The stream (all workshops)
come to you
pouring like lashed thoughts
hot cedar sweats in steam rooms
tears of a dove falling
like the cloistered frost tanks steam
climbing
a hiss in sleep
gathered like a white wound
the bow of wings
in a shroud
while snowflakes nestle
the dark brows like shadows
neath a trestle
usher rush starts
like water
turning in its thoughts
purity
in the cold
secure as the band
of gold
Here and There
Byron Bay
The use of excellence,
being all in all.
The magic word pitched just so.
The felt voice knowing where and when.
Such confidence!
Things speeding past,
ragtime to future perfect.
Love and loathing in a fraught paradox.
More hoops to jump through.
A list of words wrapped like a tourniquet,
a holding pattern
of deals and ideals.
Randwick
The Pacific hangs like a headline
above
the distant jostle of apartments.
When its all around you, when it surrounds you.
Mouth hid, but it calls you
You wish to explore know her more ,but you ignore.
Her Faint voice calls you.
Don’t look, your fear has made you insecure .
You have got to understand,
You’re not wanted , you’re needed
But for you to take heed of the need,
You have to first bleed.
You choose to resist.
My mother, a giant of a woman could tower over me
But with age, change swept all over her. I saw her depreciating-
The bums that used to bulge like a football ball, emaciated inch by inch,
The breasts, once bulky lost shape, fizzled off like melting ice under scorching sun;
Big thighs reduced to bones, except sinewy ligaments I see, as she picks up buckets
The brown, lively face turned into wrinkles month after month; hair turned grey, hair by hair.
I dare not ask if my mother was ever a virgin girl; I could ask her, but difficulty to execute.
Reading signs is not a sanguine skill
I'm often
caught
looking for amusement
and a roundabout thrill
The white beam
results in
my
denouement
Harsh turns
strict
not to be crossed
white on blue on metal
fragments
hinder my
fulsome free-spirt
"turn right advance to nowhere"
"turn left retreat from somewhere"
What is this blood that fills my eyes?
Till blind I cannot see
a crown of thorns upon my head
That’s pressing down on me
Iron nails through shattered bones
Pinned to a cross of wood
My heart feels oh so heavy
As only a Christian’s could
A kiss on the cheek betrayal
I knew it came and then
My poor disciple as dawn rose
Denied me again and again
The trial the people Pilate
How sad as he washed his hands
And a sinner they called Barabbas
Began to make other plans
I'm a living tomb
my baby has died in my womb
I have to let nature take its course
Can't bear this, what could be worse?
I'm still getting many a smile
people don't know my turmoil
My baby has died
I still haven't cried
the sadness buried inside
I see the Sun waking
up in the morning
as it makes the horizon
to glow with
warmth and life
I smell pleasant
air that is flowing
from tall, green
trees to my nose,
making my senses to
be at One with Nature
I feel texture
of the ground
with my bare legs,
as I go to hunt an
unsuspecting antelope
I dream dreams
that can come to
reality because the wild
around me
is filled with wonders
that turn wanderers
to believers in their
true Self
from heel to thigh
the light cups her
bow stomach
to supine spine
I am thinking of the forest
they are coming closer
my brothers my sisters
are anxious
"Do you like the new jeans?"
like delicate flight
the words sought
the esteem in need
of support
"you are lovely in them
Gifted with good genetics"
Outside over the rooftops
and the claw of the forest
limbs a black bird hovers
in the winds hand
EXISTENTIALLY YOURS
Moments of terror
suddenly
cut into me.
monsters dark and cruel
lingering
In my mind
and clinging deeper still
to this “soul” thing
of mine.
red electric
electricity blinding white
shock waves buzzing
in my head
stun my reason
still my heart
and fill me
with existential dread
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