Poetry

21/04/2021 – Poem a Day Compilation



Poetry is a flood of emotions,

Captured in the lines of text

Consumed by the reader

And passed on from mind to mind



The words flow when I am sad

Like tears dripping from my fingers

Staining the page with expressions

Full of sorrow and distress



The words flow when I am tired

And can barely keep my eyes open

Yet still manage to make my fingers move

To get the words on the paper



The words flow when I am bored

And have nothing else to do

But stare at the page

Until inspiration strikes



The words flow when I am lonely

And they are my only friends

Keeping me company

When the world has deserted me



The words flow when I am depressed

To give me an escape from my own mind

And to let loose all the chaos

That builds up inside of me



The words flow when I am ashamed

Acting as a release from the burden

Of that which holds me back

When I think I am not enough



The words flow when I am guilty

No matter how inconsequential

The slight may have been

I feel it deep within my soul



The words flow when I am mad

At myself for not being more than I am

And for being too much

For other people to handle



The words flow when I am hurt

Trickling from a multitude of wounds

That I probably inflicted upon myself

In the wakeful hours after midnight



The words flow when I am hostile

Towards an imagined enemy

Closing in on the gates

To the fortress that is my heart



The words flow when I am angry

At the world for its depravity

And it’s soullessness

When it should be a comforting place



The words flow when I am selfish

And only thinking about my own needs

My own desires to be heard

And to create something more than myself



The words flow when I am hateful

The metaphorical bile rising up

And spilling on the page

With venomous force



The words flow when I am critical

Mostly of myself

And my achievements

Or lack thereof



The words flow when I am scared

That I’m not on the right path

And my world will fall apart

Leaving me bereft



The words flow when I am confused

Allowing me to understand

Myself and the world around me

Through meandering verse and stanza



The words flow when I am rejected

All the things I should have said

But never had the courage

Spewing out of me like a torrent



The words flow when I am helpless

Fighting against the tide

Without a lifeline

Unable to save myself



The words flow when I am insecure

Seeking reassurance

That I am not alone in my thoughts

And there is some way out



The words flow when I am anxious

Coming fast and furious

Over the rocks in my brain

Creating whirlpools to trap me



The words flow when I am joyful

And bounce from my fingers

Onto keys that show the world

The smile upon my face



The words flow when I am excited

Bombarding the readers with images

Burned into my brain

By thousands of neurons firing



The words flow when I am energetic

The power the sun pouring out of me

A million times a second

Filling my cup until it runs over



The words flow when I am cheerful

Bubbling up and out of the pen

Each letter, each word, each line of text

A drop of sunshine to light the way



The words flow when I am creative

Turning pictures into poems

And painting images in the minds

Of those who would soak them in



The words flow when I am hopeful

Because words can change the world

They can lift up the deserving

And shine a light on the downtrodden



The words flow when I am proud

Glittering like diamonds

Strewn across a sea of troubles

That have been fought and overcome



The words flow when I am appreciated

So that I can return the thanks

Given to me for a job well done

Or for time given up in the service of others



The words flow when I am faithful

To my own thoughts and convictions

Not swayed by passing phases

But strong in my sense of self



The words flow when I am peaceful

And at one with the world

Lost in a mediation with myself

That fills the noise in my head with quiet



The words flow when I am trusting

Of the process I go through

Of putting pen to paper

And letting go of the rest of the world



The words flow when I am loving

Showing that love for all to see

Showering all those who care to look

With a glow that radiates from the page



The words flow when I am thoughtful

Contemplating the meaning of life

All the intricacies of humanity

And why it is that this form speaks to me



The words flow when I am content

And for that brief moment in time

Everything is right with the world

Just as it should be



Poetry is a flood of emotions,

Born of the turmoils and the triumphs

Given with courage to the world

Without expectation of reward

The Cellar Door

17/04/2021 – Poem a Day Compilation



We don’t have a cellar door

But I’ve always wanted one

A door to a place I can hide away

When the working day is done



A comfy world tucked away

Where reality gets shut out

And words can tumble from my mind

In quiet murmurs, not a shout



A wall full of bookshelves

And a desk for me to write

Where the troubles of the working day

Are kept far from sight



Maybe one day I’ll get my cellar door

And the stairs and cellar, too

To create a little sanctuary

That I can share with you

A Modern Fairytale

18/12/2020 – Poem a Day Compilation



Once upon a time

There was a writer who was very sad

Because her words would not come to her

They were behaving very bad



They teased her relentlessly

And would not work as a team

They played mischief with her mind

Like a nightmare, not a dream



She looked out into the sky above

And wished upon a star

That she’d find some inspiration

That her reputation, it wouldn’t mar



Then the heavens opened up

Lightening flashed thick and fast

Thunder cracked over head

And a spell, it was cast



Her fingers flew across the keys

Injecting a magic to her story

It was like nothing else that she had written

And would cover her with glory



Before she knew the night was over

And the sun peered over the horizon far

But her masterpiece, it was complete

Ready to sell at the bazaar



She phoned every publisher

But every door slammed in her face

She was as yet undiscovered

She had yet to find her place



What little feedback she received

Was like a dagger to her chest

She’d poured out her heart and soul

And she’d tried her very best



As she poured over library books

On how to become a better writer

A woman sat down opposite her

And she suddenly felt much lighter



“I see you are a writer,”

The wise old woman said

And the writer peeked over her book

With a sense of fear and dread



“Oh, don’t be afraid, my dear,

I’m hear to help you out

They call me fairy godmother

But you can call me Bubblesprout



“That’s not my real name, you know

It’s my nom de plume

And I think it rather suits me

But it’s you I’ve come to groom.”



The writer put down the book

And looked this woman up and down

She appeared to be quite grandmotherly

But dressed in a grandiose ballroom gown.



The writer thought herself imagining

When Bubblesprout stood up

She thought she saw actual sparkles

And was that an actual buttercup?



She followed her in a daze

To where she’d parked her car

“Oh, no, this will never do”

She exclaimed as if a movie star



With a flourish, she produced a wand

And waved it round and round

Muttering incoherent words

Until the car could not be found



In its place a carriage stood

Adorned with gold and jewels

But no one walking by seemed to care

Were they blind or just poor fools?



“Are we going to meet a prince?”

Asked the writer in disbelief

Bubblesprout smiled then laughed

And answered “Oh, good grief!



“What do you want a prince for?

What you need is an editor in chief

To turn your beautiful work of art

Into something beyond belief.”



The writer smiled and laughed herself

And handed over the manuscript

She caught her breath in anticipation

And a beat in her heart was skipped



The pages fluttered as if enchanted

Words rearranging themselves

A wonderfully crafted cover formed

The book ready to hit the shelves



“How long will this magic last?”

The writer queried in earnest

And Bubblesprout turned to her

With a look that was the sternest



“This magic is within you

Whenever you choose it,

You never needed me at all

It’s yours when you want to use it.”



And with that she disappeared

Leaving only a puff of smoke

The writer sitting in her car

Wondering if she’d had a stroke



But there on the passenger seat

Sat a book so finely bound

And tucked between its pages

A card was to be found



Upon the card was the name

Of a publisher of high repute

Who could see the writer’s vision

And plan a campaign to suit



The writer then lived

Happily ever after

In a world that celebrated her

And joined in her laughter



Now, I know what you’re all thinking:

What kind of absurdity is this?

That’s not how publishing works

There’s something terribly amiss



And while you’re probably right

You’re also probably wrong

Because with the help of a good editor

You know it can’t be long



How long long is is difficult

To put a specific number on

But when it happens, look out

Through bookstore doors you’ll swan



So have faith in your abilities

Get your own Bubblesprout

Because rejections are going to happen

But one day you’ll get to shout



THIS is my book

And it’s not a fairytale

It’s as real as real can be

Available in print, audio and braille

Midnight Struck

07/10/2020 –  Poem a Day Compilation



Midnight struck

No witches swooped

No demons gathered

No strange storms

Just the clock ticking



        The stars twinkled

        A possum scurried

        The birds roosted

        The city slept

        And my mind was sticking



Midnight struck

The roads were silent

The trains infrequent

The ferries docked

Just the world turning



        Somewhere out there

        The sun was shining

        The city awakened

        Life carried on

        But my mind was burning



Midnight struck

The sky was dark

The lights were out

There was nothing to see

Just my heart breaking



        The thoughts welled

        Caught behind my eyes

        Then seeped slowly

        Down drawn cheeks

        And my mind was aching



Midnight struck

The words failed

The pages didn’t turn

My fingers didn’t work

Just playing dumb



        No sleep came

        No sweet relief

        No tormented dreams

        No maudlin verses

        But my mind was numb



Midnight struck

No covert snacks

No last tipple

Not even a cup of tea

Just perfect awareness



        I can just be

        I can go easy on myself

        I can simply exist

        I can place my work to the side

        And my mind in recess

The Cold Up Here

01/10/2020 –  Poem a Day Compilation



I don’t feel the cold anymore

I’ve grown accustomed to it.

That’s what happens when you live here

More than half your life.



I love the snow as it falls

And creates a frozen wonderland;

Drifts line the roads all around me

But I don’t need to leave.



It’s a good thing I like the solitude

Because I can spend months alone up here,

Just me on my own with my writing

And a couple of pets in tow.



The cat likes to pretend to help

By watching over me as I work

Expecting as her payment

An endless supply of pats.



The dog enjoys building snowmen,

then knocking them down again,

And gnawing on the carrot nose

Or playing fetch with its stick arms.



Sometimes I just sit at the window

And watch the world go by –

And endless parade of wildlife,

Their only care to survive.



The white-tailed deer frollick gleefully

As the spring thaw slowly edges closer

To my little wooden shack in the woods

Far enough from civilisation to forget it exists.



The cold up here never really leaves,

It just mellows into a soft puddle

At the bottom of the winding driveway

A mile or so away from the deck where I sit.



Even now, in the summer, sitting in the sun,

The wind leaves my cheeks a dusty pink

Where it’s kissed them as I stroll

Beneath the sugar maples and the birch.



The lake looks inviting right now

But I’m still not brave enough,

Even after all these years,

To swim out into its icy depths.



I’ll leave the water to the trout

And marvel at the birds flying high above me,

Their wings outstretched in splendid form,

Sailing in from their winter hideaways.



They’re not bothered by the bite of the water

As they swoop majestically out of the sky

Diving in for a well-earned feed of pike

After such an arduous journey north.



In the distance a black spruce has grown up,

Battling maples for every second of sunlight

And now home to a huge Osprey nest,

Their home after a day on the lakes.



As the sun sets, a nip returns to the air

And I think about picking up a log or two

For the fire that roared incessantly in winter

But now lays dormant most of the month.



I haven’t even opened my laptop today.

It’s sitting on my desk inside, unloved.

The next chapter can wait another day,

Up here there’s no reason to rush.



It’s only when I venture into town, I feel it.

The hustle and bustle of everyday life.

I left that world a long time ago

And return less often as the years slip by.



I don’t feel the need to head down there,

Not very often, at any rate.

The occasional trip to the doctors, maybe,

Or to pick up mail that doesn’t get delivered.



I stock up on supplies for the season.

I’m due to head in for the fall groceries

But I’ve put it off for three days,

It really should be done by now.



Whenever I think of that trip, I stop dead.

My heart beats faster and I suck the air in,

As if that my stop the world from turning

And put off the inevitable.



The town itself is pretty enough.

It’s filled with decent people, mostly.

There’re folk who are there all year round

And those that just come for the season.



I used to live in town, when I first arrived,

In a flat above the grocery store.

I’d sit at the window and people watch,

Looking for characters to fill my books.



Now I watch the wildlife do their thing.

If I’m lucky I might see a bear stroll by

But usually its just some claw marks on a tree

Or a footprint in the lakeside mud.



I’ve had enough of people these days,

They leave me colder that the arctic winds

That bite at exposed fingers and toes

In the dead of winter months.



Their stares as I drive the main street,

My beat-up truck older than their kids,

Tell me I shouldn’t be down there

And to make my business quick.



Twenty years, nearly twenty-five,

You’d think some of them might forgive me

But I will always be the outsider,

So that’s what I’ve become.



I’d much rather talk to the hulking moose

That saunters through my overgrown yard

To bathe in the lake when the summer sun

Becomes too much for its large frame.



It won’t judge me for what I’ve done.

It won’t take anyone’s side against me.

It barely acknowledges my existence

Which is just fine with me.



But I really do need to go into town soon.

Maybe in a day or two when I’m sure

All the snow has definitely melted

And the roads will be clear to drive.



What can’t I be like the skinks I see

Scuttling about between the rocks,

The flash of a red jaw or a blue tail,

As they search for snails, spiders and insects?



Then I wouldn’t have to face them at all,

Their condemning looks as if I were the one

Who ruined someone’s life for a bit of fun

Instead of being the one who was ostracised.



The joke was on them, though.

My little shack in the woods is my haven.

My writing den away from prying eyes

Where no one knows who I really am.



I’m sure they’ve all read my books.

I smile inside when I see them

Proudly displayed in the bookshop window

By owners who have no clue.



Sometimes I wish I could see their faces

When they find out who wrote that novel

Featuring the heroine from their home town

Who always manages to save the day.



The loons know because I tell them.

I dutifully read them each chapter

As I sit on the end of the dock

That juts purposefully out into the lake.



When I finish a chapter in winter,

I wrap myself up in my doona,

And hug my hot water bottle

And I relate the latest part of the tale.



They don’t care what I write,

Or if I read to them, or not.

But their haunting replies seem appropriate

As my words are carried away by the wind.



No one else knows, though.

They are too busy looking down on me

To wonder what it is I do up here

Tucked away from prying eyes.



I should have written today.

Knowing I will see him in town,

Knowing what fate waits his fictional self

Has made me more uneasy that I thought.



My heroine gets the justice I never could

And he gets his just desserts

While in real life he holds all the power

With his uniform and privilege and power.



But I find myself procrastinating,

Putting off writing this final chapter.

After all these years of wanting this

Why do I feel so monumentally hesitant?



The stars are twinkling against the velvet sky,

The fire is crackling peacefully in the corner,

And my laptop sits on the desk unopened

As it has all day, all week, long.



No matter how many times I tell myself

That this is cathartic and therapeutic,

This last book has been the hardest,

The closest to letting go I have come.



But there is no letting go of what happened.

No amount of snow filled seasons

Could freeze out reality forever,

And it is like an ice pick through my heart.



If they hadn’t believed me, I could understand.

I could have forgiven them years ago.

I could have moved on.

I could have persuaded myself it wasn’t real.



They all knew and accepted it,

Closed ranks around the town’s favourite son.

They couldn’t deny the wounds he caused

But they could sweep it under the rug.



Up here in the woods in my shack,

I still hear his footsteps on the stairs,

But those stairs are long gone from my life

As is the man who climbed up them.



Up here the trees protect me,

Their branches wrap around me all year long.

And in winter I welcome the snow fall

And the walls it builds all around.



The leaves will soon start falling,

A carpet of fiery reds and yellows,

And I will be safe with my animals

But not until this last trip to town.



Each time I go I pray I don’t see him

But he’s there waiting for me,

His presence making me silently relive

Every moment from when I said no.



The white-tailed deer know how he smelled,

The trout know every action he took,

The ospreys know the colour of his eyes

And the bears know that he smiled.



I didn’t feel the cold that night

And I haven’t felt it ever since.

The world can’t get any colder

Than when its people turn their backs.

Dear Reader

06/09/2020 -  Poem a Day Compilation



Dear Reader,



If I might have your attention

For a mere moment in time,

I have something important

That I must impart to you.



A writer’s job is not an easy one,

It is filled with dread and uncertainty

But is also the most fulfilling,

Bringing joy and a sense of success.



For myself, I do not write for money,

I do not write for fame and fortune.

I write because feeds my soul

And sets my spirit free.



I can communicate with my inner self

And discuss the world around me;

I pour out emotions onto the page

And am filled to the brim again.



There is no right way to write,

No perfect set of instructions.

There’s no time of day that one must use

Nor a style to which you must stick.



Be a novelist or write comic books;

Be a screenwriter or be a poet;

Be whatever writer you want to be

Or be all of them if you so choose.



Whatever you do, dear reader,

Just enjoy what is before you,

For it is a work of art, and heart,

Of which there will never be another like it.

Listen Up

30/08/2020 -  Poem a Day Compilation



Listen to the taps of keys

As I write into the wee small hours

And you are sure to hear a tale

Told from a heartfelt place.



I could not shout these words as loud

As I can through this keyboard lit

By one small lamp beside my bed

Calling to the world beyond.



There is no rhyme or reason here,

Just words upon words, layered high,

Oozing from my fingers down telephone lines

To destinations far and wide.



They are soaked up by eager eyes

In distant lands with foreign tastes

Who will never know me as I am

But only as I seem to be.



What creation I might fabricate

As stars distract me from my work,

Alien light shining from afar

To spark a notion in my mind.



And as I listen to silent stars

Their energy burns through the page

Reaching a hand out into the void

And making contact with what it finds.



Where these words were born, I know not

Yet some fester where I find them

While others grow and creep and shine

Reflecting my injured soul back at me.



The tendrils wrap around my heart

Squeezing experiences from my breast

That burst to life like Sweet Alyssum

Drawing me in as with no other.



And so I am, locked in this dance,

Feverishly spewing out syllables

In some vain hope they make some sense

To more than just my troubled mind.



Then, when those lines have flown the coop,

I shall be absorbed in darkness new

To devour words, to feed the light

and listen to the taps of keys once more.

Potential Energy

24/08/2020 -  Poem a Day Compilation



There is a concept in science

That relates to the energy possessed

By a body by virtue to its location

Relative to that of others.



A common example can be seen

When a child is on a swing,

Being pushed by their doting parent

Without a thought for the forces at work.



The potential energy is shown

At the very top of the swing,

Just before making its descent

And transforming into the kinetic kind.



The same can be said of writers

When they have an idea form in their head

That is the top of their swing

Before the release of the writing phrase.



So, writers, don’t be afraid

If you get told that you have potential.

This means that all of that energy

Is ready to be unleashed on the world.

Visiting

11/05/2020 - Iso Well-Being Compilation

 

Won’t you stop here for a moment?

Where the air feels very raw;

Where every breath feels uneasy;

And life is so unsure.

Can’t you feel the wind stinging you?

Where the dirt abrades your eyes;

Where the leave crunch under foot;

And people are outnumbered by flies.

Shouldn’t you want to know your country?

Where the hard lessons are taught;

Where the fight is never over;

And experience can’t be bought.

Wouldn’t you immerse yourself here?

Where cultures meet head on;

Where the land is a harsh mistress;

And dreams are never gone.

Isn’t this where you should be now?

Where bark is burnt black;

Where grass dries brown;

And water never comes back.

Hasn’t this town been through ample bad times?

Where the going isn’t just tough;

Where families struggle together;

And the people have had enough.

Weren’t you always saying you’d visit?

Where your presence is appreciated;

Where your dollars make a difference;

And lasting memories are created.

Becoming a Parent

09/05/2020 - Iso Well-Being Compilation

 

No one really tells you what it’s like.

You hear the horror stories, of course.

And you hear about how you’ll never be the same

But you don’t know until it happens.

 

No one tells you how much of yourself

You lock in a box, away from harm,

Because there’s a little creature here

Who needs you more than anything.

 

No one tells you just how much you gain,

Feeling like your heart will burst,

And that, no matter how old they are,

You still have infinite love to give.

 

No one tells you how scared you’ll be.

Not just for this small human

But for yourself and your partner,

Through every trial and tribulation.

 

No one tells you about the doubt

And the second guessing you’ll do,

Because there’s no manual to follow

And no instruction leaflet.

 

No one tells you about the tears at 3am

When they have their first fever

And you don’t know who to call

Because your brain is fried.

 

No one tells you about the absolute pride

When they say their first words,

When they take their first steps,

Or when they buy their first car.

 

No one tells you that it’s ok to have a c-section

Or to adopt or use a surrogate,

And that it’s ok to feed them formula

Or let them cry themselves to sleep.

 

No one tells you about the piles of laundry

That never seem to end,

Even when they’re teenagers

And can probably wash their own clothes.

 

No one tells you about the mistakes you’ll make

Because we’re all only human

And no one is ever going to be perfect,

Not even that wee little bairn.

 

No one tells you about the good times –

The times you’ll get it fantastically right –

When you’ll jump for joy all day

And want to shout it from the rooftops.

 

No one tells you in a way you’ll understand:

You’ll hear the words they’ll say

But they won’t really sink in

Until you’ve lived every moment.

 

No one tells you because they can’t.

The Eye of the Beholder

07/05/2020 – Iso Well-Being Compilation

 

The Blobfish is rarely seen

In your local fish and chip shop

Because it lives in the deepest waters

And looks like Jabba the Hut.

But there’s a sad beauty

To this deep-sea creature

That draws you in

With its gelatinous form.

 

The Naked Mole Rat is cute

In the same way, it must be said,

As a penis with teeth surely is,

And that isn’t very much at all.

The queen of these sand puppies

Has a colony like that of a bee

Which she keeps on a tight leash

Except when it comes to breeding

 

The Proboscis Monkey has a nose

That would put Monsieur Bergerac to shame

He uses it to lure the ladies

To his jungle hideaway.

But that’s not his only quality,

With a bloated stomach filled with gas

Caused by a diet of unripened fruit

He is a gaseous mess.

 

The Star Nosed Mole is amazing

At feeling its way through the ground

With a nose that looks like two stars

Exploding in the night sky.

The rest of the creature’s quite reasonable,

It’s furry and small and cute.

From the back it’s decidedly handsome

But from the front it might give you a start.

 

The Aye-Aye is a bit of a no-no,

With big ears and big eyes to match;

Its fingers seem to go on forever,

And its hair is sparse in the least.

Though it looks like something you’d see

In a horror film or nightmare,

This adorably ugly critter

Is happy to just hang out instead.

 

The Axolotl can regenerate limbs

That it might lose in a fight for its life.

But it’s its pale countenance

That gives it most of its startling look.

Well, along with red fringe

It wears like some sort of scarf,

That are really gills turned out

And allow the unfortunate to breathe.

 

The Warthog is mighty fine

In animated form on the screen

But in real life is not so pretty

Even when it’s had a mud bath.

Its tusk, they do protrude

From a frightfully weathered face,

They’re an effective form of defence

Against predators and other unruly hogs.

 

The Common Celestial Goldfish

Might have a name that is fancy

But its eyes are perched oddly

On the side of its head.

They’re much too large for the rest of it,

As if they had been inflated,

Giving an altogether unusual form

For this otherwise ordinary fish.

 

The Kakapo might be a parrot

But it lacks the style and the grace

Of most of its feathered brethren

An ugly duckling never to be a swan.

But its size gives it some majesty,

So large it cannot fly,

Calling from the ground to its mate

Its colours a gorgeous sight.

The Seasons

06/05/2020 - Iso Well-Being Compilation 



You are cold like the winter,

Aloof and indifferent,

Making you hard to read

And keeping me at arm’s length.



You run hot like summer months,

Easy to anger,

Firey and unpredictable,

And I am running scared.



You’re warm like springtime,

Wrapping me in your arms,

Telling me everything will be ok

And I am drawn in all over again.



You are cool as an autumn breeze,

Hinting at what’s to come,

So tantalizingly calm,

But I have to get away.

A Decision in Time

05/05/2020 – Iso Well-Being Compilation



Today I might to decide to get a puppy.

Not just any puppy – A rescue puppy –

Not because I must but because

It exists within me to care.



Or maybe I’ll be a cat instead,

They seem so much more independent

And I wouldn’t have to take them for a walk,

Just make sure they don’t eat the bird.



Today I might decide to save those few dollars

That I would have spent on a takeaway

And put them in a piggy bank

Safe for a rainy day.



Or I might give it to the homeless guy

Who looks like he needs a hot meal

And, though it won’t buy much,

It’s more than he’s had all week.



Today I might decide to eat a salad for lunch

Because it’s time I looked after myself

And stopped over-indulging

On comfort foods and junk.



Or I might have the slice of cake

That was left over from my birthday

Because it’s not right to waste food

Especially when it’s so delicious.



Today I might decide to go for a run

To get the blood pumping though my veins,

Air flowing through my lungs,

And my muscles stronger than before.



Or I might sit on the couch under a blanket

And binge watch that latest TV show

That everyone’s raving about but of which

I don’t quite understand the premise.



Today I might decide to read a book

And get lost in its pages,

Captured by its characters and themes,

Transported to a different realm.



Or I might go to bed earlier than usual,

Get a full night’s sleep for once,

And hopefully wake up refreshed,

Not like I’ve been hit by a truck.



Today I might decide to get excited –

About what, I don’t know –

But I will approach it with enthusiasm

And overbrimming with the trill of it.



Or I might just plod through the day

Avoiding conflict and surprise,

Having a day where I simply exist

And don’t have to exert myself.



Today I might decide to follow my dreams

And change my career path,

Take on that role I know suits me

More than any other has done.



Or I might make the best of this job,

Creating the role I want for myself

From within the existing constraints

And blowing them to kingdom come.



Today I might decide to choose the right guy

To settle down with for the future

Who treats me as I should be treated

And accepts me, faults and all.



Or I might choose Mt Right Now,

Who makes me feel exponentially good

If but for a fleeting moment in time

And then disappears into the ether.



Today I might decide to catch up with friends

Who actually get me,

Who rejoice in my absurdity,

And who understand my weaknesses.



Or I might hang with new friends

Because then I can pretend to be someone

Infinitely different from who I am,

If only for a day.



Today I might decide to love myself

Because if I don’t, who will?

And I deserve to be loved

Just like everyone else.

My city

04/05/2020 - Iso Well-Being Compilation

I love this city.
It sparkles and it shines.
It soothes my nerves,
And excites my mind.

I couldn’t live anywhere
But in its warm embrace.
It invigorates me, wholly,
And feeds my desires.

Every time I leave it
I know, when I return,
It will always welcome me
Back home where I belong.

There’s nowhere else on earth
I’d rather be right now
Than tucked up in my bed,
Listening to my city hum.

A bad dream

02/05/2020 - Iso Well-Being Compilation



I’d like to wake up from this dream now


Because it’s not fun in the least.


I’m stuck in my own private nightmare


Looking out at a world I don’t recognise.


Devils call daily for sacrifices,


Infecting the minds of those near,


And there’s nothing I can do but cry


And scream until I can’t speak anymore.


I long for another reality,


One with laughter and joy – not this mess.

How to know if you’re in love

01/05/2020 - Iso Well-Being Compilation



When I see his smile,

I get butterflies in my tummy

And I want to look into his eyes

For all of eternity and then some.



When he talks, I listen,

Hanging off every word

As if it might be the last thing

I ever hear in this world.



When I know he’s been thinking of me

It makes me all warm inside

Like he’s hugging my soul

And I don’t want him to let go.



When he calls me pet names

And it doesn’t creep me out

But it makes me want to hear them more

Even if they are schmaltzy.



When he send me pictures of himself

In his trackies and a jumper,

Looking all snuggly warm,

And I just want to curl up in his arms.



When I ask him about his day

And he tells me,

Regardless of how boring he thought it was,

And I do the same for him.

Growing Older

29/04/2020 - Iso Well-Being Compilation



George Burns once said that

You can’t help getting older,

But you don’t have to get old,

And I think that may be the philosophy

By which I have been living my life,

Except that I’ve always framed it

As the difference between getting old

And growing up.



I’ve never felt the need to grow up,

To let go of the childishness

Of play and wonder and creativity.

And speaking to my mother,

She often says to me that

She’s never felt like a proper grown up,

And I wonder if any of us really do

Or if it’s just a delusion we perpetuate.



We worry about the ravages of age,

The frailty and the infirmity of the body

And the degradation of the mind,

And if we would want to live that way,

With a mind trapped in a broken body

Or a willing body but a mind erased;

Could we not have a finite existence
And know our end date in advance?

Falling Asleep

27/04/2020 - Iso Well-Being Compilation



I sometimes have trouble falling asleep.

I stare at the ceiling in the dark.

A myriad of thoughts envelop me,

Causing neurons to fire,

Memories to burn through me,

Thoughts to cascade from my brain.



What if I’d said this, or not said that?

What if I’d take the holiday,

Or quite the job, or taken the deal?

Who would attend my funeral?

What flowers would they choose?

Would they even look at what I wanted?



Remember when you broke that promise,

And when you lied to your mum,

Or when you cheated on that test?

It doesn’t matter when it was –

Today, yesterday, last week …

Maybe twenty years ago.



All those new years resolutions you’ve broken,

The one where you’d lose weight,

Not care what other people thought,

Made more time for things you like doing?

All those things where you let life get in the way

And beat yourself up for later.



Remember when you were three,

Your friends mum chased you down the beach

Because she thought you’d thrown sand

At her precious daughter

Who could do no wrong, of course,

But had started the whole thing?



Did you lock the car when you came home?

You had work on your mind, distracted,

And you could have easily forgotten.

Not that it’s worth stealing.

But there’s that jacket you like

Draped on the back seat, just in case.



But what about when you were thirteen

And your dad took you skiing

But there were the guys he hung out with

Who thought you were older than you were,

And you didn’t like how they acted

Or spoke, or looked at you.



Oh, and there’s that meeting tomorrow

That you should have prepared for more

But now you can’t remember anything

About what you’re meant to be discussing

And there’s no way you’re not going to get fired

Because who’d want to employ you, anyway.



And



And


And why can I see stars that are so far away?

Mother’s perfume

26/04/2020 – Iso Well-Being Compilation



Mother doesn’t wear perfume.

She sees no reason.

“Why do I need it?”

She says, before colouring her hair

So the grey won’t show through.



Mother doesn’t wear perfume.

It costs too much.

“I don’t need it,”

She says, while paying for makeup

She will need to replace, again, in a month.



Mother doesn’t wear perfume.

It’s frivolous to her.

“What’s the use?”

She says, as she tries on shoes

She will not wear to any function.


Mother doesn’t wear perfume.

Drowning

24/04/2020 Iso Well-Being Compilation



It feels like I’m drowning,

Sucked under by the current.

It’s interminably slow.



My eyes want to close

But I can’t let them.

I can’t sleep now.



I’m trying to breathe.

Trying to keep my head above water

When it would be so easy to let go.



There’s an ache all through me,

Like I’ve run a hundred marathons

Barefoot and without rest.



Even my heart aches:

A horrific, slow ache

That never leaves.



But while I’m clawing up

There’s little to hold on to.

I don’t know which way is up.



Instead of hearing my screams

They drown them out

With their own noise.



Instead of a helping hand

I’m being held down,

Held under.



Instead of being the calm,

They are the storm

And I weep.



I pray to an empty sky

For a lifeboat that won’t come

As wave after wave overwhelms me.



I cry as I go under,

Sob into the void,

Tasting the salt on my lips.



This dirty mask is no protection

Still I drown down here

And dream of what might have been.