Why have I been so afraid of being me?
Is it because I really couldn’t see the reality of the truth, the promise, and the hope flowing free?
Why did I close my eyes and my heart from thee; to truly free see,
The pure delight intrinsically, within, rather than embracingly, love and choosing to be happy?
What a waste; the years of lies I have believed,
But now, I want to be revolutionary, flee harmful untruths and start a new journey...
towards the promise of joyful harmony.

If my thoughts can lead
To depression,
And from our thoughts, we speak,
I revolt against my thoughts;
I have become my joy!
My heart fills, and
I am full of love,
My posture lifts,
I am full of hope,
My movement quickens,
I see opportunities, and
I will become my joy.
I am joy!

I am waiting for slumber to keep
and surrender to the deep,
but only aches do conquer,
claiming victory over my saunter.

I come home a foreigner.
The sun is warm and welcoming,
But the environment has changed.
Curiosity is beconning,
But with gentle eyes.

I come home changed.
Last time I was more timid,
This time, a little stronger.
Last time I thought my weaknesses were insipid,
This time, they are part of me.

I come home curious,
As to what it might be, I ponder.
The family dynamics.
The opportunities that I may squander,
In fear of becoming my truest self.

I come home braver.
Even though on the outside I may be frailer,
Even though.
I might not be, but opportunities I can tailor,
So, it is with courage I move forward.

My superpower;
may not be the strongest,
but it’s advantageous.

Creates a path through;
the wilderness that life brings,
pain, joy and between.

My superpower,
loudest in silence;
where healing is permeating.

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.

There's something satisfying
About enjoying the afternoon sun
With a lime and whiskey; drinking
In the moment, chomping crisps and
Reading prolific piquant poetry by everyone.

Roo

You bounced high and true,
After the rain swept through.

Each bounce made you stronger,

Your stride leaped longer.

No sound released,
Just breeze from your feet

As you showed us all
How to recompose after a fall —

Mud cakes and...

Sand castles and...
<>
Dress ups and...
<>
Make-believe!

Child-like curiosity, awe and wonder;
Other-world conceive.
Silence, in a busy grownups world gives
opportunity for playfulness you can retrieve,
Embrace these moments and seek them out —

Faith like a mustard seed - oak trees sprout!

Morning dew glistens
Like Tiffany's diamonds,
As the sun rises
Promising a spectacular day;
God’s creation shining and
Brings glory!

In this world
We only see
Fragments
of reality —
May my eyes
Be fully open; seeing,
Heaven, truly —

Words are like rubies;
Precious and rare.
Yet many I squander,
Unleashing with little care.

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.

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.

We have privilege and power;
How do we use it in this hour?
For money and fame,
To produce more of the same? Or
In humility seek,
Platforms for those who cannot speak?

I remember when,
As a child,
My mum would "blow raspberries,"
In my face...

She would tell me:
I would laugh
and giggle,
until the craze
meant I couldn’t wiggle
or scream, from paralysis.

I remember when,
As a teen,
I would blow raspberries,
In my cousins’ faces,
As I would babysit them
And play hide-and-chase
Until they came out screamin’

I remember when,
As an adult,
I would blow raspberries,
In my nieces’ faces,
Until they would dream of,
and scream for, wild raspberries.

I remember when...
All of that seemed not so long ago —

Many years ago,
I purchased my first,
Orange lipstick —
Usually, I am quite sombre,
Wearing beige, white, or black,
So I figured ‘orange’ would set me apart and be quite a lick!

It has thus led me —
Into coveting an orange jacket,
which I'm now wearing,
And buying an orange handbag.
I now see brands picking up the mantle
Of the orange love they're now sharing.

Autumn is the best season,
For featuring orange in its design,
I love the turn of leaves
But hate the rake of time!
The colour is also featured in the TV show:
‘Orange is the new black’ (OITNB)
I sure won't be breaking and entering
To wear orange on my back —

Wild & Desperate

Most of life is spent curled;
Caught in the wild and desperate places,
Straddling between two worlds;
Satisfied and striving, for more space,
The here-and-now and the not-yet-inspired.
Being enough and constantly unlaced.

I find myself
Looking more regularly
At the weather map,
Checking the chance of chills and drips
Or sunshine and fine sailing.

The percentages
Determine:
My attire: dress or pants,
Jacket or t-shirt, and snaz it up with lace?

But more importantly, it informs my shoes:
Heels, loafas...

Today, gum boots!

Especially while swimming in these storms.

To survive?
Or thrive?
Is the goal the drive, or a means
To an end?
What end?
What's propelling you forward,
Is it social, political, economical?
Or some other reward?
You are more,
So open your eyes and explore,
Your heart... soul;
Let your spirit soar to that goal,
Higher, seek the ends of the earth for more;
Your core.

when you pause
and ponder,
it's utterly extraordinary
that you are
alive;
out of the billions
you survived,
you are far
from ordinary,
what will propel
you to thrive?

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 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.

Inside, I’m screaming out, “look at me!”
“Notice me!”
Too, long, too long,
I’ve neglected to see me because I was lost, looking over at others.
Such wasted years, such waste to fears, discouragement in my ears, the many times, I’ve wiped those tears
Stained eyes, they were closed for a period of many, many days, to get new sight, and
To hear the truth within; “darling, I see you; you are my beloved.”
Deep senses quieten, even though tremmers still pulse,
Claiming life within thriving for expression.
I can’t stop; I allow you to be seen, heard, criticised, discarded...celebrated, yes, honoured, revelled, desired, loved.
Because that’s who you are, who you’ve always been, when you were off, waiting to be seen.
But now I am here, and now I begin again,
New steps, new paths; enjoy, embrace joy!

Critics collude in cliques
to keep themselves safe from reality.

"Truth is subjective!"
they say, diluting its potency and dilating its delusions.
But grounded, truth becomes a platform on which to
kick critics to the curb,
Taste the dirt of their terse tunes.

sometimes,
there are those days
when things just flow.
You can either,
run indoors,
or get out your gumboots,
and jump in the puddles.

sometimes,
the days are dry.
your lips are parched,
and creativity eludes you.
You can despair,
turn up the volume of self-loathing,
or embrace the feels,
for some other experience.

sometimes,
there are days when you're juggling,
the myriad of experiences,
and it clicks...
they're all moments,
to be savoured.

Mother;
Mothering? Smothering?
do we need to re-mother?
Love of another?
Enduring legacy of
Loss and despair,
Acceptance, love and joy.
Reconciliation.
Mother;
You help us to recover,
Hope for more to come,
And life to enjoy!

I miss my best friend;
She brought adventure to my life
We hiked Machu Picchu and Kokoda,
Tasted dumplings in dippings
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, want me anymore
And it became too late…

I miss her!

Well,
The idea of her anyway...

Someone recently, generously, commented on my poetry:

“Your poems swing from playful snapshots of orange lipstick and coffee grounds to deeper, soul-level stuff like angels, dry bones, and widening circles. That mix is what makes your work feel alive.”

Yes, I write about all things living,
All things happening in my life,
All things I am pondering
All things that are rife —

But, there is one thing about which I don't write…

L O V E

I am not a love poet like the sublime @onlylovepoetry

Love is what my heart longs for the most — yet it's the one thing I can't fix.

I cannot write about the thing I know the least about,
But, I will croon out the longing and the fight!

I want to write a love poem, but perhaps I need to know love first to even qualify…

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?!

Shakespeare pondered names,
We are all given names at our birth;
Some are well-placed, others unknown and ill-fitted.
We spend our teenage years trying on new names, seeing if they fit, throwing them away when they don’t.
Movie stars and musicians shorten their names; Madonna, Oprah, Prince, Beyonce and Drey.
YouTube celebrities create their fame,
Based on their ordinary life.
We, who watch on, add to the myriad of followers,
Playing into their game, adoring their name.
But have we pondered the power of names, for our good?
When we speak, are we breathing life,
Or simply just air?
How can we grasp the life in words?
How can we live out from our true names?

Where too, shall my soul seek immortality?
It hath been found in work and people — 
Are they not noble pursuits?
But Death they found, surrendered, feeble.

Heaven called, why not try I?
So sought and found sweet streams.
Rested but for a while — 
Until consciousness awoke my dreams.

Did not Shakespeare claim the pen,
Is mightier than the sword?
Now keys replace ink,
But still, words cannot be ignored.

Words create our worlds,
What doth they saying of you?
Breath sweeps o’er the mountains
Worry not the truth is still true.

You flutter your flighty, fleeting tunes,
Lift us too, beyond,
To the stars and moon —

There’s much more going on in my life,
Than just in this moment.
There’s a bigger story at large,
The story involves love and atonement.

Not just a job, a husband or health restoration,
But eternity.
Lift your eyes,
Keep them fixed above and not on modernity.

Go deeper still,
Get in under your skin,
Go to the heart,
And let true life begin.

The mind is amazing,
But it can often get us fixed.
On things of this world,
So lift your eyes higher to the mystery betwixt.

Must we endure guilt’s futility;
To take stock of our soul’s condition and
To release all unnecessary spoil, to
Be comforted by our Maker’s redeeming love?

Sabbath Rest

An oasis in the wilderness.

When is the dead of winter;
Is there an exact time?
All winter feels deadly cold to me —

he was looking at them
searching for answers
but all he could see
was their vacancy;
their eyes hollow and shallow,
he ceased.
his dreams evaporated,
and his spirit deceased.

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.

I discover,
Ground coffee beans
All around my pad, under and over.
My bookshelf, my wine bar,
my kitchen bench, and in places I'm yet to uncover —
No matter how much I clean, they still appear
Much to my utter
Disbelief. Do I give up coffee for the sake of a pristine keepsake?
Or do I embrace the daily grind’s remnants as part of my life’s clutter?!

Terror struck the town
Of Porepunkah
With a lone gunman,
Nationalist in ideology,
Pulsating through his veins;
He shot two policemen dead,
The dread still at large
Armed with ammunition
that could blow the entire town away --

The town, once sleepy
Is now fully awake;
Gripped with terror
As they lie in wait —

That same terror
trasped across town borders
Into my neighbourhood
Two students, the nephews of the gunman
stood, sprouting the same ideology —

We’re on watch —
I'm on counsel,
How can I be that non-judgmental
Presence in the face of evil
Holding that emotional shrapnel?!

In a new life, new emotions, new thoughts and new possibilities,
A heart held open can beat new rhythms;
The song can sound different, the tune can change,
But the intention remains the same;

Love, peace, hope: compassion...
A heart held open can withstand pain and
Grow stronger, mightier, and wiser.
A heart held open can hold paradoxes, which is life.

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 carry a heavy, wounded spirit,
Failure, rejection; my ego can’t handle it!
I turn into a little kid, not getting my way,
I cry out, scream on the inside trying to hear what it is You say;

Pride just wants to shut me down,
Disown me, rob me of my crown.
But it’s only when I surrender before thee,
That you open my eyes so I can see,

Love still surrounds, alone I am not,
I will feel and trust, believe that You have not forgot.
I await Your leading,
Protect me from myself’s heeding.

To know one's heart is to unlock yourself from the darkness of the mind; freeing the soul to live Its true self.

God has looked into my heart,
Not at it, but into my heart —
Introspectively,
Microscopically,
Spirtual-scopically...

That lumpy piece of flesh,
holding all my fears, snears, cheers, and revears:

The terror of that lone gunman lurking nearby, forcing a town and the State to ransom for a “new world order.”

The criticisms of others...

Accomplishments in life you held as a goal, not sure if you’d ever bring into the fol’.

And my eternal hope, alarming me when I feel I can’t cope...
Essential to keep me alive,
Essential for me to thrive,
And arrive into my ‘be-ing’.

But it is a bumpy piece of flesh,
Scared with wounds,
Pushed and prodded,
Pumped and plodded
in life, with life
And through life...


“Oh, my heart...”

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

Wilderness seasons

There was a time,
Not too long ago,
When I was lost;
No roots, no fruit,
Wandering and shallow.
Further along, I acknowledge,
The riches taught
During that wilderness season:
Plant myself wisely,
And let true wisdom mellow.

Taking a break,
From seeking the weak,
In me and embracing the
Beauty in my brokenness.
In this,
Let me walk upon the waters,
Erasing my past and
Hoping for a future promised only in dreams.

Words come and go,
So quickly,
I can’t catch them all!
They dance across my mind,
And then, when I want to recall them,
****, they’re gone!