Can one see beauty in anything?
A stick strewn on uneven grass, in the cool morning?

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!

Clone stamps don’t exist,
Heaven's kiss only breathes originals.
But when darkness overwhelms,
It’s hard to embrace lovingly,
The slump of a body,
The shadowy figure,
The shallow intimacy it gives out,
So they are overlooked, not seen, not valued.
Commodity is an exchange price,
And if your invaluable tag has been ripped off,
Who can speak of your true value?
Back to the breath.
Recreation can commence for the adventurous,
New life with wisdom,
How ripe a red wine will that drop be?

an early morning riser
gets the worms.
the saying goes,
or is it more like:
worries she burns?

I AM making all things new!
Even you: this is so true.
Open up and lift your eyes to see,
The savanna stretched out before thee.
New paths to trek, destinations big and small,
Bring out the globe, give it a twirl,
place your finger down, and embrace wide all.

Someone who lives authentically, their true self,
Unafraid of what people think.

Insight?

I put a banana in my coat pocket
This morn, in haste, while jobing.
Forgot, did I, until this arvo,
The smell o’er ripe left me throbbing.

Feast of praise

Hunt me, keep me!
Fleece my nervousness.
Cease my incessant adversaries,
That I might feast on the praise for
YOU.

I pick up
My tambourine again
Drumming, I usurp
The inky black depression while reminiscing.
Let praise erupt and interrupt
The drone of zombie life.

Lest we forget
Those who served us so,
Now, with heavenly angels,
Alive now, they teach us what we sow,
Shall remain forevermore or wasteless fodder.

We shall not forget them so,
Sacrifice, selflessness, valour undertow,
Remembrance of our heroes,
Provokes us to live now, lives of valour; value.

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.

Too much in our bellies, too much in our hearts,
We spew out hateful words, crying from our disenfranchised parts; our families, the world inside and out,
All need peace and strength to fight
The war outside, rather than focus all attention on the war inside.

Not everything needs to be instant.
After three days He rose again;
Perfection in human form.

Grief is like being drunk...

Hungover with grief; the heavy cloak of love
Cutting you off from reality,
Cocooning you, all the while changing you.
Surrendering the struggle, to survive
Paradoxically helps you thrive.

Take down the constructs,
Tear down the precepts,
Tie down the lies.
To
Embrace love,
Engage curiosity,
Enlarge.

People say things like:
Where did that time go?
Things are moving so fast...
and it's true, and they are,
but when you're in the moment
they're not. It is only when
you look back or look in the mirror,
that you notice time has truly passed,
and you see the grey hairs;
and exclaim: "Oh, I am old now!"

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

I am both nothing,
and something; wonderlust?!

Lord, I'm not perfect.
And I mix things up.
And I'm so grateful.
That you've got my back when all goes ******.

But there's more to the story;
You forgive me. You shape me.
You resolve my head of worry.
You've got my back when I f#@k it up.

Is this a love song?
Or a declaration?
I think it's a reminder!
I'm not the only one.

Perspective: I am an ant.
And you are the Son.
You are the one I seek.
In the morning, you are my rising sun.

Lord, I'm not perfect.
I go round and round in circles,
and when things erupt
I hide and nonchalantly pray: miracles.

Lord, I'm not perfect.
And I f#@k things up.

Sorry **

The controller sits in her tower,
Blasting down commands:
Do this, and do that,
Reverberating are her demands.
How to calm her bellow? I ponder.
How did she get so loud?!
But then, sometimes it's so subliminal,
Her messages that silence the proud.
Silence is deathly, it kills life when left unchecked,
Is it peaceful or suffocating?
Is it healing or is it a tragedy?
Can I change? Or is this how she'll be for the duration?
I have hope in you oh Lord,
That you will calm the controller.
I have trust in you, oh Lord,
But I just have to let out this holler...

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.

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

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.

Henceforth, shy and scared, I shall not be,
But embrace all uncertainty,
Step into the future with expectancy,
And see the scales, chains, ties fall from thee.

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.

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!

Sacrifice with shouts of joy

There's not
Really
much
that I need.
Sure,
There's
PLENTY
I want
BUT
Need…
I need love.
.
.
.
I want love.
But isn't love
The very act of sacrifice?

I try and I try; pressing down, running it under hot water, squeezing until I cry,
But alas I am a magician with no tricks left; a poet with no sentences to string; an armless mannequin.
As Abraham did, I ventured outward bound, to a land of strong-armed jar-openers, who of it can be said? Who can be found? I need me a husband?!
I knocked and I knocked;  no answer sound, but a stranger stepped forth; his arms weren't big but his mouth wide and he opened the jar, I smiled.

Quenching my thirst,
ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh,
I gulp (ladylike, of course)
tepid water, slowing my burst
to match the quiet calm,
I catch a glimpse of new birds
playing on the army-cut grass,
short and sharp. Need for replenishing balm!
I smile; a 90's tune comes to mind,
but with a 'fresh' take:
"my mowing [milkshake] brings
all the birds [boys] to the yard..."
La la, la la, la. Grind!

squeals of delight
float out across the horizon
from children in the houses
nearby.

then, cries of fight
follow after they tear open
treasures, discard disappointment
feebly.

many will gather day and night
full bellies will ensue,
then ambivalent skumber,
mixed tearily.

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?

Here I was thinking
I looked all dapper:
With my cream pants,
Cteam top with a woven stitch waver,
And my cream suit jacket.

My royal blue glasses
Shielding my eyes from the rays of the morning sun,
But a small nick to my pinky finger
Left blood stains a run…

We all walk around life
With our pains imprinted in our skin,
And sometimes clothing.
As much as we try to hide in,
Wash away impurities,
We are left stained --
With life.

How do we miss our call?
What's distracting us today from hearing and trusting at all?

True Life

I was dead, even when alive.
I lived, but lived for others,
Surrendering 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 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, seek him, you'll see!

He is the life and resurrection,
He is our true peace,
Our hope and life,
And should always be our concentration.

The *** sat smouldering on the bench,
It was cold and quiet.
If I didn’t touch it,
If I avoided it,
If I pretended it did not exist,
Then I could continue on by?
Then I would fine?
But, in that *** lay the source of my potential.
Something I over looked.
Something that I dismissed out of fear,
Out of disgust?
Something that I didn’t value.
But, when I gave breath to anger,
The coals lit up.
They glistened like a temptress;
Ready for a night on the prowl.
She got her opportunity to rise,
Steel capped boots on,
Cat of ‘nine tails’ in hand.
She went on a rampage with righteousness rage.
No one could hide.
And when she stopped,
Nothing was left in her path,
Only desolation.
Hope seemed lost,
But a new life came.
Light broke through the darkness, and
Quietness and solitude satisfied.

Why do we call it a heat wave?
No one is saying hello or goodbye,
The heat stifles; we are immovable.
It would be grave if we waved, ******* all energy as we try.

who knew
ten years ago
writing to process trauma
would
make my heart
and mind stronger
and open my world
to new ideas, people and order,
even make me live longer?!

It's surely made me wonder,
observe, admire and sonder
in many a world
where I'd like to yonder
and ponder
new ways to phrase
my inner yearnings
and sift out foolish fodder.

Movements of Easter

Movement betrays intent
or reveals hearts’ content?
Resisting movement also reveals
how one’s mind heals.
The Spirit’s whisper
Illuminates Go(O)d’s lament
And more significantly, His magnificent intent.

I open my curtains to the world outside.
Leaves trembling in the frigid air.
As they drop, to the earth, by-and-by,
Narnia’s Ice Queen’s power does declare:
Time for hidden places where I can etch new traces.

I remind myself: everything has its time and place
Even loss to make way for more.
Opening my wardrobe, warm winter jackets I embrace,
Grateful for their voluminous puffs protecting my core.
A new season evokes new faces.

Who will I become
In the ticking time,
Leaving behind all that is unwelcome;
My limiting beliefs and the voice of compunction,
So I can reset homeostasis.

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.

****, clang, ****, the cash registers mixed with purchase bags, screaming children, and weighty wallets bleat out an all too familiar song,
We know the tune well,
Heavy debt, unhappy recipients, bloated bellies,
It’s all hard to digest,
Santa or St Nicholas, however, you connect to this festive season, how did we get it so wrong?
But it’s not all so bad when we stop and remember...
Love, connection, and grace; can we look deeper into each other’s faces, and
See the longing, step forward, and open our hearts to embrace the feeling of belonging.
It’s not a weakness, but a necessity, it’s humanity.
But while we compete with the almighty dollar, and with our eyes turned, disgusted by the revered collar,
That was meant to protect but became the perpetrator.
A source of truth, and a way to follow, taken from us,
By *******, power has corrupted and peace has shattered the illusion,
Santa and Nicholas may not have to leave the South Pole anymore, if they do, they may get the new familiar no-talent ‘****.’

smoke
from a nearby chimney
subliminally
merged with the fog that spoke covering
like protection
but indeed looked like
silencing screams from the wild.

...

It is soundless.
Is this how it was
Before You spoke?

I hesitated,
That's my sin.
I should have gone forward
Not back to where we begin.

I hesitated, 
And that's annoying.
As I could be bombastic
Yeah, that'd be more gratifying.

And it died.
I didn't realise trees
needed watering,
but they do.
It's silly to think,
how I didn't understand this,
I mean, the garden looked so green
from all the rainwater,
but there it is,
my dead tree,
at the top of my garden;
and we all pay homage to it,
now dead.
Is that the same with other losses?
Friendships and marriages?
Jobs, possessions, conflicts and disparages?

Dear imperfect me,
You are your own, just be.
You wrestle with insecurity,
that you can't settle peacefully.
Dear imperfectly,
The way you are is how you're meant to be.

Don't close your eyes and pretend you can't see,
Cos when you do, you're missing free
dom, and the richness; vibrancy,
of what it means to be living, see!

  Dear imperfect me,
The devil wants you to be devastatingly,
lonely, to isolate yourself from me,
to run around, head cut off, me.
But dear imperfect me,
there's no such thing as superiority,
it's just what we do when we are achingly,
small inside, and out, dumb wittingly,
disconnected from reality.
Such a waste; insecurity, obligatory shame, we accept begrudgingly.

  Dear imperfect me,
Can we try something new, happily?
Can we live more peacefully,
seeing ourselves progressively?
As beauty wrapped, uniquely!
As unsentimentally evolving.

  Dear imperfectly perfect me,
You are, you are, who you're meant to be,
For now, until you're not; key!
Grab this truth wholeheartedly.