31 August 2005

at night it comes back

it’s at night
isn’t it
when the path
of recovery
the words
of self-encouragement
slip away
and you find yourself
missing something

a sliver of panic
slices through
your calm
your steady
you’re losing it
and even though
you know enough
to let it flow
to not grab
to not duck
and dodge
and weave
it’s got you
held in the spotlight
and slinking off
to the shadows
just highlights
the contrast
between now
alone
and then
when you were coupled

why does it come back
just when i think i’m alright
set
sorted
cruising
why
when i’m tired
most vulnerable
most needing
to be held?
i guess there’s
my answer

ego defence

I wrote her a letter,
then called her on the phone,
I wasn’t really enjoying
just sitting home alone.

I wanted to see,
just wanted to check,
if she shared my hope,
maybe a tiny speck.

But when she said no
it was mostly a relief,
I could move on now
and leave behind my grief.

But even as I laughed,
inside my ego wept.
How could she not want me?
—something my pride could not accept.

So I left my ego behind
and I went about my day.
It was sulking when I returned,
in an indignant kind of way.

“Not much longer now,
she’ll be coming to her senses.”
But I knew that voice too well;
it was my ego’s poor defences.

Even before her final word
my ego was on high alert.
It couldn’t deal with the idea
there was a reason for being hurt.

And for a while
it even tried to deny the facts
and made up a little fairy tale
that she was coming back.

So I ran out the door
into the middle of a storm.
The rain washed away my pride
and left me feeling warm.

The wind stung my face
and left me with a smile.
I was going to be okay,
it would just take a little while.

the one that counts

most of the time
you see yourself
as a pretty hip n
happening kind of cat
and you know
that even though
not everyone likes your style
the ones that count do
the ones that don’t count
well
they can think what they want


it’s only when
the ones that count
or more to the point
the one that counts most
changes sides
when that person
who for so long
held you close
and you them
says
i don’t want to be your friend
when that happens
the background breeze
of doubt
always there
but rarely an issue
swirls and gathers
like an army
a galeforce descends
and tears at your limbs
strips you
of your leaves
wrenches you from
the earth
until you’re lying flat
face in the dirt

black tea

when you feel down
you can talk to me
and even if you can’t use words
you can bury your head in my shoulder
and i will make soothing sounds
because i won’t know
what to say
and i will hold you
for a long time
and it won’t matter
that we don’t know
why we have to be together

in the backyard
on a sunday arvo
the sun is warm
i close my eyes
and the sounds
of the suburbs
melt into me

in the darkness
of the morning
i look at the red numbers
for the seventh time
and work is a bulldozer
coming ever closer
and behind me
the edge of a cliff
there’s nowhere to go
so i look at the clock
and it’s one minute uglier

a cup of tea
will warm your hands
whether it has milk or sugar
but if it’s black
then it reminds me of you
and everything goes cold
and i remember
holding you holding me
and things coming into line
or getting out of the way
so that the important things
like fingers interlocked
like notes left in love
like a plane overhead
pause
in this moment
because there is no other
because there is no other

construction site

i needed only a spark
from you
a small word
that said
that showed
that this was hurting
you too

when i didn’t see it
didn’t hear it
didn’t receive that
small affirmation
of me and you
of us
i knew

it didn’t stop the shock
it broke me
tore at the makeshift
scaffolding i had let
you build around my heart

and the sound of
me disintegrating
covered the silence
of you standing there
unmoved

what was built
around your heart?
had you already begun
quietly dismantling
yourself from me?
was it when
you were away?
was it when
you came back?

what are we now?
a construction site
laid bare
with remnants
to sting the heart
an old newspaper
with the crossword filled out
and a couple of tea bags
lying side by side

19 August 2005

thoughts inside a tent

in the moments
before sleep
i consider
listening
to music
on my headphones

i want my thoughts
the prelude to my dreams
to lie flat
to be clear
like the melody
of a popular song

but i lie still
and open my eyes
the tent quivers
a cough carries
from a neighbour
a possum rummages
through the rubbish
and a cooking pot clinks

the tent shakes
the floor balloons
the walls inflate
then subside
into stillness

way over
across the river
on the other side
of the valley
the tea trees
sing their swaying
and i picture them
rippling like seaweed
moved my an unseen hand

my thoughts fly
as the tent shudders
trees whoosh overhead
the fabric creaks and strains
a gumnut falls
and lands
like a single drop of water
on the taut skin
of my shelter

the wind calms
and my thoughts go to home
this is the last night of my camp
will they understand my experience
will i be able to explain it
will i forget what i have learnt
or will i remember
one day
when the wind moves the trees
and makes music
for my thoughts

13 August 2005

hurt

hide your hurt
like a seed in the dirt
no don’t be a fool
jump into it like a pool

Because you’re two

Genevieve walked down the path
And she was happy ‘cause she was two
Behind her someone yelled, “Happy birthday!”
She turned around quickly to see who.

But there was no one
The path was bare.
Who said that, wondered Genevieve
“Is anybody there?”

“Yes, yes it’s me!”
Genevieve looked down
But the only thing she saw
Was something furry, soft and brown.

What could it be?
It couldn’t be a rock
I know, she thought,
It’s a magic talking sock.

She picked up the sock
And held it against her cheek
She didn’t know what to say
So she waited for it to speak.

“I’m not a sock,” said the sock,
“I’m something much more funny.”
Genevieve turned it inside out
And – voila! – it was a bunny!

The bunny hopped all over the place
And Genevieve hopped around too.
“Gee, you can hop really high,” said the bunny,
“I guess that’s because you’re two.”

adrift

how is it that
one day
you can feel
so close
to your family
your friends
the pot plant
in the corner
and the next day
you question
the sun in the sky

it holds no warmth
and no other meaning
will come to fill the space
you are adrift
disconnected from yourself
words come
now and then
from a distant shore
“you’re always so balanced
calm easy-going
you take everything
in your stride”
these words are ripples
remnants of tidal waves
coming back to make sure
the irony is not missed

how can the lack
of anything hurt
dull dull ache
hanging around
like a lonely sunday
like a twilight
that won’t give in

anticipation has fled
long ago

an orange lies
on the lawn
in the sun
the ones
on the tree
look down
and wonder
what it’s like
to have fallen
and the tree wishes
they’d get on with it

don’t stop for the passengers

when dreams blend
when conversations merge
with voices
in your head
no one comes
to clear up the mess

slide through
don’t stop
for the passengers
stay empty
purposeless
know three things
and connect them

play the music
in you heart
there are no rests
because death is no holiday

03 August 2005

feet

the movement of the feet
over the ground
is just fast enough
to beat time

for the voices inside
accompany this runner
pursue him
until his destination
is forgotten

the whispers get tired
and tears are swept away
beyond hills
to become the rain
of suffering and renewal