In the valley, isolation befriends,
Death knocks; a welcoming relief from suffering.
The joy that once bloomed, suffering now looms.
Nipping at our heels, pain doesn’t rest, but
Lingers around every simple pleasure.

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.

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.

Broken Dreams

I tried to be clever,
Carrying too much in my hands.
Inevitably, the glass did sever,
Shattering on the floor, lands.

Can I draw parallels,
With my broken dreams?
God’s too, when He breathed life into dust particles
But we, His people, became broken vessels
Living off dry, earthly streams.

In this season, God’s promises
Seem improbable.
Broken vessels are the masses,
Spirit-God, do the impossible…

Mend my distorted dreams today;
Bringing peace where there seems no stay.

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.

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.

Once there was a man named Jack,
He used to ride his pushie from Holbrook to Albury and back,
Courtin' his lady, the late Marie,
“A ****** good catch!” he would say,
“And that's that.”

He loved to play the saxophone,
It's right there in his room!
He showed me some photos and put a CD on;
We sat back and listened to him croon.
Tears fell gently as memories surfaced;
His feet seemed to shuffle back into the dance of years gone by.

His breathing fell and rose,
And rose and fell again —

Then he shared how he liked to fish - several dozen at a time…
He stared back from the memories;
Hearing the ocean clap against the shore,
He was right there, now, what a catch! Sublime.
He would arrive home aplenty,
Weathered though, from the storm and sunshine galore!

Life has been full with his wife and kids in tow,
Though here now, in this small room,
photos, artefacts, and memories are the wrapping and bow,
Tying it all together when his current, present memory goes.

The train
Sashayed and swayed,
Hugging the corners
As it rounded the tracks
That led us back
To the city —
These tracks
Are everywhere,
Across Australia,
And around the world —
These tracks
Mirror the tracks on my face;
                 scars left from stitches
Weaving my wounds together —
The 100+ knitting my skin together after the surgeons scooped out the brain AVM,
Across the bridge of my nose
Originating from a foul swipe
Of a tennis swing.
The crows’ feet from
Forever smiling eyes
Even when they were crying.
These tracks are traces
Of a life lived;
Westerners pay the “big bucks” to hide them,
Mine…
Are forever present and I don't deny them,

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.

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?

Am I what you say I am
or am I more?
I am more.
We all are. Amen.

To cope, we minimise
things into binary forms:
Good and evil, black and white
More or less.

But we are more;
More than right now,
More than what others say, and
What others see,

More than what we see,
so peek inside, and
Use the key of self-acceptance to
untraveled terrains of our hearts and minds.

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

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.

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.

...

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

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.

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.

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.

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?!

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.

There you are little wren,
Drawing my attention in,
To your looping, lonely, little psalm —

Twitches, goose pimples (bumps),
shivers and hot and cold flushes,
Body, you are speaking to me.
I hear you.
I notice you.
I encourage you to talk;
Tell your story.
Discharge all your anxiety,
Release all your rage,
Unfreeze all your fear,
With me, you are free,
My container is cosmic now,
I have matured, I have calmed,
I am listening.
I am trusting.
You can be free to feel,
So share.
I welcome you.

In this world,
We live but a corseted
Life,

But, in You,
We live full and
Free --

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.

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.

Does it really matter?
What I think or do?
Does it really matter?
How carelessly I treat you?

Flick a fly, squash insects, 
Pull roots from a tree.
Take drugs, steal, ****
Does any of this matter to you or me?

Wipe the sleep from our eyes,
Stir our conscience,
Remember why we’re here!
Being present to bring presence.

Today matters.
What we say and do,
Leaves an imprint far greater 
Than virtuality: current reality, thinks is true.

****, 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 ‘****.’

Before I was born

What was I thinking?
No, stop! What-was-I-really-thinking?
Perfection? There is no such thing here, this side of heaven,
Yet, I’ve spent my entire life trying to be,
More, hating who I was,
Striving to be more?
Was it from the trauma of my first surgery
To my brain at 11 months young, that then suffered, again and again, three times more?
Was it the generational trauma carried in my DNA? Unseen, unheard but screaming: you’re not enough!
Stop trying, give up!
Was it others taunting and teasing, yet in reality testing,
Testing what I would do with their jealous tirade?
What a waste.
That’s not how I want to live anymore.
I want to rethink, no, re-imagine a new reality, and step right into my innate creativity.
Breathed within me before I was born.
By YOU...

my old photographs hang
on a wooden frame, found
on the lawn of a house
whose man has no name.

do we still print photographs these days,
or just keep them on our phones?
I don't. We take them, edit them,
and make them into something we can clone.

photographs, something I prize;
the whole journey of discovery,
timings: early morn or sunset,
capturing moments of gratulatory,

but I don't take many now,
why? where has my love escaped?
do I now just capture them with my eyes?
have I hung those dreams too, where my lost hopes are draped?

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?

Little Drummer Boy

The drummer
We see today,
Is still the 'Little Drummer Boy'
From yesterday.
His dreams
You gave,
Still, bounce along 
The beats to the eternal song,
Breathe new life 
In the air today,
So he may fulfil 
His destiny.

In each of us,
There is a wild, silky part,
Said the great poet: Mary Oliver,
Can we conspire to connect
With that part in ourselves
If we dare, maybe we’d 
Be more free and spare
Focus on what others see.

Sheep on a grassy green hill generating,
Mirrored the clouds that peppered the sky,
Country living;
“The Great Escape” nearby!

Our daily prayers,
Are in fact ‘dares’
That we would dare to approach God
With our earthly needs;
For more:
More money,
To buy
More clothes, shoes, bags,
Technologies, TVs, devices, gadgets
Properties that we can conquer too;
People.

How scandalous are our prayers —

Happy or sad,
That's all there is
in a country song --
Can all life experiences
be filtered down to this?

We can get too complex
sometimes, in claiming our condition,
We are masters, yes, of our own destiny
And of course, retribution --

They say with age comes wisdom — 
Yet, I am now at the stage where I know less.
I have piqued and critiqued
Myself and others, to the point of illness,
Sublimating for acceptance,
serving and fighting for the rights of the masses,

But — 

Killing myself quietly;
Loving others and receiving stress
Oblivious in blindness.

Wide eyes now,
And on the eternal quest,
to love wholeheartedly, subjugating wild-brainless
And embracing my divine mess.

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!

we are all missing pieces
of ourselves, cold,
and missing pieces
of the bigger story, untold.
how do we pay homage to these,
free them to unfold?
and welcome them,
bold.

The page turns...
A new chapter;
A season over,
Just like many before.
Promises of new stories:
Adventure, suspense, romance, comedy
So much to be thankful for:
The lessons learnt, mistakes made, hearts healed, and spirits soared.
A grateful journey.
The plot: people, place, possessions continue
Turning towards terror
And taking it with truth;
Love is my safe landing,
There I stand confidently.

Peace, not position.
Trust, not tyranny.
Freedom, not fear.

and that's what I just
don't get
what makes a poem move?
make someone wet?

I try to be deep,
To be funny,
I try to be whimsical
And visceral so that you can taste honey.

Sometimes I rise,
Many more times, I collapse.
There are pages upon pages I despise,
bored with them, perhaps?


but...

Is it the outcome,
or is it the process?
Does that make poetry?

Help me, please…

Compelled to make sense?!

God is love. 
God created man and woman to love one another, 
You and I have a choice,
But we live in a fallen world, where your choice might not align with God's will, but He still loves us.
God calls us to love one another as He has loved us
We are to unite, not divide. 
To love, not to hate. 
To encourage, not discourage. 
To help those less fortunate than oneself. 
To give hope to those who need it
To pray at all times. 
God is sovereign, but he uses us to be His hands and feet...
I am not the healer, God is, but I can be a vessel for His healing love here on earth through relationships
...
And through poetry?!

hungover...
from tiredness,
sleepless as I lay in weight,
heavy heart, blurry brain;
a complete mess.
brittle bones, dull tones, life lost,
courage scattered from the night before.
Trying to remember, "I am not less!"
One way to get unstuck,
own your truth, not give a f@#k,
and be gentleness,
to myself and all around,
which is the most profound
of this journey, I profess.
it's not over.
.
.
.
It's just begun!

In this world we will have troubles:
Daily struggles, some self-inflicted, some externalised.
I can now see my greatest sin has been: refusing to accept God’s grace.
Lavishly bestowed: freely given: no strings attached, no punishment afflicted.
I repent of being internally conflicted; rning my eyes to His face,
He holds me, loves me, molds me,
As hard as this journey of life has been,
I see beauty is springing forth from within me from thee.
As deeper understanding is gained,
I can release the heavy burdens and unnecessary chains.
Grace: freely given, I now receive,
Grace: everlasting gift truly unmatched and unrestrained.

Stillness is where it all begins,
In quietness and rest, you will gain life again.
Releasing and trusting is where it continues.
In standing, with arms wide open,
In outstretching hands,
In exhaling,
In breathing,
In being,
In.
Be.

The air was thick and hot;
The flies floated atop.
The tall trees, gums, gave
Jaggered shade, tiger stripes
on my skin they made.

The sense of ‘arriving’ seemed elusive,
Nonsensical even —
As if the destination seemed further and further,
Always unattainable —
But when I change the lens of my perspective
From outwards to inwards
Reorienting —
I arrive at my story;
The broken edges,
The pains and losses,
The shame —
But also the victories
And monumental decisions that I've made,
To come home —
To me.

Never did I want to be a boxer,
But I’ve spent quite a lot of time in the ring.
All I’ve wanted was to daydream,
To play, write and sing.

But there’s always been a block:
Distraction,
A thief that’s knocked me down and robbed me true,
From harnessing my introspection.

Pushed up against the wall,
Beaten blue and black,
Suffering in this moment,
Focusing more on what I lack.

But I’m ready now,
To change: I MUST CHANGE,
Or I’ll lose much, much more,
Than I’ve already exchanged.

It's soooooooooo
cold,
You could snap my toes off 
Like mould,
In  buildings old,
Where erry ghost stories
Will be told…