the way home

everyone knows the way home
like an old familiar t-shirt you
slip into it unconsciously and
barely notice the halfway diner
the gnarly tree next to the street
one before your last turn left
or the shuttered duplex built
too many years ago and housing
too many renters who couldn't
be bothered to fix the doorframe
until one day the diner is now
a four-storey condo unit with
pricey cladding and a keypad
the duplex gets a facelift and
one side is a salon while the
gnarly tree burned down while
some say lightning others blame
neighbourhood kids high on
something but all you know
is you cannot find the way
home
suddenly it doesn't fit and
even when you arrive by
forcing yourself to think
of street names and perhaps
even using your phone the
place has changed so much
you don't even recognise it
the paint is new and the dog
as well but she's friendly so
you think maybe it's still the
right place with a new light
where you can still slip in
just like you always used to
yet you find yourself knocking
instead of just walking in like
you belong and the door opens
but it's a stranger's face that
stares curiously at you as you
stammer in confusion and he
asks you kindly if you are
lost

anniversary

whirling voices bodies shoving falling
i didn't think it would be this quiet
my own breathing sounds loud inside
sharp cracks fading cries confusion
i feel the smoke tug at my eyes
my cheeks are wet with anguish
rumbling hate silenced oppression
i can feel the world growing small
my hands reach for missing arms
loud denials missing memories
i taste the bitter pill of yesterday
my beloved's kiss is forgotten
anthems echo relentless freedom
i smell the sweat of people singing
the aroma of hope fills my nostrils
marching marching marching
i sense the end has not yet come
my story goes on beyond today

cloudburst

when the air is still again
i breathe
cupping hands around
dripping blossoms
storm-kissed
nurtured by sunny days
colours of the rainbow
fallen
banished by the fury
dark cloud's wrath
alone
doomed to fade quickly
severed from the stem
gathered
placed in purgatory
the water once deadly
delays
preserving life a while
floating on display
bouquet
i marvel at the swan song
beauty given without hope
lingers
in spite of dismal skies
the message echoes soft
ponder
when the air is still again

failing

when i'm right and you're wrong
and i help you to see not through
any ill-will but because it must be
then you rip out some words full
of anger and malice accuse me of
making you seem like you're useless
leaving me reeling with the weight of
intentions not carried alone in a mire
of feelings and fast being buried
your volatile vomit with direct aim
like a short-lived bug relieves your
emotions and leaves me to blame
so you happily carry on after i'm
left in pieces believing you're right
and my grovelling suffices
some of us care more for the one
back and forth wanting the other
to know what they are worth
perhaps you truly do not know
that your fiery words incite the fear
in me that i'll never be right
every moment with you is a half-
lived life as i fear what you'd say
with that tongue like a knife

unexpected summer

nigh on a month ago the winter clung
ferociously to spring's heels sending
snow and frost from coast to coast
as if the flowers were doomed yet
now the sky throws up a mayday
as the sun suffocates the sand in
his embrace and the same voices
that feared for frozen rosebuds
cry alarm at drying tulip trees
revealing the giddy fickle human
cause that loves one day what it
fears the next and clings to what
it cannot have while bemoaning
what its arms find abundantly
filled while the world goes on as
merrily as it did a thousand years
hence and hearts fall broken with
no hope in sight though the small
answers lies within our grasp to
choose love instead of comfort
hope instead of base reality and
to envelope those reaching in sad
silence with the truth that this too
shall pass and all will be well

jaybird

it's amazing how like a little bird she was. her hands waved nervously as she attempted to give an earnest plea or perhaps excuse for something that never quite made itself clear. admitting fault became a cage she avoided yet inhabited nonetheless. two steps forward and one back she fearfully desired the seeds held out to her, and defiantly begged for them. her apologetic tone occasionally pecked when she felt threatened beyond endurance--which was further than most. she impressed her audience with a sense of fragility combined with stubborn indecision. the adroit listener hovered between a desire to protect her and exasperation. in strikingly ironic fashion, her husband lumbered beside her as a perfect ox.

each moment

time is like a snowflake
on your cheek. you have
but a moment to examine
its unique points before it
melts. the moment you
touch the lines on your face,
realise how quickly the years
have turned, another day is
fleeing and you cannot rewind.
when did the lines as you
furrow your brow become
visible when your face is at
rest? you cannot pinpoint that
moment and if your gasping
head broke out of the icy lake
in self-aware shock when your
last hair turned silver it would
still be racing into the never-to-
be-known past as you drown in
the sea of tomorrow. the shops,
the bars, the television programs
beckon with smug arms. you cannot
hold onto today so forget that reality
and immerse yourself in stores forever
fresh, drinks forever young, and shows
forever new. perhaps by the time you
awake with all the unavoidable aches
and pains you will be too drugged to
care. or perhaps you will fight, grasp
the beautiful angst of frozen water, no
two drops alike, and live breathless in
each moment. 

the last snowfall

the world whispers
the trees hold their breath
as flake after flake
drifts
slowly
down
blanket of peace
enveloping earth
as frozen waters
pile
lazy
banks
grey skies muffle
no sunlight kisses
as unexpected chill
keeps
warmth
away
early daphne blooms
wearing snow dust
as opposites meet
life
above
death
winter's strong surge
cannot cover green
as melting mounds
reveal
stubborn
blades
a moment at rest
frozen denouement
as all around
springs
silently
forward

when the wind blows

she pulled her knees close
not in fear
in delight
the rushing sound
freight trains through trees
storm clouds dancing
sent her heart soaring
let others live becalmed
the pilgrim's path
though sure is not safe
though lone is not lonely
when billows roll
she faced the wind
head on
and rose
only those who fly
know the thrill
so rage on
crash and blaze
she was made for this
cages and disuse destroy
battles polish her glory
when the clouds
finally clear
all will be well

ramblings on hope, trust, a new year, etc.

they (the indefatigable they) say that no destination is achieved on the sole basis of one decision. rather, little turns and twists, choosing 'a' rather than 's', a bob when others weaved, leads one to the current state of affairs. try as you might to pinpoint how you arrived at this point in history, in this job, with this grim future looming, you will fail since there is no apex. or is there?
hope for a definite outcome is, subconsciously or not, what gets most people moving. in each of those pivotal moments if you could step outside yourself and define why you chose to step in that direction and not the other it would likely ring with the hope that the road you are tiptoeing down leads to peace, prosperity, and a general state of bliss. no one (or not many at least) chooses to end up homeless, friendless, purposeless. they are trusting that somehow this decision will lead them towards that elusive spectre of happiness.
so then when, as oscar notes, some of us gaze out of the gutter at the starry night and realise the slime in which we move, how do we embrace the new year finding that all the honestly intended bliss-bringing choices have ended us here, where we cannot see the way forward and we cannot look back to where we are no longer?
brenne says the wilderness is the only place of true belonging and yet when you are starving in the wilderness with paralysing analysis whispering that if this is as good as it gets can i please tap out how do you, lonely, find your way back to real trust and hope?
it's not, as she proposes, a dig down deep in oneself, a humanistic gospel of inner strength. if we are honest with ourselves we see that by ourselves we cannot make the sum of our choices achieve our desires. the world is horribly screwed up and only by realising that can we make the wilderness make sense.
i don't have all the answers on this new year. 2019. 18 years past the odyssey. a world that even science fiction could not have dreamt and one chock full of paradoxical dilemmas yet a world in which there still emerge people that hope against hope because they are made in the image of One who is the Answer. that destination, made out of small choices that transcend this life of hills and valleys, will watercolour the past and bring beauty out of the pain.