Categories
Poetry

Layers of Illusion

Woman.

Professional woman.

Single professional woman.

Blonde single professional woman.

Old blonde single professional woman.

Sweet old blonde single professional woman.

Joyful sweet old blonde single professional woman.

Australian sweet old blonde single professional woman.

Human.

Man.

Unemployed man.

Married unemployed man.

Blonde married unemployed man.

Middle-aged blonde married unemployed man.

Funny middle-aged blonde married unemployed man.

Sad funny middle-aged blonde married unemployed man.

American sad funny middle-aged blonde married unemployed man.

Human.

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Categories
Poetry

Anyone

I feel the truth

only because of the false.

A seeing

beyond the faces of clowns.

Play rolled in fear,

don’t you see

the squeaky carousel?

They feel the brittle bones

of life gone by

and bleed again,

but only if they see.

No.

They won’t see,

they don’t want to see.

Be anyone but the truth,

they whisper.

Be anyone

but me.

Categories
Poetry

Each New End

Life is a story I tell myself.

And I daren’t tell it wrong

for fear of the unhappy ending.

But what is unhappy?

And what is an ending

if a beginning is found

on the other side

of each new end?

Categories
Life

1946

He bought it in 1946 for six pounds, which apparently was quite the sum back in the day. He’s 92 and wonderful, my darling neighbour, Joe, I’ll call him. The gigantic relic of a dictionary was his. Now it belongs to me.

Joe and I lounged in his well kept living room and sipped champagne to celebrate my family’s one year anniversary of owning our home. He had remembered, not us. We were flawed with gratitude and awe.

As we sat, he told me stories of his life; the pains, the joys, stories of beautiful friends and loved ones here and gone. I could have sat there all afternoon. Instead I settled for an hour and a champagne, and two home-made yoyo biscuits (made by a dear friend of his, and absolutely delicious, might I add.)

The dictionary came up in conversation and I mentioned how I’d planned to buy a special one myself, some day. Brooke, the writer; of course she’d need to invest in something so truly lovely, full of all that writerly goodness. And just like that, the dictionary, the precious illustrated dictionary, had become apart of our family.

I will cherish it for as long as I live. Not because it’s the dictionary I’ve always wanted, but because it will remind me of a beautiful soul that has touched my life deeply.

As I sat with him I told him, ‘Joe. You have such a pure soul,’ and it’s true. I’ve never felt a person quite like him and I wish there were more people in the world who felt as beautiful, to me.

The purest of hearts. The ones that lift us to be our best. The ones we all hope we might be for others.

I plan to go for tea again with him soon, my darling friend, Joe.

I cannot think of how I might repay his kindness.

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Categories
Poetry

Messy Life

There is no need to be afraid of the

not good enough.

This weakness you perceive,

this pathetic softness you scold yourself for

compared to

she who declares herself strong.

Close your eyes.

Breathe and know this.

You are perfection

just the way you are.

For you must know this flimsy frailty

in order to recognise the goddess

who one day will rise within.

It must be.

For without this shadow

the towering goddess inside

would remain hidden to you.

Trust the journey.

Trust in the perfection

of messy life.

Categories
Poetry

Bravery

Bravery

is born

on the tender tears

of loss and disappointment.

Keep stepping.

You are so loved.

Categories
Poetry

The Carpet

The wind was crisp

and the sun sang warm to my skin.

The rest of the world was too fast

to know bliss like that.

The truth is: the truth is too expensive;

a depth of emotion most are unwilling

to pay.

Humanity can’t see through true eyes.

Can’t see the fighting is a small child’s game.

Who are the adults?

Let me know when you meet them.

Wounded and scared;

don’t you know how deeply you once felt the world?

The carpet is there for a reason.

The broom is used by all until the carpet

spills the truth.

The truth, they say,

will set you free, and I am free

to tell you that.

But, then again,

the carpet is good, too.

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Categories
Poetry

Let Go

Let go.

For peace.

Categories
Poetry

The Wind

The wind, I think,

is peace.

The breath of the earth.

The song of the trees.

And we will bathe in her softness,

today,

and every day.

The wind, I think,

rolls all days into one.

May she catch us

and show us

the truth in her song.

Categories
Poetry

Soft Things

She floats on the wind

as they stare.

And they will never know her

as their own.

Never see her truth

as anything other

than feathers in the garden.

Yet, she knows herself, dear.

And she knows, darling softness,

that a field of daisies

and daffodils

and dandelions waits for her

somewhere.

Where the soft things come together

at last.