Looking into you

Look into my face, can you see?

The sketches of my past

smiles and frowns etched with age

marks of honor, sun-baked.

Look into my eyes, can you see?

A reflection of yourself?

Glinting shadows sparkle and fade

To soften the hard edge life of late

Read between the lines of living

on the cusp of heaven, grow wings.

Ease, peace, please, appease.

Muster courage, move to light

Hand holding tight.

Look into my face, can you see

You?


Photo credit: Swiss Alps by Ilze Haynes (C) 2019

Horizons open out behind and before my eyes

Where once closed lids were anointed by the sky

A feast of coloured feathered wings adorn the quiet street

Where once a common sparrow was admired

Sprigs of white blossoms litter the greenway edges

Where once the swarm of pests had devoured

A window bush explodes in yellow flowers and vivid green

Where once the worm had eaten all bud and leaf

 

The Springing Sun adorns my bedroom mirror and wall

Where once the light was blinding and the shades my coverall

Pale green new leaves float dreamily on the warm soft breeze

Where once apologies for the diseased tree next door

A drone of bees parade along the front blooming tower

Where once a drone of ghostly voices furled my brow

Little boy lambs bleat delight in hands and friends

Where once they fended alone as eagle descends

 

The tower clock is bypassed for the bustling doctor’s street

Where once the sanctity of pillowed pews was sweet

Hopeful conversations in the sun and houses meet

Where once mere imaginings of popular masses to greet

How ready as we’d ever been to step into Unknown

Where once control had reigned and error was shown

Faces, I daily pray and long to see an Image old

Where once their living wisdom was untold

20170625_151555
Street Art, Konstance, Germany. By ‘Nilko and Rusl’

Gracious Spring Tide

Nothing but the Blood

I gave away my feathers to a wounded bird, mid-flight

She fondled in her fingers and gazed at colours bright.

Both of us now cold, I wandered down the pale pink hall

Warmed by hands and hearts – reciting heaven, gold, gems and all.

With bravery I wore a cross-shaped medal I didn’t earn

A signed and sealed commission of men has joined the funeral burn.

Though many think the flow of blood is death, despair and strife

I know for sure it’s freedom from guilt and our eternal life.

The darkness that I wear will not do for wedding ball

Patiently, I changed the feathers for a pure white shawl.

 

 

Image credit

Here Freedom lies

I’d lost the people I loved. In the midst of the daily decisions and jaw-clenching nightly invocation, all the notable ones were scarce and silent.  Anger, sadness, and pain rolled around my vital organs and stuttered my speech meditating on thoughts of misdeeds and words misspoken that persisted in my mind. Here lies life, the new day begets another. This solemn song is sung in chorus in palliative waiting rooms, tall stories forgotten and oft-loved ones replaced by diagnostic faces – with wry, stale smiles. A hand lies upon them, hemmed in front and behind, an eye for an ego, release in freedom lie.

Past-love archive

“I have learned that if you must leave a place that you have lived in and loved and where all your yesteryears are buried deep, leave it any way except a slow way, leave it the fastest way you can. Never turn back and never believe that an hour you remember is a better hour because it is dead. Passed years seem safe ones, vanquished ones, while the future lives in a cloud, formidable from a distance.”
Beryl Markham, West with the Night

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

willow court insane asylum new norfolk, tasmania

“Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.”
Kahlil Gibran

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

willow court gardens new norfolk, tasmania

“We’re going all the way ’til the wheels fall off and burn.”
Bob Dylan

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

antique cars willow court gardens new norfolk, tasmania

“You made me happy and you made me laugh, and if I could do it all over again, I would not hesitate. Look at our life, at the trips we took, the adventures we had. As your father used to say, we shared the longest ride together, this thing called life, and mine has been filled with joy because of you.”
Nicholas Sparks, The Longest Ride

The day the war began

The day the war began

Seasons framed in reflection
Of my bedroom window view
In the mirror
I see me in all my bedding
Hair awry, face unkempt
Illuminated by the backdrop
Of the cherry tree
Telling me how long 
I’ve been sitting here
Since the day the war began
Lying wounded and shell-shocked
Months ago on my pillow
Craning my neck hesitantly
To peer out at the cherry picking
Birds up high buried in leaves
Listening to little voices squeal
Mouths filled with red juices
Delighting eating low hanging fruit.
More recently sitting strong, erect
Arms opening wide the curtains
To feast my eyes 
On the kaleidoscope 
Of fiery leaves still attached
And glowing in the light
As the sun hurriedly sets.
The coolness of the window
View icy grey branches 
Dew upon the buds 
That wait in vain for the frozen
Months to pass.
Teased endlessly by a
Weak winter sun bare lee
Shining on their old
And twisted frame
I feel much the same.
Old inside but 
Growing wise to not
Allow the inevitable
Changing seasons to
Dominate my own
Mind’s window view
Instead, I rely upon You.
To fight my battles with the
Endless foes apply the balm 
to shrapnel woes
Batten down the mind’s 
Battle cry and send the 
Warning salvo’s high.
Relent, relent, face me till
All life is spent.