Sunday, May 31, 2009

Nature called

And so, we have the elements; fire, wind, earth, water.

A wonderful trip to the beach with my equally wonderful little girl. I really wanted to catch the essence of the day, and to be honest I don't think I quite hit it. The day was made up of so much - so much that I really don't think I managed to get into the poem at all. I am glad that at least two of you liked it, as it was a bit of a struggle to put together.

I think that the struggle may have been caused by my desire to write in Haiku form. If you note it really is a series of Haiku. Four in a row, three lines; five, seven, five, syllable sets with a change in tact or punctuation device in the second or third line. Check - yep it's all there, but I am not. It's not really me. I like my usual free falling prose ramblings, so will stick to that for a while.

I do have a 'little' assignment that has been set, and as soon as it's done I will share.

Thanks for reading.

Tuesday, May 26, 2009


A gentle breeze sails
across the dunes; rippling grass
flickers in its hold.

Subtle, foaming edge
prompts the slate grey tide's advance;
erosion beckons.

Watered horizon
reflects a tremulous gold -
subdued, bronzing light.

Salt crusted expanse
punctuated with flotsam,
discarded crab shell.

Why is it we feel bitterness?

Anger, frustration, hurt. A desire for someone else to feel the same; but it is internal, insipid and eventually hurtful to yourself. Yet we, (humans that is) continue on, hoping that someone else will feel this pain. That they can look into a mirror and have the pain that they cast out, reflected back at them.

In reality, it is this hope, this desire, that is cast back on the hopeful. This bitterness that burns with acidic force, and damages those who can least afford it.

Monday, May 18, 2009


Let it rain.
Bombard me with your tears.
Let your eyes weep with never ending sorrow.
Fill the room with your woe
As I have done, many times before.
Let your eyes speak for you
As always.
But remember, you can not be understood.

I'm making a difference

I received a really uplifting email on Friday. It was from a student I taught last year and she is now following in my footsteps and becoming an English teacher.

I became a teacher because of my English teacher in year 10. She was amazing (thanks Ms. Bosnic), and now the cycle continues. I feel privileged beyond belief to have been able to be a part of these people's lives and to show them something that they thought was worthwhile.

It's fantastic!

Friday, May 15, 2009

Who is Pandora's Box?

My beautiful mother died on June the 8th, 1986. I was 11 years old.
This poem describes the scene where my siblings and I were told of her death. The emotions are interspersed with the thoughts I had at the time. I found this quite a powerful way of writing as I could describe the scene, and allow you insight into the sequencing of thoughts that had occurred.
I have chosen to personify death, yet use an inanimate object to describe my mother. This was mainly due to the connotations associated with the story of Pandora's Box. The pain of losing someone so wonderful is intense, and the description only just begins to illustrate the feeling.
Lastly, it is a lesson. On the impact that adults can have on children. We were left to support ourselves and left to whisper words of comfort to each other in the night. An incredible burden was placed upon us, and it is only beginning to lift.
Thank you for allowing me to share this burden with you. Please feel free to post comments about any of my poetry :)

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

Pandora's Box

The children watched as the mis-shapen fingers ambled forth and prised open the lid.
Like stagnant, noxious air, the words filled their lungs,
grew hooks and barbed themselves in their throats.

Swallow, breathe, forget.

Insidious curse preyed upon the quartet.
Moving effortlessly between their faces,
anointing each with shame.

Were you alone?
Did you fear?

Dark wraith suckled at the rivers flowing from each child's heart,
grew strong and crawled into the opening;
extinguishing what remained within.

I did not know you.
I cannot smell you.
I long to hear you.

Cast aside, the children left.
And so began their life.

Monday, May 11, 2009

We all have them, but some are darker than others ...

Secrets that is.

Is it a betrayal of yourself to reveal what is deep inside you? Those incessant whispers, prompting you to share with someone else can so often turn on you, and the world we live in doesn't look so kindly on the little things best kept hidden.

Or is it that to keep those secrets buried allows them to betray you, as they morph into something totally unknown and unwelcome deep inside your very soul? And those whispers are you, trying to break free from a vice like hold?

What do you do with someone else's secret? So often we relish in this new found knowledge, not thinking of the pain we are causing the original owner with our joy. How much of a traitor have you been?

Little wisps of information, barely visible, let alone audible, but so powerful; deadly. Is that because we let them be so? Or because we want them to be so?

Points to ponder as you deal with other people's lives, consider your own, open your mouth and then close it. It is the betrayal that we all fear, and it is that which keeps our secrets mute.

Wednesday, May 6, 2009


There in the darkness
Waiting to be revealed
Hiding behind laughter
Sinister with pain
Mute through time
Now speaks uneasily
Destroys with its power
'Tell me', whispers urge
Fleeting strands
Too difficult to grasp
Begin the betrayal

Friday, May 1, 2009

Live it - own it

Today, thankfully, is Friday. I am utterly exhausted from the week, and yet it all continues over the weekend. But I have learned a few lessons this week; that is, with reflection. I am working through Hannie Rayson's 'Hotel Sorrento' with my class, and despite the fact that I have read it four times now, I am only just seeing some links to myself. One of her characters MARGE, asks whether truth was more important than loyalty. And that is an important question. In reality, being loyal to someone else, often means hiding the truth and therefore, being disloyal to yourself. Sometimes in order to move on, to reconcile life, emotion and the past, one has to acknowledge it, 'own it'. So this is a beginning; I will own it all, and while some may see it as giving credence to those who made me feel this way, I see it as giving credence to myself. In acknowledging my life, I am affirming who I am. To use another, oft used cliche, 'the truth shall set you free'.

Insomnia, what does it mean? It is both literal and a nice little allegory for many, many childhood years. It is the lack of sleep I contend with each and every night, it is the memory of my childhood, often played out at night. It is the fear, the crashing, the banging, the cowering, the crying, the pain, the sorrow, the hell of the night. It is the relief of the quiet, unassuming dawn. It is my life, and I own it.