BS, BS everywhere no authenticity to be found,
We all put up facades that ultimately **** us around.
Why do we kid ourselves,
Hiding our true selves,
Because the reality is too painful? so we bury our heads in the sand,
Rather than investing in self-care.

How conflicting life is, to which we desire:
Fame, fortune, faith, fellowship and all freedoms;
To wonder with open eyes, all my heart sucomes,
Being fully present in the beauty and mire.

One man's shoes: ***** boots laden with pebbles
Brothel-bound, consumed by ****** delights that bleed,
Poison in others’ souls, from which he fleed,
To find comfort elsewhere, the ego revels.

Another sacrifices her desires but still hordes
Possessions and worldly opinions consume,
Drunk affirmations that do not comfort or bloom
Known to him only horrors in which his mistress lords.

Coin and notes, to the world, connotes successes,
But inwardly hollow; the soul finds rest none,
White walls, stone statues, pillars aplenty plom
Yet free is not them from psychological stresses.

It is theirs to endure while here...

I'm one of those,
There are many of us now,
The daughter of a narcissist, exposed.
It should be his cover that's blown,
But I guess now it’s my own,
So I can see the cost, all the talent,
confidence and opportunities lost,
Because of small men,
Cowering.

I know it seems like there's someone else,
Who's always in the limelight? 
But, it is also true: we all have our day in the sun.

winter produces
dead leaves,
that when raked
breathes
life in the soil
that creates trees
in months to come,
air in my lungs now; reprieve.

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

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.

Death hath befallen us
Of a patient and kind
Resident, curious
She often quietly sat, her mind
Observing, empathising, harmonious.
She now leaves behind
Her memories; ghosts of good times?

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.

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 —

I found him a long way off.
Deep in the valley.
And not on higher ground.

I found him drinking his sorrows.
And strumming his guitar.
I found him wallowing, without a sound.

To him, I extended a hand.
I offered him forgiveness.
But instead, I found him buried under a mound…

Called shame,
There’s no other name,
That destroys the same.

Remember when,
You provided.
Even when,
I didn't know,
You delighted
in me, so.

I long for You —
I pant for You —

Desperately, I scream, internally,
Till my face is blue —

Here, there is no water,
Only rock, capturing no dew;
But devastatingly reminds me:
There is no home but You!

Is a tree still thirsty when there's dew on the ground or is that the blessing of mother nature's kiss?

Connectivity drives us, compels us forward,
Technology, used unwisely, is the dark king of this age; that proclaims hope in wires connected underground and
Invisible signals shoot through the air, trying to share signs that we care, but
Ultimately, it severs us from reality and each other over there: digital Babylon.
Heads down, thoughts inward,
We don’t see the lost on the street,
We don’t see the lady lying in pain, covered in shame, trying to re-cover herself and start over again,
But, effortlessly, we switch off from that kid searching our eyes that he matters,
When we keep looking at ourselves, our next selfie: selfie addicts!
If we don’t post our newest vain attempt to connect, we turn to other drugs to numb the pain,
That our brain is craving to solve;
The receptivity issue.
So we need to switch off to switch on again to our indelible source of
Connection with real life within and with others out,
Who says spirituality doesn’t matter: it’s not for this day and age,
It divides and fuels us with rage,
But it does!
It is,
And it is to come.
Connection to the forever dimension, the reason for the ascension to
Reconnect us back to the truth again.

Wandering far in disillusionment,
To the desert of my soul;
Crying out in hoarse bereavement,
But is it time to take off the cloak of mourning?
And ready my voice for a strong testament...

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!”

A thought just came across my mind...
What am I worrying about?!
I am alive and living,
Yes, there are threats all around,
But I am not under threat.
I am not at war or in war, causing me to sweat,
Like many civilians around the world...
MANY CIVILIANS vulnerably unfurled.
Yet a war wages within,
Daily, hourly, minute by minute.
So stop this combat zone, dim it.
Don't think,
But do. Do love;
Loving-kindness to myself and above.
And others whom I meet
to stop the violence in the street,
And the traumas falling at my feet.

Do not fear heartbreak!
What else is a heart for?
Love; risk; triumphs and mistakes
Are to be embraced, because
We become what we love.
We are not singular objects,
But connected beings, created from above.
Our journey is to witness,
People and things throughout the ages.

Haste not,
Let beauty brew
and bubble,
becoming more thorough
through the rubble.

Do not rush little beauty,
Nature's timing is perfect.
It will, when ready, gently unfold your petals,
Revealing how you are exquisite.
Though life may bruise you,
New colours will emerge.
Though there may be tears,
Whispery wind will refresh you with a new urge.
Rain will thus come, muttering your soil,
The sunshine with its sublime rays,
No toil will be wasted,
Because all is written on your days.

guilt
the terrible torturer
twists you from the inside out
when affected
we're like lambs to the slaughter

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.

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.

I am gonna come clean...
I think I am just a
tinsy-wee bit of a
DRAMA QUEEN!

Seeing things
in hyper-colour
When really it's black and white
and lacking wings

Yep,
I’m a queen
Of drama and melodrama
Take me down, down into the deep.

Where there is no sleep,

But a perpetual stream,

of life...

The coffee dripped
Into my mouth,
little droplets of life;
The rich, dark roast
Layered my tongue
Like velvet;
So sensual —
I could wrap it around my shoulders like
Helen’s, my Nan, foxy-red fur coat,
From the 1920’s and 30’s,
I am back there with her now —
With each drip,
And the zoot, zoot, zip
Of the trumpet
Bleating out
As dancers flapped about.

Where have you gone, words?
She vanished like vapour;
No longer lingers like a whisper from my perception, but she girds
Them. She used to pour out endlessly,
flowing like a babbling brook.
Now, dry, like the earth before conception. 
Parched, she sits desolately,
Crying out Spirit fill anew!

I feel like I'm in a season of drought,

Mirroring my environment, water without —

Where the poems used to spring forth,

Now have run out.

I keep going back over archived poems;
Where the themes spill abundance
And Your goodness told —

Inspiring:

I will not lose hope;

I will not give up!

I will keep mucking about
Searching for a rhyme.

Holy Spirit, may you send your love down through me to others,
And turn words into wine —

East and West are not wide enough apart
To make me forget your love.

Have you ever just wanted to eat sugar straight from the bag?
To open your mouth wide and pour?
Not stopping for air.
But gasping for more --

Sometimes I have these cravings,
galore --

My backyard is like the Garden of Eden;
Where birds flourish freely, so too do lizards and worms.
I find myself opening my doors seemingly, 
to welcome the sounds of nature.
But it's also to entice me out to the heartwarmingly,
tree-lined places where I can hide my faces,
And be one, meekly, at first, then more boldly;
Naked and brazen, absent of hazing,
to sit, listen and write poetry.

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 —

Have a goal, they taught,
So, I set out but faced roadblocks.
Keep trying, they said,
So, I didn’t give in and embraced the setbacks.
Sometimes, stalling, enduring the detour,
Brought me more life than just paychecks.

Remember!
When the ground feels shaky
And things are falling skyward;
Peace is our gift, embrace it
with both hands.

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?!

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.

I have empty boots strewn
on my back deck.
I have empty boots still
in my cupboard
not yet walked their ordained path.
I have empty boots
and empty dreams,
not really living,
or so it seems.
Where would have those steps taken?
Who would I have been?
Where could I now be if I took those steps of my wishful making?

Ahhh!
A hoarse scream leaps from my body —
An ‘oral' stage clue;
A non-verbal prompting that my inner child is overwrought.
The endless stream of capitalist-driven sanctions
Force me into action.

Yet, I revolt --
And write
p o e t r y.

Flames lick —
The candle’s wick
Consuming all — 
Waxy thick.
Fire purifies
Impurities’ sick
Enflaming all diseases
And sin’s teases
Leaving them but a speck.

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.

Heavy thoughts, conflicting views,
Right and wrong, black and white
Chasm…
Transformation comes as we allow faith to catch us, hold us, love us,
In the gap of not knowing.
But knowing the one who knows us: loves us, breathed into us.
Exhale!

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.

As the sun slumbers in the dark
The background music:
"tchik-tchik-tchik”  
The cicadas pressing against the bark,
Their rostra stuck into the trunk
to pump out the sap
Just like us as we nap
In these states both parading as drunk.
High in the deep blue sky,
Swifts glide like arrows: “Weer!! … Weer!!!"
They paint ‘Van Gogh’ esk clouds with effortless cheer,
All singing goodbye to the sun with gleeful sighs.
Large, loud locusts oscillate above
Their wings like cymbals: "tsk-****-tsk"
Acclaiming their love with a cheeky wink
Hello darkness, they shout with a buzz!

I saw them rain clouds —
In the far-off distance.

So I went about my day;
Flipping and fleeting,
Bopping and bleating,
Swiping and sweeping.

Until they were overhead —
And didn't they get me then!

I am bewitchingly beautiful.
My mind overflows with pearls by the mouthful,
Healing dawns in the crisp new morn,
But by noon I am worn ragged by the duel.

Noticing, I stop and rest,
And try to conjure truth: I am blessed.
Releasing all that stands contrary,
Reminding myself; I am hesed, crowned with righteousness.

Desire drives destiny;
conflicting head and heart disconnects,
complete abandonment overwhelms
Teetering between mutiny,
Or of becoming.

Dreams haunt my nighttime,
hope deferred makes my heart sick.
Courage is what I crave,
Being brave all the time,
Amounting to something.

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

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.

Grey skies loom,
Threatening oncoming turmoil.
Or, a promise of loosening
Fixed ways?

You tell us, ‘Fix your eyes on me,’
Yet, I let them wander...
To others, to socials;
To the eternal slumber —
To anything that will distract,
What is this hole in me that gnaws at
me so deep?
Fought so hard to be alive;
even in sleep* —
Lord, open my eyes,
Yes, awaken me again
from this earthly  ‘freeze’
so that I can live,
thrive and fix my eyes on thee.