Competition

Hey friends, 

Just letting you know I've entered the Australian Writer's Centre Best Australian Blogs 2013. 

There'll be a People's Choice Award which I'd love you all to vote in, and I'll let you know when that kicks off.

Thanks for reading!

xx

abnormal

So it turns out it's not normal,
this feeling that my eyes are always three hours more tired
than the rest of my body.

The optician asks,
"have you noticed anything abnormal recently?"
I say, "what's normal?"

She smiles quizzically,
thrusts the machine in front of my eyes,
makes a few adjustments and says,
"not your sight".

So, now I need to wear glasses.


So it turns out it's not normal,
this feeling that my body is just a body,
with good bits and bad bits,
bits that I quite like,
bits I think other people like.

The photographer grimaces in concentration,
stands back with his head cocked to the side,
then tucks me in behind dresses, bridesmaids and the flower girl,
my concealment now bringing the photo back to balance.

So, now I feel like the photogenic failure, and just want to hide.


So it turns out it's not normal,
this feeling that every day is a melancholy farce,
another opportunity to feel disconnected, depressed and alone.

The friends smile in happiness to see me,
warm hugs, loving eyes,
offers of support and an understanding attitude.

So, now I have to remember that I cannot measure normal.

the leaf

Worn thin
by long neglect between the pages of this book,
once plumply green
now anorexic grey.

Leaf between leaves,
but not of like kind,
separated by alien processes,
manufacture,
sale,
mass produced mimics of this fairies paper:
a leaf whose veins can no longer suck
green blood from sap-filled trunk,
cut off,
displaced,
withdrawn and yet

beauteous still,
fine, frail skeleton reflecting fierce,
fearful life of the original.

There's wonder in a corpse,
and reason finds
fair cause for treasured burial.

surprise me

The Comedian stood,
bold, sardonic, creative, generous, thoughtful and wise.

a howl from the rooftops,

a quiet question, echoing into the night.

"Who is the lucky one?"
The quick or the dead?

The ones who've exited this plastic fantastic,
super-charged and
super-disappointing earthly existence?

Or the ones left behind.

Like us.

Scattering our wonderings to the wind.

Answer back some time won't you?

Trump logic.
Please?!!

Give an irrational but truthful reason to continue!
Bless us with an unjustifiable, unreasonable basis for drawing in breath.

Beat my brain down from it's arrogant, desperate, frightened, weary, wounded sanity,
and let me live,
not in ignorant bliss,
but astounded enlightenment. 

anorgasmia

My life with church has always been

a fruitless, frustrating, wearying carousel

of weekly sex with no orgasm.

It's so exhausting and unfulfilling.

I don't wanna go!!!

The technicians stand around the bed making suggestions,

the number of participants,

the verbal content,

the soundtrack,

tweaking these things will increase arousal,

and on our system,

guaranteed,

you'll be screaming with joy

on a rostered basis.

Well it never happens,

and the appointments,

and the discussions,

and the arguments

just make it worse and worse and worse.

Heightening the expectation that is already disappointed,

calling for a something that is never going to

come.

Why torture me so?

It blinds me to the other values of this bride of Christ,

the other reasons to pursue her.

If satisfying sex is on offer,

but never delivered,

just like any horny teenager,

I'll dump her and move on,

seeking nourishment for my deep

social

psychological

physical

emotional

spiritual need

somewhere else.

But we're engaged,

not married yet.

The consummation awaits,

the glorious union with you.

The truly orgasmic, exciting climax

when all creation will find it's fulfillment.

So stop dangling this dangerous fruit.

Like all long engagements,

this situation has its pitfalls,

not least the seeming stretching

of every second into an hour,

every hour into a year,

enduring the not-so-great while waiting for the best thing ever.

So when we launch into the same routine again,

next time,

turn the lights down low,

turn the music up,

but never get to the point where the heaving and sighing gets anywhere,

help me to remember that it's a lie to expect anything more.

There are other reasons to love her anyway,

and to continue to hold at arms length

those doctors who promise easy solutions,

but no real answers.