The stream (all workshops)
You inspired from the start,
cradled me in the wealth of your knowledge.
Nursed this fledgling through it's poetic birth
A beautiful spirit that burns and sparks,
a vessel for all that is dark and exquisite,
and righteous.
Now you have been laid
and it is I who must support you.
Give you hope, enouragenent
I will ease your burden.
Erase your suffering,
allow you to be strong..
When the clouds
Block out the sun
And your heart is
Another’s red carpet
Look into your soul
And find that smile
That makes Satan
Regret meeting you
Yea’ life will throw you
To the wolves
That is when you
Look into your heart
And find the courage
Of lions
When those around you
Trample your dreams
Don’t you shed a tear
rationalizing
reminiscences of her
needing pretty pictures
to revive my burnt out life
Armorall'd surfaces
seasoned, but shiney
glow-in- the-dark fantasies
oozing whispers of love
so necessary
so needful
woe be me, for real,
if the surfaces were to be glimpsed
in their natural rough and dull state
and the darkness was unmarred
by smokey spotlighted images
and the oozing was a raging flood of regret
and disillusionment
What Mankind Has Done
But for the cold
Calculating stare
Of electric blue orbs
Lightening flashing
From within
You’d think it human
Others blind their eyes
And deafen ears
When in her presence
Faint whirrs and clicking
Are the only clue
That she
No longer lives
Once filled
With life’s passion
Flowing through every vein
The sole giving of all
To flora, fauna and mankind
en medias res
in the middle of
things
is where we are
our mood
is lethargic
our awareness
blunt
if we don’t get
off our asses
we’ll be point
of the hunt
wasted days
wasted nights
running for stuff
how much can
we carry
some have so much
it’s pretty damn
scary
my wants are small
my needs are few
enforced insanity
never followed
that cue
en medias res
in the middle of things
Should your eyes behold another
my heart would break
Into infinitesimal fractions.
Shards of emotion would scar
my inner turmoil, pulling
me apart
Lacerated physicality, contorting.
Descent into the abyss,
the very root of my mentality.
A maelstrom of insanity.
Your love has devoured me,
left me flailing , out of control.
I grew up a poor country girl living on the out skirts of town. We would move every year like the military form place to place and house to house within in the same little town of Turbeville.
There weren’t many neighbors, so me and my siblings, two boys and five girls, spent most of our time roaming the woods for fruits and berries. We played all the outdoors games we knew and created some of our own. Those were the days of innocence and youthfulness.
wind through wattle's perfume to me whispers
pure essence enticing taste-buds to spread
visions of old gods and ambrosias
emulating honeyed-nests of lovers
as eighty angels dance in each flower-head
wind through wattle's perfume to me whispers
independent yellow-haired Septembers
down in the land of the Waratah bred
visions of old gods and ambrosias
with the Wattle Australia remembers
endurance, by its floral emblem led
wind through wattle's perfume to me whispers
At my journey's end,
When dark and warping cold
At last could wend
Their strangling hold
Around the vacuum space
Where my poor heart
Would always race
To speeding start
Of empty faith's embrace,
I found instead
A new and different place
That inexorably led
Into belief bereft of wrath
And without sin,
Leading to another path
I could begin to tread again.
"I'M LIKE THAT LITTLE STONE"
Margaret Ann Waddicor October 2010.
I'm like that-little stone in your garden,
that keeps being seen,
but you don't always see it,
sometimes you do,
as you stub your toe against it,
and wonder at the little stone,
that gets in your way,
sometimes if you look carefully she is me,
that also gets in your way now and then,
in ways you do not approve of,
too close by far,
but
she is only there to love you.
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