observations, on the run

[wildsweetone]

32

that which is to be gained, is beyond the reach of fingertips.

giving up is not an option.

 

[wildsweetone]

33

december's music

Streetlights toss shadows onto the bedroom walls,
black and white things that sway
and shudder against the grey,
a blind keyboard of black and white notes shimmers
on the wall, rain drip feeds
into the tank, onto the garden (i can hear the grass croon)
A stereo beats the pulse in the distance, i know
there is a concert of clouds still to play.

~~~

ownership

it is ownership that haunts
the present, teasing the past out
until there is nothing but to step forward
and own and relegate relevant importance
to times and needs different to today.
the confirmation brings with it judgment
an unswallowable bitterness, an affirmation
of eminent change difficult to comprehend
but deeply welcome nonetheless.

 

[wildsweetone]

34

010110
how many times will i write that wrong
before i learn it's not possible to stop errors
from seeping between the folded sheets
of tomorrow's papers.

 

[AChild]

it's tax season.
no its rabbit season.

 

[wildsweetone]

35

every day is summer [speaking of seasons], sunshine
dries the sand between cracked cobbles, cooks
the skinks' skin as they lay lazily on garden mulch.
much remains the same - shadows disappear
at midday, rats feed on blown flax seeds
and the grass gradually grows, although always slowly now,
until it too is taught to conform.

behind the bright, seeps a river of doubt
maybe it'll be okay now, maybe
there's no need to make drastic changes, maybe
i won't have to do anything
and it will all sort itself out in the wash.
yeah right. before the tuis are gone

before the nip in the air warns of autumn's approach
before the river becomes a torrent, uncontrolled
and unguided, that beckoning bootprint-logged path
overgrown with punga ferns and cabbage whites
will have to be walked.

blogged

 

[wildsweetone]

36

There's humidity in Auckland, the kind
that makes you fully aware
that the dampness on your skin
is not from making love all day.

You might be as tired as if you had,
but you sweat as if all your sins
have raced to escape your bones

at the same time. It
makes you look around, uneasy,
expecting to see the devil
just one pace beyond your shadow.

 

[wildsweetone]

37

AChild - your 'drawing on the balcony' reminded me of chalk drawings i saw yesterday on my walks in our 80 o C heatwave with humidity at about 99%...



there were chalked lines, pink
blue, yellow, curves and straight sticks
drawn on the concrete driveway
left for the sun to beat, the humidity
to lather. chalked lines
telling a story of laughter and play
hiding the debris of behind-doors day
where sinners secreted away
the bruises of post Christmas pay.

 

[Angeline]

AChild - your 'drawing on the balcony' reminded me of chalk drawings i saw yesterday on my walks in our 80 o C heatwave with humidity at about 99%...



there were chalked lines, pink
blue, yellow, curves and straight sticks
drawn on the concrete driveway
left for the sun to beat, the humidity
to lather. chalked lines
telling a story of laughter and play
hiding the debris of behind-doors day
where sinners secreted away
the bruises of post Christmas pay.

The colors ran a carnival
of Saturdays of pinks and sky,
the grassy smears, the butter sun
would sink in time the evening's
sherbet dripping past the trees
and we, the least of these,
would draw upon some fairy tale,
a princess, a tin soldier or a duckling
all so innocent and beautiful
until the rain gave lie.

 

[wildsweetone]

38

i wrote in the cold black sand
that i loved you, that i was sorry
i had relegated your loss to the back
of my mind whilst more important deeds
were dealt to. what excuse
could i give for 22 years of repression?
i wondered what you might have been
how you might have looked at five,
fifteen, twenty one, but kept the pain
embedded deep into my bones
until their ache oozed out between my pores
and spilled down my body unseen
in the crashing sea waves.

 

[wildsweetone]

39

quitting isn't an option (see i am still reading you)

this is just the half way up the hill point that part
where we feel as if we've been on a roller coaster
and know full well that there's still a ride to be had
just beyond the top something we can't quite see
but feel in our bones and know without any doubt
will come slamming us back into the here and now
sliding us through to the finish line we know we'll
make it because the only way to go from the top
is down but it won't be so far this time because
we've been there before and it's that downhill ride
that keeps us coming back for more, and more.

 

[wildsweetone]

40

100 percent humidity

there's a misty rain falling, grey-walling
the garden with its hot, sad soaking. beyond
lays nothing (though i'm sure i know differently) more
than road and traffic and more tomorrows
of the same in this transitional tunnel
that blinds the ability to know sunrises
after falling stars. the beauty is
no one can follow the track of tears.

 

[wildsweetone]

41

narcissistic spouse

i find it hard to believe he uses,
that he doesn't have the ability to love.
does he feel the love he receives
or is that simply another ice cube
wrapping his sterile heart?

what a cold fish. created different
and killed in youth, soul left stagnant
to unfeel the gifts of a life meant
to bear fruit, meant to dream, to one day love.
he's the best, he's perfect. a mannequin.

hollow. and he does not know.

 

[wildsweetone]

42

[narcissistic] lover

i wish i could say i was a desert too but the tears are flowing from somewhere within so inside there is a river maybe it was a river of dreams if it is they are all going now either drowned or poured out like bad wine from a green bottle will there be anything left inside when It stops reigning will i end up like him will the world ever stop looking like an oil slick

 

[wildsweetone]

43

a moment during the cathartic crying

there's a pause in the lesson, a moment
where all is quiet, all except the crashing waves
their blue cleanliness tempts my eyes, almost begs
me to walk toward their towering power.
i could walk into them. walk right in and drown.
can i be codependent with nature? let's pause,
and pray to an unseen being, perhaps
the whole universe. now that's a pull i can take.

 

[wildsweetone]

44

narcissist fodder

fashion magazines feed
his perfectionist temperament.
i watch his eyes as he scans
each face, each hip, each leg

finally to settle upon the shoe.
if the shoe is not perfect
he cringes and won't look

there again. he goes back
to the face, lingers
and barely restrains himself
from touching.
he knows the images

are fake, but
still he reels them in
as if they exist, as if

they can feed him
like an unlimited fish supply.

reality is too harsh.
reality is me
and what i see.

 

[wildsweetone]

45

On the road three fat bunnies sit watching the swoops and loops of a brown hawk. He seems angry and though his flight is smooth and silent, his head jerks left and right. A kingfisher calls and plays with the sheep, teasing and landing on fluffy warm backs before madly winging its way to the power line above. A monarch flits and flutters, dips and stutters until it settles, births and flies away.
On the bank punga leaves inhale the humid heavy air, roots dipped in the cool mountain stream. The single white sky-cloud moves east as if it will greet dawn first.

 

[wildsweetone]

46

he fights back by flying, taking
off to be the son perfected.
ignorance must be bliss
for some.

 

[AChild]

"the ugly may be beautiful but the pretty, never." - Tom Robbins

we went camping once
as part of a field trip
but she doesn't know my name

skinny girl
model thin, wearing paper dresses from
fashion magazines
there is no mud in her cloth
but I've seen her climb mountains

she didn't seem concerned
outside the city

didn't care if her nails chipped
or if the pollen got in her hair
didn't care if she fell off a cliff face
losing her teeth and perfect
Micheal Jackson nose

when I see her I say hi
embarrassing us both
she thinks I'm chasing
so I sneer dismissing her symmetry

she is not beautiful
no eye could match the mirror
just pretty, a percent of the difference
is knowing my name

 

[wildsweetone]

47

the aftermath is cool, a little high
in and of itself, single minded


~

 

[wildsweetone]

48

even the pink rose on the vanity
is a little flawed

 

[wildsweetone]

49

Interlude
- a break between moments during which, to the author's mind's eye, the world around her becomes momentarily more important again.

Leaf litter forms a ground blanket,
wraps bush roots, keeps them moist
in an otherwise parched landscape
where sea is not the only blue being
around. Symbiotes create a green canopy beyond
reach, pieces of the sun glint and squeeze
between leafs, trickle down to dapple
leaf and earth. A tui sings
in courage. I am safely learning
I can look without touching her notes
but I do palm those left behind in the bush bark,
I read them and reflect their prophesies;
read them and prepare to tread their trail.

 

[wildsweetone]

50

he sends birds to confirm existence
i notice them, flying, nesting, searching
for food, watch them scratching
and hear their chatter.
it's not quite like being surrounded
with peace and butterflies,
but it works the same way - scatters
doubt to the four winds and
encourages each new step.

 

[wildsweetone]

51

it sounds odd, the anniversary of a death
as if that should be celebrated - how bizarre
when all that's inside is sadness
no room for banners and streamers
and brass bands that play on in blissful ignorance.
just a sparse space inside where the tiniest coffin rests.
pure white and perfect.
RIP little one, you were and are loved.

 

[butters]

a small note to say your visions are painted on my eyes as i read them. extraordinary work here in places.

 

[wildsweetone]

thank you. i'm going through a change in my life and am finding it handy and helpful to be able to write through it when i can find the words. the world looks different *smile*