The Theory of Tenderness

Every valid theory
is a beam of light with its promises
and every valid theory
is a black whole with its lack of fingers and hands.
Theory of Tenderness
like a beam of light
keeps your hope going
but eats you up from inside
with its unrealty
'til all of your flesh is gone
and only a shadow remains.
Only when Tenderness
grows fingers and hands
and really touches
you know
that no theory can be valid
until it has become
a sensual thing.
And how powerful then!

A Lover

I once had a lover
he loved me well
he loved me all night
and he loved me more in the morning
and after he'd loved me
he held and he kissed me
little tender kisses
with his small mouth
all accross my face
and all accross my chest
and with all those kisses
I never got any rest

On Sex

Whatever we do
we mustnt talk about sex
because noone really does it do they?
noone really wants it do they?
ladies dont possibly get horny now do they?
isnt it a luxury, a hard earned pay off
for loyalty?

May be it is time to come out honestly
and declare to myself:
Sex is great!
I want lots more of the brilliant mind blowing thing!

Much Lost, Much Gained and Much Remains

Who cast it and how
we might never know
but the spell is broken
and I can tell you now
that what you do
and what you say
can no longer make me hurt
hopelessly
except if I
momentarily
forget what its like
to be Human

A Moment of Clarity

It never is that we dont know what we want
It often is that we are very confused
thinking we dont know what we want
while in truth we are exasperated
that circumstances or people in our lives
wont deliver us what we want
no matter how much we want them to!
Like these Digestive biscuits
really do not satisfy
like a hot muffin straight out of the oven
white chocolate melting, berries and coconut...
But I eat the dry thing
and I mumble that this will do
while I winge about the cold morning air
and the walk to the bakery...
Do I need to spell out the answer???
Off your arse and start walking!

When Saying Good Bye

Where do our lovers go
Once they're done with us?
First they go away
taking their bodies with them.
Out of our reach.
Then in some years
these wrinkles, these eyes,
these hands, these thighs
all once so cherished and kissed
and been to all sorts of mysterious places
will come to rest.
Our lovers, they too will die.

And what happens to that
which was once so enormous
that it once filled the whole world?
And what happens to that
which once seemed indestructible?
And whos cheek will their
very last breath rest upon?

Gotta Show Up!

Where is the door to that room
with mirrors
where I can see
all of Me
unfragmented?
Why do I linger- hand on the handle-
it burns in my hand,
yet I have no strength
to open it.
I can taste myself
on the tip of my tongue
yet when I need to speak me
I am mute
and I choke.
All of me is here-
in all my disguises-
and under a cloak of
invisibility.

Gotta show up.

OK with Sadness

Some times this is a place for tears
Winter rubs itself in your face
with its smells of smoke and wood,
decaying leaves and fresh water,
cold mornings when everything slows down
to a crawl.
Some days loneliness follows you around
like a shadow
wont let you go
no matter if you lick and kiss
or shrug and kick
or offer it a polite smile...
And you pray for the Sun to return
and for warm arms to cry in
where you can safely gather yourself.
And you notice how connected you are
to the sunny days of life and joy and hope
and the still overcast ones
when it is cold with the door open
but it is stale with it closed shut
and so you watch the power leak
out of the cracks of your house,
cradling your own dead arms
as the tears fall
on some days

Patiently Does It

Yet again
like many mornings
in the hot hot shower
She washes away the remaining doubts
scrubbing off the very last crumbs of them
and that dying cocoon.
She's done trying to force
the square man
into her star shaped hole
She's done abnormalising
Herself.
Shes done with the abrasion
and pain
of trying to fit.
Shes done with paying
for her own impatience
and absent belief
in her own path.
How come you're here?-
he asks
I felt like it-
she says.
These days I dont really think about it
I go where my feelings take me.
And that way
There can be no true regrets.

Peace on the River

Brisbane Nights

When this feeling hits
you see her rocking,
soothing her pain
like a Mother comforts her child
the memories flooding her mind
the lack, the never enough
stuck and paralysed
she makes a circle
out of the red ribbon
stepping out of the circle
she leaves it all behind
like a movie
it is all laid out in front of her
the unheard requests,
the fear, the hiding,
the loathing
and the whole silly thing
of being in love
with being in love
This red circle burns
it is time for a pagan dance
with heart open and seeing eyes
she kisses the earth
that all this came from
with wide open arms and singing
she invokes the new
while the old burns
and the hummingbirds
bring drops of peace
to fill the searing hole
in her heart.
With her bare hands
she gathers the warm ashes
and spreads them
on her garden beds.
And it is all good now
and she walks the path
back home.

Another Look

She is there in all seasons.

In Winter
Dad's felt boots promise warmth-
how deceiving! Her toes are stiff
with cold. But this hill glistens
all snowy white and golden with sun,
someone needs to see what is it like
on the other side? Is it time for
Snowdrops yet?
Back inside ice balls melting on
woolen tights, her cheeks red
and the wood stove leaking warmth
with crackles- little puppy
in Grandmother's hands
finally settled, ceased shivering-
comforted.
Onions and garlic keeping
in silk stockings...

In the Spring
she washes the chipped paint
off the old window frames
waiting for the boy with no name
who will bring spring forest flowers
for her vase.
She will choose him
with the biggest bunch of the white ones...

In Summer
Oh, the Summer!
The pig fodder needs to be chopped
and all that weeding!
She plants snowpeas- the aromatic type-
but the soil is all sand and
she will wait unfulfilled.
Boys and girls will come with their stereos,
taking her to the lake
over the hill
where she learned to swim.
There is a flow to each day in the Summer-
heavy pail of water from the well,
muddy feet, sauna smoke,
night fires with potatoes baked
black in the coal-
foil wasnt invented then...
In the Summer her heart is most alive,
every breath in is joy,
every breath out is hope
and the world is still very new.

In Autumn
she presses leaves- all colours
there are reds and scarlets, plenty
of yellow ones and orange.
The grain needs turning- it is hot
on her feet, earth itself in her nostrils.
On the way from school
she lets rain soak the dress and the books,
making shelter from sheets
warming and comforting her own self.
Sweet apples flavour her day,
nails black and sore back
from the potatoe harvest.
In Autumn it is time to go home.


So what of today?
I look today
and she is still there in all seasons.
She breathes and her breath in
is still joy
Her breath out is still hope.
I look today
and she says
"the world is still so very new
and the garden- bigger. Much bigger..."

Some Days

It is only a little room
and its a lock down tonight.
The tide is high in the river
white ducks are still waiting
for white bread
the boats stirring sleepy river
it reaches out to stroke
my windows with its
wet fingers.
But it is a lock down
and it is night
and I call for sleep and peace
on my knees I call for silence
and there will be no visitors.
And this curious thing happens
like in children's fairy tales-
looking at the giant tree outside
my window it takes me
and it is suddenly everywhere
and there is air in this
room and all the knots
are untangled and I am all green
and my heart- warm wood.

A Foolish Ride

Some fools
they want it all
figured out.
They'll keep on
trying.Tender
heads against
unforgiving walls.
Full speed,
exhilarating descent
down the mountain roads
what a thrilling
scenery,
the snake of the road
winding into
the unknown. The grass
never greener,
fresh air exploding
in each little lung
noone saw the warning
sign
oh, blindness
is such a comforting
blanket!

Epiphany Two

And so here she is-
seventeen and thirty three
holding hands in a circle
all complete.
No different to how she started off
but pleased with the result;
how puzzling?