Poetry

Silent scorn

Silent scorn, the page’s torn

It sits unsent, unwritten, unthought…

Atop her chest, a weight it rests

Feelings she has often fought

Correcting talk, perfecting walk

Approval always pending…

The apron ties, judgmental sighs

Bitterness descending

No way to win, words under skin

Punishment delayed…

Silent scorn, the pattern’s worn

The game is lost before it’s played

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Poetry, quotes, Thoughts on life

Wings

image Be like the crow flying high above the trees, hearing the chatter of the other birds within the rustling leaves but knowing she doesn’t have to settle amongst them….for she’s wise enough to know that the very same winds causing them to cling to the branches, not trusting their wings, is precisely what allows her to fly!

life, Poetry

Fear just down the road

What is this overwhelming sadness…
This longing, this darkness, this void

An absence of something that was never there, but missed all the same.
A feeling of not belonging and not knowing why

Who is she….this voice that’s silent
Finger pressed to mocking lips
Making a secret of the noise within?

Here is where doubt lies
Here is where confidence dies
Here is where joy departs
Here is where the nothing starts

Tears just behind
Grief just below
Pain just out of sight
Fear just down the road….

This familiar foe, unwelcome and uninvited
Hiding in the shadows

Watching…

Waiting…

…Like a dark cloud

a haze

a fog

a burden

It creeps and it follows…
It covers and then settles…

Leaving no air
Leaving no light

Desperately balancing on a pinhead of hope as the world falls away beneath clumsy feet

Still to fight
Still to cling

Still to fall

This exquisite drawing by http://sketchylinesoflife.blogspot.com.au/2012/11/falling-up.html
This exquisite drawing by http://sketchylinesoflife.blogspot.com.au/2012/11/falling-up.html
Poetry, Uncategorized

Built by thoughts controlling

I see you holding onto your fear, cradling it in trembling hands, not wanting to know it, yet unable to let it go…

I hear you making plans. Bigger, better, faster, more. Distraction from the quiet within…

I feel your relief
every
tick
of
the
clock
that
brings
no
change

No discomfort
No pain

See you still within your walls of safety, built by thoughts controlling

who and what is allowed inside

Breathing not, lest the walls collapse.

Holding tight
holding on

Shallow thoughts

Moving not
Changing not

Shallow breath

Feeling safe
Being safe
Needing safe

* * *

But control is a lie you choose to believe
For fate will one day have it’s way…

We control nothing in the end

With the next turn of the hand bad news may come

Will come

What if the walls were to crumble, under the sheer weight of it

…if one on the outside was suddenly gone, just as you find you need them there…

And the quiet within became so loud, that the whole world could hear?

the hands unable to turn back
the cries contained no more
control surrendered

No distraction great enough to ignore the unexpected gasp pulling the breath from your lips…

deep thoughts filling empty lungs

fear slipping from futile fist…

…as your pain finds it’s way home

family, life, Poetry

The struggle unseen…

I see the struggle everywhere.

Bodies aged and bent, crippled over cane
shuffled steps, shrinking shoulders.

Getting out of cars, an effort in itself. Crossing the street at painful pace.

When a metre is a mile
Understanding is a smile

The rhythm of life around them quietly mocking…

Years of life dragging down weary faces

A lifetime of frowns forged in wrinkled skin
A lifetime of working worn onto hands of grey

When the memory of youth is nothing more than that

When life has been struggle
But life is no more…

And only struggle remains

The elderly wear their age so obviously, that it is hard not to feel compassion. Show tolerance.
Have understanding.

But the weariness carried by some is often invisible.
The struggle of many, more often than not, goes unseen.

Misunderstood.

I want to tell you a story

It’s something which happened to me recently that changed my perspective forever.

I’m in sales. I sell women’s fashion at wholesale and my customers are made up of roughly 70 independent fashion boutiques owned, mostly, by women.

One of my customers is a strange woman. I shouldn’t call her strange. That’s not kind.

The thing is though, there is an aloofness and sense of disorientation that I just can’t quite explain.

She forgets things, needs explanations and reminders of simple things.

It is unnerving at best and downright inconvenient at worst.

She rarely smiles, yet doesn’t seem sad, or angry.

Just……distant

She often comes across as cold and, although I’ve never felt that she doesn’t like me or that’s it’s personal in anyway, I can’t help but feel frustrated by this slow pace, lack of mental clarity and absent….oh, I don’t know. Soul?

I’m sorry to even say that, but as I take great pride in my relationships and consider myself the consummate clichéd “people person”, I have to admit I’ve been questioning to no end just HOW, after two whole years of attempting to build a relationship, this could be all I can get!

I have asked myself, “what am I doing wrong??”

I’ve also questioned, on many occasions, “what on earth is wrong with this lady??”

(Judgement is such a natural state…isn’t it?)

Then one day recently a colleague told me something, the most horrendous of things, and it quite literally stopped me in my tracks.

That customer.
A mother.
A beautiful son the same age as mine.
A simple life on the farm.
A school break a few years ago…
A tractor.
A cord hanging loose from a jumper.
An unimaginable chain of events.
An outcome too awful

In that moment I was unexpectedly, emotionally and abruptly forced to think differently about this woman who in that very moment became anything but a difficult customer.

She simply became a mother who’d lost a child…

I almost cried, imagining her on that day. Picturing her face, feeling her heart stop beating.

In an instant I saw it all…her tears, her fear, her panic, her desperate cries…her slip from reality

I felt her disbelief and anger, felt her life and soul fall away and become separate from her very existence.

I heard her sobbing, her screams, her wails of agony, heard her pleading, her begging, her prayers, her denial, her acceptance and then…….finally……….her numb.

Just NUMB

How could I ever go back to my first impressions of her?

Two minutes of knowing her story, changed two whole years of thinking (ridiculously perhaps) that I could even begin to know the inside, simply because I thought I knew the outside.

….feeling her pain, knowing her truth and finally seeing her in a way I had NEVER done before

I now see this amazing woman exactly as she is.

I see her struggle.

Not the struggle she’s already been through, or the struggle she’s overcome.

But the struggle she’s become…..

And now I understand

life, Poetry

Why aren’t we dancing?

Life is a journey, and we are all travellers

We enter the world with nothing but a small nap sack. Empty, save for our innocent souls…

Perfect and perfectly free.

New and alive, we listen to the sounds of our world.

Dancing, smiling, always free…

Our bodies grow and we become aware. Aware of our presence. Aware of our nakedness.

We find things we need to clothe our naked bodies and protect our vulnerable selves from the cold and dangerous new world we find ourselves in.

Tiny feet and hands need little shoes and gloves, the rocks under our feet kept at bay by rubber shields while precious fingers are protected from the cold.

Layers are worn, they keep us safe, warm and covered. Sometimes we are comfortable enough to choose soft gossamer threads, barely there layers, safe just as we are…

At times we have no choice, but to choose leather. Threatened, scared, cold and alone we put on heavy coats of protection.

Under the weight of our safety we dance less and less…

As limbs extend past infant sleeves so too must the layers change. Like a tree outgrowing its supple bark, it splits and curls, peeling to finally fall. Leaving a prefect new trunk, bigger and stronger but somehow still new…freed from the weight of all that dead bark, the tree begins to blossom.

The tree has no fear of letting go, but we do…

Clasping onto our too tiny layers, for fear of revealing what’s beneath, we tuck them into our nap sacks, add another layer, and continue on our journey.

Sometimes we hold on so tightly we simply put the new layers on top over of the ones already there, layers we no longer need.

Many times, many layers. Bulky and restricting.

Heavy knapsacks thrown over weighted shoulders, we trudge along our path. Never able to extend our branches. Feet barely shuffling, head bowed under the burden we carry.

Uncomfortable and pained. Shallow breath. Eyes closed.

Though the universe may send us sweet music on the winds, we are unable to dance…

* * *

But what if we could shed those layers? Empty out the burgeoning nap sack?

With the weight surrendered we would look up to the sky, take a deep breathe, and skip lightly down the road…

Free

We would stretch out strong limbs that desire to feel the sun
We would feel nothing but the wind on our skin
We would remember the lightness of our souls….

and dance!

crap I say, life, Poetry

My love

The One

My love….

The one I chose
The one I choose

The one I choose to keep in my heart

The one…

The one my heart longs for
The one I long to be with

My love…

The one I belong to
The one I belong with

Where belonging is enough

One love
My love….

The One

“My love” – what does it mean? When we talk about someone we are crazy about, who we’d die for, can’t live without and feel overwhelming feelings for…we tuck them safely into our hearts and call them our “love”.

But is it more than simply a label, a declaration of ownership that it appears to be?

Because love is a fuel for our souls, it is exchanged by everyone and is the currency for all feelings.

Some people take more than they give (we all know these people!)
others give way too much…and the more we have, the happier we are.

…by saying “my love” it implies that this other person is someone whom you can draw your much needed love from….love as a tactile thing you can hold, feel and be nourished by….

They are a source of love for you….your “love”!

We don’t refer to past lovers or enemies as “my hate“….

Of course not, hate is not something we give or take, it is simply the absence of love.

* * *

Feeling a bit philosophical…..and also feeling the love 🙂

Keep it real

Mandy xx

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