Page 3 of 4

Posted on

Out

Out.

I’m out.

Mum, I’m gay, 

I texted her.

That’s nice dear.  

As in you’ve renamed yourself, or like two poofy men?

Homphobic bitch.

Out.

I’m out.

Striding through the Autumn morning in my walking shoes

Seeking solace in the beauty outside me

from the rage that churns within

The grey blanket of the pre-dawn sky warms me not, 

but offers me great comfort,

with the reassuring reminder that I am 

at once 

infinitesimal

and as expansive as the universe

A blush emerges as the sun comes back from the other side of the world, busy tart

A suggestive apricot, fuzzy and without edges, and with the optimism of Alabama Whitman

“She tastes like a peach”

how truly did I want to taste her mouth

Still I stride, breathing through my swirling truth

And now, somehow, streaks of pink and blue

Audacious as those marine creatures that you think have surely been exaggerated 

in the artist’s depiction

I can even forgive my ancestors for believing in sky god

Out.

I’m out.

Here under this cracking morning sky, remembering to notice the beauty of the universe.

Mary Oliver eat your heart out!

Savour those juices as they stream down your chin

Rivulets forming in your cleavage invitationally 

for another lover 

of life to slurp at

Yum.

Mum, I like to lick life juice off the tits of women poets.

Still I stride, rounding the corner, home comes into view.

And in the valley beyond, down over the town to the west

The sun, my current favourite artist, has invited the morning mist to dance.

A rainbow!

My queer little heart opens in bliss.

Life really does love me!

And I love her right back, 

most Sapphically indeed.

Copyright 2021.

Posted on 

Ancient
               gnarly
                            filled with seasons

my stories and experiences 
                                            infuse me
                                                     travel with me
                                                                       make me who I am...

All things I see, touch, do and feel
                                                        come through me and are transmuted

gnarly old me
and all the things I've witnessed

I know that I'm 
old as rain
and
fresh as morning dew
just part of something
going along

letting go with easeful acceptance
inhaling what changes the seasons bring

connected,
yet self-contained

aware of the value of the precious glimmers
brought about by togetherness

ok in my solitude
seeing the same stardust in you 
as I know is in me

see

breathe

sleep

my business is to simply be

allowing my experiences to wash over me like the light of dawn
gently, transiently

holding on with intentional love
to the aspects that nourish me


releasing with gratitude
the aspects that teach me

celebrating my ancestry,
descendant that I am
of the women they didn't burn

solid, 
yet flexible
and permeable

open to the return to myself
of the love that I have released to the universe


Copyright 2021

“Old as rain and fresh as morning dew” is from fierce Australian feminist poet, playwright, and novelist Dorothy Hewett and is part of one of the poems in her play The Chapel Perilous

I honour her.

Posted on

saved 

Poetry will save us
as it has
and always does

It's poetry who catches us
falling in
and out
of love

A resting tent that nurtures us
while our souls replenish,
touching the universality of our own uniquely fragile stardust...

Stroking our foreheads,
breathing peace into our hearts,
illuminating the beauty in everything
and stitching it
into a cloak of light,
draped lovingly around our shaking shoulders;
whispering cogently to us of its impenetrability, 
of our own sovereign safety,
so that we may rise refueled
our furnace stoked
charged by the life force now burning
outrageously bright in us
to face the world and all its oddly timed surprises
with the optimistic courage of a rising sun

This day is mine!

Poetry has saved me.

Again.

Posted on

M & E 

I hardly feel like writing

I barely bother to read

Scroll 
Scroll
Scroll 

Wanting to be fed
by the feed 

Knowingly wading through
the mire that 
saps my soul 

Overriding self-imposed time limits
In a tacit agreement 
to self-destruct 
so that
in arriving at that nihilistic state of

I Hate Everything 

I am humbled into remembering 
that 

Meditation and Exercise
are my true salvation.

The day is calling me.

Put down the phone.


‘Click’.

(C) 2021

Posted on

It’s ok 

Actually
It’s so totally ok
That I’m tired

It’s a massive job
Being a human

It’s a massive job 
Being a parent
To small humans 


The world is in utter turmoil


So much doesn’t make sense


Our innately, exquisitely intelligent children can see this so clearly 


And they know


They know how to pull us back to the truth of our reality 


They know how to pause in wonder at 
birdsong, starlight, new fungi 


They know how to play


They know how to feel


They know how to take their sweet time



What they don’t know 
is how fucking uncomfortable it is
to be stretched across the chasm of their knowing of what’s real
and our adult bondage to
the bullshit reality of late-stage capitalism 



It’s so totally ok that I’m tired

Copyright 2021