Of Guys & Birds

Some guys,
they act like they’ve been a – living
in a world where all the birdies
were singing
the same song.

They don’t know they’re wrong.
They don’t know a thing about us.

Eastern Rosellas and
Ravens and Pigeons
and Sparrows and Golden Conure…

That one’s a crow, and that one’s canary
the other’s a peach-faced lovebird.

That rainbow lorikeet who walked through your door –
is different from that flamingo that you know.
The one flying high in your mind is a crane –
She can’t be compared to anyone else.

Some guys
they act like they’ve been a-looking
for a bird when all they want is a woman
with the same song
as somebody else
that they knew once.

They don’t know a thing about us.

The Spaceman

The spaceman
sitting on the swing
that’s hanging from the moon,
is looking down on us
from the sky.

He’s falling deep in love with
the city lights.
He’s tired of the stars.

On Earth,
there’s a lot to be explored.
Not all answers lie above.
Why are oceans so greatly ignored?
How come some people see colours in chords?
Why do we kiss when we’re in love?
Who made music and why do we dance,
smile and cry
to a
sound?

Ain’t it strange
not to know?

Spaceman knows everything
there is to know of the galaxy,
but not enough of the place he calls home.

He packed very lightly for space.

Funny
how little you need for a place
that’s so big
with so much to discover,
with no end in sight,
Where every day’s night.
It’s a wonder.

A wonderful thing…

But no Spring,
no winter,
no summer,
no fall.

Snorkeling
is the thing
he misses
most of all.

Everything.

From the sun on his skin, sand in toes.
aching feet
from dancing circles
around Mary Jo.

Candy floss
and green lights,
sparks and
late night calls.
Morning breakfast,
milk and butter
jam and toast.

Spaceman sees all…
from northernmost
to southernmost.

There’s a lot to come home to.
There is so much to love.

Quiet Ones

Quiet souls observe the sounds that ears do not allow.
They often know what’s being said
Behind all things said out loud…
By listening to the corners of a smile,
And to the style of words,
Through speech and diction –
Decipher lies and catch
glimpses of the truth.

By listening to the empty lines between remarks –
smell sparks of anger, the scent of kindness,
Or the well-known
whiff
of a lame excuse.

The quiver of a bottom lip,
The index finger pointing straight,
The gaze cast down at itchy feet,
The hug that warms the soul…
Quiet souls
will catch the hurt,
will catch the blues,
Will feel the love,
the hues
of sunshine in the best of news…
And blackness in the worst.

Sense the distance,
closeness,
Take the hint
without assuming,
Guess correctly
secrets hidden far from view –
and leave them be.

What words cannot express,
we paint with just a subtle sigh.
What words cannot express,
we paint with twitches of our eyes.
What words cannot express
our bodies always find
another way to speak them.

They pour out of our skins,
and quiet ones will
always
listen.

Old Faith

I was born asleep
into the land of sheep,
Where God was King and
E V E R Y T H I N G
was in His Holy keep.

I was told of his forgiveness,
yet reminded I was vicious;
Born with sin, and next of kin
to the wrongs of the malicious.

That I had upon my hands,
the blood of Christ – the man
who died for us two thousand years ago or so…

I know.

It makes no freaking sense.
I wasn’t there back then.
Neither part of,
nor among the crowd of angry men.

The guilt we practised
left no room for building gratitude.
I couldn’t love a God
who bore a grudge against the shrewd
For daring to ask questions
in the face of the unknown.

“I am who I am”, he said –
and who is that?

Don’t know.

God is love,
and love is patient,
love is kind –
it does not envy.

Yet “Thou shall have no gods before me, for I’m a jealous God”?

“Trust not in yourself,” they said.
“Leave it to the Lord.”
I lived half my life
with both my eyes turned heavenward.

Looking for signs,
waiting to shine,
desperate for permission
From an entity who never spoke,
but was told I wasn’t listening.

I couldn’t wrap my mind
around the things that I was taught.

And so I left the praying
to the ones who understood.

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After Hours

At sixes and sevens,
At eight and at nine…
See you close to midnight.
Quick fixes and heaven,
It’s late, we don’t mind.
We’re lonely, so we go for a ride.

When night starts to creep,
It’s the hour to haunt.
The living’s asleep,
They don’t know of our jaunts.
We meet under streetlights
By roads like a tomb
And practise our secret knocks
For secret rooms.

But I’ve…

Been missing the sun now
Too long in the dark
Am I an owl or a morning lark?
Been dreaming too often,
I want to wake up.

Still thirsty long after I’ve emptied my cup.

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Small Town City Girl

The city girl in me,
she wants to play,
she wants to see
the pretty,
lambent neon lights,
the wide-awake
in dead of night,

the distant crooning
of a saxophone, the
sound of traffic,
buzz and tone of
bright and graphic
Signs advising me to
buy, buy, buy.

I love it when
nobody cares about
my hair, the way I dress,
the way I make
a mighty mess –
of things – they know:
Nobody’s perfect.

All eyes turned
to something else
Somewhere, because
life’s so much bigger,
Than the things
your next-door-neighbour
did last Saturday.

The city girl in me,
She wants to live
a life in motion,
Wants to dive
into the ocean
Of the pretty,
lambent neon lights…

The open after hours,
gleaming heights of
mighty towers looking down
on everything.
The yellow skies
on noisy evenings…

photo by: xavier portela
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Dark Is The Night

Dark is the night
for the eyes that don’t glow.
In the absence of light,
all you have is your soul.
If it’s hopeless,
then daybreak
is too far away.
If there’s hope,
you’ll know morning
will come anyway.
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Strawberry Waves & A Red Painted Smile

“What can you see
when you think of me older?
Will I grow colder, Will I be wild?”
I can see you my dear,
as clear as a crystal
with strawberry waves
and a red painted smile
You said it sounded
like a beautiful dream.
I can see you as fiery
As the wings of a seraphim –
Strawberry waves
and a red painted smile
coffee past midnight,
impeccable style.
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For You.

Ask some folks
to tell you what they hate
about yourself, and you could get
a list so long, its heavy weight
could leave you deaf,
and numb and blind
to all the good you
want to find
within your soul
before you’re old… 


But
never mind
their words.
It all depends
on who you’re asking.

Some will ask
you to be different;
“Different” means the same as them.
The ones who truly
want your best would
tell you to be BETTER.

Some will beg
you not to change,
when change for you
would do you grand.
The ones who truly
Want your change would
Tell you why it matters.

Whether restless or at rest
Not all eyes can see your best.
Not all tongues can find the words
When naming what you’re worth.

Be strong, be bold
Be kind, be true
Be everything you wanted to.
But most important of them all:

Be you.
Be you.
Be you.

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All Of It, Fireworks

I don’t need heaven.
This world is enough.
Some say everything here
Was made just for us –
From the kindness of strangers
To the hardest of blows…
All that we steal, get, give,
All that we throw.

Oh, I don’t need hell.
This world is enough.
Some say everything here
Is cold, wild and rough
From the blood that we spill
To the love we let go
All that we steal, get, give
All that we throw.

All of it fireworks
Oh what a show
All that we question
And all that we know
All of it fireworks
Oh what a show
All that we steal, get, give
All that we throw.

I don’t need dreaming.
This world is enough.
The fact is: art imitates
Life’s smallest stuff…
From the saddest goodbye
To the warmest hello
And all that we steal, get, give
All that we throw.

picture by: snapwire
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Breathing lessons

Don’t rage like a bear in a cage
With a brain like a warplane,
Heart like the devil in chains.
Take a deep breath,
Hold it in…
Breathe out again.

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S P E A K

Speak to me the words that I crave
as much as rain after a heat wave.
Tell me I’m strong, remind me I’m brave,
Speak to me tender, so I don’t cave.

It’s time for something other than mean.
Speak to me, in a voice serene
Like pardon for a grievous sin…
I need it man, all over my skin.

Speak to me kind- I’m in need of care,
in a tone so fine like baby hair,
As sweet and gentle as a prayer…
I need it man, and it’s time to play fair.

Speak to me light, like a kite on a string.
Like winter fading into spring.
Thank you, now and please, I think…
Just something darling, for the bee sting.

Like smoke arising from a warm fire,
Speak to me kindly, show me desire.
Are you as fluent in the language of love,
As you are in the tongue of a natural liar?

Speak to me easy now, let us not brawl.
We’re stuck out at sea, and in need of landfall,
Yet far from the worst things that could befall…
So speak to me tender, or say nothing at all.

 

 

 

picture by: Mariella