,
Reminding people of where they came from —
Whom they come from and where their DNA strands
Will return —

To the Angels around me now,
Thank you for your love,
Thank you for your purpose
And thank you that you hold the ones in need,
like the precious wings of
doves.

Can't beat a great coffee;
delights all the senses with rich,
silky milk, all frothy.

This is my house, where
I can freely dance
Where I can be —
Without a second glance.
Where I can freely pray,
And thank You for hearing,
Seeing and providing —
Your cooling rain
deepens Your promises,
in my soul
not in vain —

Hush, it's raining.
Heaven's cleaning the earth
with its gentle brush,
anew.

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!”

rain clouds;
so heavy and thick,
they're so powerful,
they hide the sun
but it's not a long-lasting trick,
it's only a temporary catastrophe,
until the sun stretches
out its rays
pushing away
the need for the prosaic.

Welcoming Mourning

It is quiet because it is morn.
I don't like to look in the mirror
Because of what I see:
I look into death’s eyes
And see my reflection.
I see the death of hopes and dreams
And loved ones, I mourn,
Constantly.