Thursday, June 21, 2012

Hindered by Hindsight, Ruined in Retrospect – A Poetic Ramble

Hindered by Hindsight, Ruined in Retrospect – A Poetic Ramble

… do they serve a purpose
in my life…your… life?
… except to remind us
of those moments we’d rather forget –
-moments we’d rather  bury six feet under with a great big mother-f
oops sorry, with a tree planted on top…

self-examination never stops
… nor do the self-incriminations

all the what if I’s… if only they
would my life be different today…

if only… if only
I’d walked the other way…
talked till the end of day
and not just passed by…
with the winds restless sway
too late now… to ever say;


I jumped from a moving train once –
- as it turned out
it wasn’t the most sensible thing I’ve done…
… abhorrent   as I see it now
the then of young lovers parting
their embrace too juvenilely impassioned
to leave the train in graceful fashion
with a wistful smile and half-raised hand
a young  girl parting with her boy-man…
…no I left the moment a few moments too late
and jumped from a moving train
to land in an inelegant heap
on dry red dirt that saw little rain….
I never saw him again, despite hot wet promises
whispered in pre-dawn silence
when there are no witnesses…
- a lasting reminder of that parting
skinned from knee to shin
bruised without and within…


I sat on an  8 story ledge, once…
… I don’t know why… guess I was ready to fly
on the fumes from the alcohol I’d consumed…
…. drowned my fear of heights, it seems
at least ‘till I woke from wine-fed dreams
and realised how perilous my perch had been…

… I took most of my clothes off in public, once-
-as a dare to prove I didn’t care
for ‘the man’ and mankind’s decrees …
... in hot defence of my belief … I yelled I AM FREE
and ditched my clothes with no class or dignity
and tripped the light fantastic in Town Square Fountain…
… I failed to see 2 sets of feet walking the beat
…. but they saw me…

I held a dying hand, once-
… watching with hypnotic fear the rise and fall
of weakened chest… slower… slower…
… slower… stop.
I saw a near-headless body, torn skin… flesh bloody
… I stared in a war-hero’s soft milky eyes
over & over he rasped goodbye
to friends… long gone…  I cried
every time he started that litany of names….

I saw a baby born, more than once-
- sweet bonding moment… to hand a mother her still-sticky child
and see their souls bond in that moment of connection …
… and once… I saw a baby abandoned… on hospital fire-escape
… poorly wrapped and still slick with birth-fluids… no mother
… no name… or story… Baby Girl we called her,
we had no rights to honour her with a name….
- it broke my heart, all the same-
- softly in her ear I called her Cherub….
she had the deepest darkest eyes
and she survived…

… I danced naked on a high cliff, once-
…-no sight nor sound that a human world existed
I danced ‘round  the leaping fire… lost to all but the burning desire
to be me… to feel free…. liberated from life’s restrictions
 unhindered by hindsight and retrospective contradictions …
free to be one
 with light of moon and kiss of sun
and surging ebb of sea…


Sunday, June 10, 2012

Walking Enlightenment Road

Walking Enlightenment Road

I look back now with a wiser woman's eyes
 and see so clearly where I've been...
coincidences flow together
defining paths crossed
and rutted roads that led
to somewhere… I was meant to be
for reasons that may unfold
… if I don’t misread
the elements
active in my life…
if I have strength
to follow the  signs…
if I don’t get lost in a vicious cycle
of cause & effect…. reaction & retaliation…

I understand now
things seen with silent eyes
unknown signals
that lured me through life
step by symbolic step…
… even the stumbles were meant to be
broken hearts…. skinned knee…
moments where prophesies
merged with the now… somehow…

third eye
expanding with insight
lessons learned in life -
… karma can be a harsh Mistress
if she believes a lesson is to be learned…
evolution of my destiny
preordained… perhaps… to bring me here… now
to this place & space & moment of time
at this stage of my life
strengthened by the experiences
gained up till now…
all coinciding with a nexus
of interconnecting life-vibrations – likeminded souls
who resonate in rhythm as one …

I look back with a wiser woman's eyes
 and see so clearly where I've been
… I see the pattern of my life
the template of a matrix
the ‘blueprint’ as it were…
showing flowing lines… vortexes
where vibrations resonate strong
… dark knots of hemorrhaging  bruises
melting into subsiding pools of stagnant energy…
I acknowledge errors in past judgement
I forgive myself for choices wrongly chosen…
I accept my flaws & honour my strengths…
… for I look back with a wiser woman's eyes
 and see so clearly where I've been….
…. and I now know
 that where I am
is where I am meant to be;

Friday, June 8, 2012

The Sunset of Our Existence – A Tale Alternate Realities…. Maybe

Art by Sharonlee

The Sunset of Our Existence – A Tale Alternate Realities…. Maybe

 in a year that has not happened
…in a world that does not exist
there still floats skeletal remnants
gliding lifelessly in purple mist….
but, ah I get ahead of myself
for the tale does not start here
let me go back to the beginning
tho' be warned…
you should tremble… in misery & fear
for this is not a simple tale
or one for weakened hearts
…I hope you are all quite settled
for now my sad tale starts….

many many eons lost
in a time that was never found
there existed a fleeting netherplace
in the echoes of unheard sound…
I tell of a world so fantastical
it lived and died in one night
a night that existed in inbetweenity
and faded in a new dawns light….

the people were all poets
musicians and the like
inventors and epic storytellers
too profound for mortal sight…
they lived by the pen and the beauty of art
they lived to create what has not been seen
they knew the power of nihilistic delusion
and that 'life' was but a dream….
they created words too potent
for mediocre minds to comprehend
and composed scores of music
that played on with no end…

they fabricated fantastical concepts
with purposes vague and imprecise
deliberating and debating
all through the endless night…
but… and here my tale grows woeful
for jealously and greed abounds
outsiders became incensed
with the utopia these artisans had found…

 the cold hard claw of green-eyed greed
roiled & boiled & schemed & seethed
and set to end the endless night
and tho' the artificers of this tale
struggled to halt this plight
capitalistic cannibals sucked greedily
embezzling creativity's shining light
supplanting art with commercial banners
that played to mindless minds
until all that once existed
disappeared from time….

now, I know you cannot see me
but my empty chair still rocks
…my voice drifts on in eternity
and all else…. all else is lost….

Wednesday, June 6, 2012

Earth Connections

Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away. - Maya Angelou.

Earth Connections

There have been breathless moments-
- soft pastel sunrises as sliding rays of morning sun
bathe a woodland path… hushed sounds of murmuring leaves
whipbirds trill and kookaburra’s laugh…
as my silent feet wander through beauty that does not cease…
… here  I feel at home…  immersed in a natural peace;

the rare silence of the open desert… undulating expanse
of endless plain… red sand stretches to the far horizon
beyond what human eyes can see… dust coated spinifex
border wind-blown sandhills where Bearded Dragons
race each other to scanty shade…
low growing mallees huddle by trickles of rivers
all but dried up by Australian sun… still they offer cover and haven
for Hopping Mouse and Bilby families…

and such breathless moments born in breathless beauty
of verdant rainforest and mountain view…
… pristine coastal vistas too remote for many of my kind
who choose the convenience of resort beaches
sporting thousands of sunburnt sea-worshippers-
- each to their own, I say…
but give me a day where trees outnumber the people
and  desert hawk search for pray… emu on the horizon
silhouetted at the end of day…
give me untainted air and freedom to roam -
- the wilderness of Gondwanaland is my home;

Saturday, June 2, 2012

Repetitive Cycle Repeats

Repetitive Cycle Repeats

each week moved its feet like a slow-motion
replay of the week before…
time loses meaning… repetitive cycle repeats
hauling reluctant body  along morning streets
to a soulless occupation… fake smiles
pre-programed greetings
born from  forced staff meetings…

each day chips a little more freedom away
sunshine yellow or shades of grey
all the same… just wetter when it rains…
… repetitive cycle repeats
eat sleep work, do it again
eat sleep work… sunshine or rain…

Ahh… the final reward… making it through
to Friday freedom…
two lousy days to recoup  ones energy
two precious days to be one self
feed one’s soul
or simply sleep…. in…

and what of the added blessing of
the long weekend… no Monday… No Monday
vanished into the void where unwanted Mondays go…
in the absence of Monday, a weekend takes on
magical symbolism… a week with no Monday…
the softened blow of Tuesday rising
hovers like mirage across that gap that was once…. Monday…

daydreams take flight, three whole days
no repetitive cycle repeating…
three days to fill with… living… breathing… sleeping in
indulging ones most indulgent whim…

… and then it happens… that slap in the face by reality-
- at some vague point of that sweetly softened Tuesday
you realise… that Tuesday is the hardened truth
 of Monday in disguise…
and once again, repetitive cycle repeating
you have to go where you don't want to go
for the reality is both are the same
…. the softened blow of Tuesday
and the hardened truth  Monday… what’s in a name?

Tuesday, May 29, 2012

The Dreamer and The Drifter

The Dreamer and The Drifter

one winter day he drifted into the Dreamers silent eyes
his smile so quick & quirky it took her by surprise…
time passed in coffee-scented sunsets shared
where they revealed stories of their pasts
- the Dreamer dreamt, as the friendship grew stronger
that each sunset would last… a just little longer…

The Drifter gazed at the Dreamer with a depth that showed hidden thoughts
he looked into her, like she held the answers to all his secret dreams…
and the Dreamer smiled back at him with open love and peace
wondering…. just wondering… where this path would lead…

souls were bared between the two, their spirits cried honest tears
as seasons flowed they shared whispered visions that spoke of both their fears…
confessions from the long ago… and daydreams  of the future
- for a while there they even envisaged what life would be like together

tender caress’s fed her soul…   they lingered at each kiss goodnight
… but she knew he could not pledge himself…. and could not change his life…
… one winter day he drifted into her silent eyes
 his smile so quick & quirky it took her by surprise…
but the Drifter, he was a drifter… and the Dreamer a dreamer of dreams
and one Winter day, a year later, when  the setting sun was almost gone
the Drifter kissed the Dreamer…
 and moved on;
All Art by Sharonlee

Friday, May 25, 2012

Predawn Silhouette

Predawn Silhouette

Thoughts flow from moment to moment-
- 5:24 AM and sleep evades;
darkness still cloisters my world
rain spatters on the rooftop in scattered showers and
splattered downfall, symphony heralding  the mood of the morning
a rain-day, wet and grey, where dampness permeates the air…
a pre-winter dampness that steeps into my tobacco, curls my hair to impossible tangles;
Increments of light filter through weary lace curtains, first too faint to see
I now notice hazy tree-shapes  still in predawn silhouette and the corner of a dirty brick building;
stained bricks no amount of rain will clean…

6:20 Am… first light…kookaburras laughingly greeting the morning
as rain and cloud and tones of cold grey seep in through the window, my portal
to the world and the untouchables beyond; what epic adventures unfold beyond my domain?
A little color now… cream-stained bricks… light sky surreal white… trees deep olive-grey…
the man downstairs wakes, I hear him start the shower, that whining that passes through aged pipes. And just like that I hear him get out again, as waterpipes complain once more. Always amazed am I by the neighbours micro-showers… does he even get wet?

Outside now lighter than my room where dusty shadows cling to cluttered corners, piles of books
look almost like city buildings in the gloom… pedestal fan a monument to energy use, and the poor design of this unit… only two opening windows allow little airflow…  and suddenly the cottage comes to mind… the cottage with its treescape and birdsong and windows flung open wide… I lived there, for a time …. its seems so long ago now….