Thankful

How many waves have lapped,

upon these golden shores?

Many more than all my heartbeats,

since my first upon a foreign shore.

How many times am I thankful for

this land that’s girt by sea?

Many more times than I have said,

to one as fortunate as thee.

How many times am I reminded,

that this is not my own country?

Not quite as many, as the times,

I remember, my now lost family.

My love and gratitude for this –

the safety and the freedom.

Can never be expressed in words

by one as simple as just me.

But let my actions speak to you

and then perhaps you’ll see.

That all I want is opportunity,

to share my life with thee.

Piccaninni Dawn

 

In the distance a magpie calls,

Tentatively.

I slide out of bed and slip on a tracksuit,

Sleepily.

The dog uncurls from her bed,

Expectantly.

It’s walk time –

A cup of tea for me,

Stretching and sniffing for the dog.

The darkness cloaks our departure.

Possums take to the power-lines as we pass.

The morning is ours right now.

I can hear the sea.

Gentle waves sigh against

The coarse sand beach.

Curlews cry out from the rocky point,

Heralding the arrival

Of a new born day.

Piccaninni dawn –

Nothing showy;

Pastels of orange, yellow and blue.

Soft light that glows

And lightly tints the bay –

This is why I’m here.

Bleeding

.

alone in this dark

while my wrists, they gently weep.

waiting for the light

Hope

 

As promising as a waving hand.

As possible as a forgiving look.

As suggestive of a half smile.

As rewarding as a backward glance.

These subtle gestures,

Sometimes misread –

Give hope then steal the soul.

Adam & Eve

Take the apple she said –

No strings attached.

I snatched the offer

Without a second thought –

Now that apple’s a carrot,

Dangling on a string.

I thought I was strong,

I thought I had free will,

But now I want that Apple,

All the time –

And I am willing to pay.

Umbrella

 

You ask should we walk

on such a dismal morning?

When for me, the weather is merely cream

on an already delightful idea.

Even with the rain;

Does not the light still reflect in your eyes?

Do not the buildings still stand erect?

Glorified by our observations

as water cascades from vigilant gargoyles?

Will not the crepe

Proffered by the early morning vendor

be just as sweet, as one consumed

when rain declined to hiss upon this pavement?

Will not your lips be just as tender

even when dampened

with a light Parisian mist?…

For me your company remains,

undiminished by these sideshow acts of nature

Tangled

Vacillating

Mercurial

Unfathomable.

Through my fingers,

Like grains of sand on a windy beach –

Driven

Balked

Banked

Tumbled

Forgotten.

Through this life I fumble with ideas –

Tilting

Twitching

Missing

Falling

Beginning, and seldom finishing.

Lunging and

Chasing.

These damn brain tangles mislead.

My once noble pursuit seems lost –

Into a fog of dementia.