Crisp white waves
And turquoise seas
Life force pulling
Pulling me
I hear the crash
I feel the cold
I feel the sand
Beneath my toes
I feel alive
I feel at one
I feel the hope
Within my soul
I see the earth
I feel the sun
I glimpse the moon
Joining the fun
And marvel at
The world around
The world above
The world below
Allow the waves
To have their way
Pulling me further
Further in
As I submerge
And as I breathe
I submit myself
To a cold embrace
The best book I ever read was the Enchanted Wood by Enid Blyton. She spoilt reading for me because no other book could live up to Silky and Moon-Face and the unfortunately named Jo, Bessie and Fannie not forgetting cousin Dick.
I lived in the home of Moon-Face, could hear the clanging of Saucepan-Man, and could feel the soft, shining hair of Silky.
And I loved the worlds at the top of the tree. How they never stood still. Sometimes magical, sometimes scary, sometimes exciting, sometime peaceful, always moving, never standing still.
I think of the changing worlds of our life. The seasons that pass. And sometimes they are scary. And frightening. And exciting. And enchanted.
And hopefully, maybe, everything will be okay.
He haunts me in my dreams. Visions of skin and eyes and smiles and touch. Moments of bliss. Flesh. The flesh so strong. Overruling any sane thought straining to be heard. He is close to me. When I close my eyes, and my dreams roam unrestrained. We are together and I love him and he loves me. And then I wake.
The coffee is cold.
In the sweltering heat, sydney has been threatening to rain for days, but no rain, now all the clouds have disappeared too, leaving only scorching horrible heat and the only thought in my mind is
I wish it would rain down on me now
I used to write poetry because I was passionate and turmoiled and a little crazy and sometimes crying and in love and in lust and in desire and in temptation and in remorse and in regret and now I write poetry because
Poetry
We never knew how much time we would have together, years have passed and we still do not know, and so we try to hold on as firmly as we can, but even as we do so
time slips through our fingers
It is nearing 6:30 pm, I stepped off the bus and slapbang into the middle of a heatwave. I had to take my time walking home, even stopping to rest it is that hot. The sun beating onto my arms, glistening drops starting to form, my body temperature soaring, and if this is what it means to be in Sydney in January, all I can say is:
Roll on my birthday month April pretty please
Everything is calm and the world is peace and I am content for today and may the feeling last for as long as it can last.
On the bus and not alone all the seats are taken except one beside me until someone takes a seat and larger than me and the size of the seat and arms side by side touching skin upon skin naked flesh and I can feel a layer of perspiration form between where our arms are joined and I am like please
No!
Be brave
Poems and Petals 