Tag: Life Journey

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
Peaches In The Darling Sun

My Garden Home

If light though the trees is your wish,

it is my wish, too.

If a meadow awash with eerie shadow

calls you,

I am gone.

Already beyond the boxwoods

and sweet peas

of my garden, home.

Day 24. Somewhere over the rainbow.

Categories
Peaches In The Darling Sun

Sunrise

On this tired night,

I know I have been blessed.

And so it is

I send a seed of this sweet day

into the arms of the sorrowful.

And I say to them:

take this day and make it yours,

then you will know the sunrise

every minute.

Such a beauty has been this day.

Rest is now.

Rest is now.

Day 13. Counting blessings.
Categories
Poetry

Remembered

The words were simple.

A question.

A question of heart and soul.

‘If you could be remembered for one thing,

what would that be?’

What would that be?

And I knew I wouldn’t be remembered for the jobs I’d done or the titles I’d held.

I knew I wouldn’t be remembered for the degrees I’d received or the knowledge I’d gathered.

I would be remembered because I loved.

I would be remembered because I tried

(I always tried)

to be kind.

And to love in spite of it all.

Categories
Poetry

I Am This

I have decided

there is a way life should be,

a way I should be.

As a woman.

As a mum.

As a fictional character

plucked perfectly from the sky

of humanity.

And I run

and I run

and I run to get there.

To be that.

And I run until I decide

that I don’t have to run there.

Because I am here.

I am this.

I am this.

Categories
Poetry

Shadow

In waking dreams I see the past

and feel it waltzing me

down a sweet, sweet road.

Oh, darling days gone by.

How lovely to feel you tickle my bones.

How lovely to remember the depths

that sang to my aching soul.

Always, I will remember the nectar

of those darling days.

Never again will their shadow

remain hidden

by choice.

Categories
Poetry

The Window

On days where rain settles on the window, I look to the future with dusty eyes.

How does one peer beyond the droplets there? How beautiful can the horizon appear when my eyes are glazed with the muck and haze of old?

There was a time, once —when I was young and stainless— when the window was free from drizzle, the horizon: apricot sun over a sea of gentle destiny.

But lovely as life seemed without a shadow, I have seen rain awash the hill. Where, in this wild world, truth and softness is but a dream to be wished, and love, a precious ornament easily shattered.

Still, I choose to be grateful. To count the rays of beautiful sun and see beyond the ghastly truth on the hill.

I must choose this light.

The alternative is too dark for me to bear.