Hindered by Hindsight, Ruined in Retrospect – A Poetic Ramble

Hindered by Hindsight, Ruined in Retrospect – A Poetic Ramble

 retrospect

hindsight

… 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…

free.

Sharonlee©1-Jun-12

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

intuitions

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;

SharonleeGoodhand©

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….

sharonlee©

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;

Sharonlee©

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?

Sharonlee©

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;

Sharonlee©29-May-12

*

All Art by Sharonlee

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….

Sharonlee©26-May-12