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

time

Dear Lord,

thank you for time!

Thank you that with each day in the warmth of your love I can mean the words "dear" and "Lord" more and more fully,
truthfully,
sincerely.

Dear Lord,
the one who has shepherded me so faithfully,
carefully,
thoughtfully.

You've dragged me through so many disasters!
You've preserved my life,
against fell fortunes,
sad hours,
and countless accidents that never happened.

You've been a friend in dark days,
quiet moments,
and cacophonous melees,
speaking words of wisdom,
words of life.

I giggle at the virginal wonder
of a bride on her wedding day,
believing so entirely that she couldn't possibly love her groom more.

I giggle at the laughter of years,
the throaty 'ha ha' of Sarah,
shored up by the evidence of decades,
believing such a thing could never happen.

Time in love is your great joke on me,
on all of us.
You knew all along I would look back
in wonder
at that other me
and smirk,
now knowing the next part of the story,
the ironic twist in the tale,
coming for her,
ready to invert expectations,
startle her predictions,
delight her with new depths of knowledge,
and a hefty chuckle at her previous ingenue self.

To my shame and to my delight,
I did not expect this development in the plot;
that a 27th anniversary would be more deeply felt
than a first night in the honeymoon suite.

I will still be surprised,
like Sarah,
at 90,
because even now I've only scratched the surface
of all that you have for me,
for us,
for the cosmos.

I'll wait breathlessly to read the next page of your manuscript,
savouring with pleasure the lines of such mastery,
revelling in the delight of finding a playwright
whose every step surprises,
whose skill surpasses,
whose knowledge of human nature saturates every page,
and whose favourite plot is comedy.

Dear Lord,
my Lord,
thank you for time.

birthday birthday

In 8 days, I turn 27. I have no fixed address, no "career", no children, lots of debt and a somewhat heavy sense that I should have it more 'together' by now.

But my life would not have even been possible in other centuries, other cultures, so despite the mild discomforts, I rejoice in the sacrifices of others that have led me here. For all it's strange disconnectedness, skating aimlessness and burden of potentiality, it is a blessed, blessed life, graciously kissed by love. It's a gift, fashioned for me and given to me by the hands of others.

I am sheltered, fed, warmed and embraced by immortal beings who've opened their lives to me, so I also have a comforting sense that the Lord goes before me, walks beside me, and pushes from behind me. He will never forsake or abandon me. He knows my future, my present and my past, and is weaving it all together in the tapestry of His glory.

But this morning, all my brain would say is, "yeah, you're homeless, careerless, family less; just as it should be. 

You're just a fat fuck who looks like Chastity Bono, wastes time like a stoner and deserves nothing better."

Thank you for the love Jesus. Thank you for caring when you totally don't have to.

Thank you for the love Father. Thank you for guiding and watching over me, even when I sleep.

Thank you for the love Holy Spirit. Thank you for shaping and transforming me, from stunted garden weed toward fruitful, handsome wheat.

"Jesus did many other things as well. If every one of them was written down, I suppose that even the whole world would not have room for the books that would be written."

feet used to running

Which me shall I show You today?

Do You know the me in my room?
The one not smiling,
dampening pillows with tears,
lolling in sloth.

Do You know the me in the classroom?
Cracking jokes,
getting on with work,
sending 'proper adult' emails about timetables and rosters.

You know both me-s.

And unlike some,
You know both are me,
and when which ones,
are truer still,
and how,
and why.
I stand before You fully integrated,
better known by You than by myself.

It is a relief not to struggle,
to rest in Your total embrace,

and yet, I run,
and hide from Mercy's face,

because my feet are used to it. 

more divine maths

sun + park + blue sky = kiss from God


When I most needed it.


Thank you. xo

hounded

My head is pushed down toward the pillow
under the rough, wiry flank of my familiar tormentor.

My nose crinkles,
disgusted by the sudden animal smell.

I struggle in discomfort,
but trying to shift a fat old dog is hard, and I'm quite tired.

This metaphor is chosen because,
like all animals,
dogs are wild and free.

But some stay, and become as familiar as dirt,
until you know their every movement,
all their little growls and yaps,
when they're hungry,
when they're playful,
and when they've just decided they want company,
and your head is a good place to sit.

My dog decided a while ago that I'm his.
He follows me everywhere, and because of his age often needs to sit and rest.
Everything stops for a while,
so he can sleep,
grab a drink,
but hopefully not gain strength.

Thanks for taking him out for a walk at least every once in a while.

Thanks for helping me train him,
tame him some,
so that at the very least,
he's not rude in company.

And thank you for the dog.
Just like ducks, the flowers of the field, and St John,
he's taught me a lot.

sugar and spice

Thank God for spice
and all things nice!

If you hadn't given us roots, shoots and leaves
to munch and ruminate on,
to smell and meditate on,
our monochrome world would groan in frustration,
at the scarcity of gracious, lavish taste.

I can't imagine life without curry,
or fruit cake,
or custard tart, vanilla icecream, rosemary lamb, preserved lemon tagine, salsa verde, lemon thyme chicken, sweet chai, cayenne pepper or Moroccan sweet potato soup!

I would pine and die
if all I had to eat
was tasteless gruel,
or strawberry fool,
without the strawberries,
biscuits,
or vanilla cream.

We'd be the fools
if we weren't thankful
for every delicious bite you bless us with.

The story of spice, a classic tale
of the folly of human sin.

Delicious, vital, precious treasures,
belonging to no one,
shared by all,
until capitalism,
companies,
industry,
slaves,
turned garden plants into commodities,
wasted lives, lands, luxuries,
turning nutmeg bitter with blood,
spoiling cinnamon with slaughter...

I cry out for the redemption of sugar and spice!
I look forward to the lush gardens of paradise,
where cardamom and basil grows side by side,
in verdant pleasure
for the glory of your majesty.

Amen!

the baby

I understood it all the moment I saw her,
looking like the Evil Emperor from Star Wars,
warily blinking at the world.

The sudden punch to the belly,
a power hit of joy, awe
and fierce fighting fire.

My first thought, "she's beautiful"
very closely followed by my second,
"if anyone hurts her, I'll kill them!"

Woah!

She's not even my child,
she's just my niece,
but she was small, squishy and defenceless.

And something more...

She was a child, a baby.
Not just a symbol,
but the very essence of all that is important
and precious
and vulnerable in this world.

How could you let Him come like that?

The joy of seeing Him born, crushingly overshadowed
by the shit and blood and stench of His death.

I feel sick
and then
wonder-full.

babel's verbal bricolage

Have yourself a melancholy Christmas,
let your heart be stone.
From now on your troubles will be
on your mind!
Yes have yourself a melancholy Christmas now.


Hark! The drunken uncle sings,
blast Nauru and kill the chinks.
Heat on earth, and Cooper's mild,
Aunt Dot won't be reconciled.

Joyful all ye 'lations rise,
join the triumph, eat the pies.
With th' angelic host proclaim,
Dudley's dead, it is a shame.

Hark! The drunken uncle sings,
glory to roast turkey wings.


O little town of Bethlehem,
how still we see thee lie.
Above thy automated sleep,
fake snow falls fill the sky.

Mechanical street choirs
all make a tinny sound,
the English look is rather grand,
but odd considering Palestine...


Oh Christmas tree, oh Christmas tree,
thou totem to depression.
Oh Christmas tree, oh Christmas tree,
hear now my sad confession.
I always want to gather round,
with family to hear the sound
of something more than Christmas trees,
cheap presents and fake niceties.


Dear Jesus, please please please help me to hear you above the din!

Help me when I'm sad about other things that you gave us all the most incredible gift.

And help me when I'm happy about that awesome vegetable curler I hope I'm getting, or my new icecream maker, or what I believe will be a very good book, help me then not to forget you either. Help me remember that vegetable curlers will pass away, but your words will never pass away. Help me to remember that as the sun rises and the sun set, your unfailing love surrounds me.

Help me to remember after I stop feeling sad about my first Spinster-Alone-With-Parents Christmas, you've got some really exciting, challenging blessings in store for me.

Help me to remember after I stop feeling tired from smiling as constantly as possible, being polite and patient all day, and not killing anybody that you will have a reward for me later.

Thankyou is such a wooden word to me at the moment, so I want to thankyou, but I don't want to say that...

I want to say that you give me a reason to get out of bed every day.

Whatever mood I'm in, whatever thoughts cross my mind, you walk along with me, talk it through, and pour your heavenly wisdom into my very empty bowl...

In those moments after I've stopped crying, or have just seen someone treated with injustice, or am suddenly struck by the universe sucking futility of plastic plants in the Macca's drive through, you are there.

In those moments when I'm laughing loudly at something very stupid, or am smiling smugly over a cake, or am suddenly struck by the astounding beauty of the clouds next to the highway, you are there.

Thankyou doesn't cover it...

Gracias?

Amen :-)

toothache

I shouldn't be surprised that toothache reveals the barely-hidden evil in me.

How many of us, your 'greatest' creation, fall at the slightest twinge in the gums?

But we do. 

We fall and fall and fall, 

for soft flesh, 

greener grass, 

nicer houses,

and the removal of any discomfort.

My impotent rage at my pain rises and crashes against the facade of my civility.

I begin to wonder about Hitler's dental care. Did Mussolini have stomach ulcers? Did Pol Pot have a problem with his knee?

My energy is spread too thinly between the pain and the polite. I can't be a Christian and have toothache!

How would I cope with martyrdom?!

Fortunately I haven't reached the nuclear-brinkmanship/trade-off part of this prayer yet, where I start promising good behaviour in exchange for pain relief. I hope I'm never mad enough or scared enough to do that. I'm relieved when I do occasionally grasp the truth that you are not the Trunchbull or a disgruntled Grandmother who bribes children with sweets (especially unhelpful in my state!). I'm glad that you're not just some giant mathematician in the sky, weighing good against bad and compensating accordingly. You're much more lavish than that, and I thank you for it!

Having said that, I've also not reached the nuclear brink of visiting the dentist! Unfortunately, dental is not on Medicare...

Instead, I shall summon every remaining shred of self-control to say, 'thy kingdom come, thy will be done' and hope as strongly as possible that your kingdom includes free national healthcare and your will is for everyone's wisdom teeth to grow peacefully!

Amen!

(Alright, I'm willing to grant your divine will might include a few other things, but seriously, I'm putting in a vote for pain free teething in the new creation!!)

stars

As we drove from Orange to Molong, the sun finally set.

Dusk didn't fall, but rather folded itself around the gentle slopes and sinuous valleys of the central tablelands.

Every scent heightened as the wind dropped, in solemn acknowledgement of the on-coming night.

The sweet, warm smell of cattle began to seep through into the car, mingled with the more herbaceous aroma of roadside daisies, crops and weeds. Somewhere near the top of this rich, comforting, home-like bouquet was the woolly smell of lanolin as a scattering of sheep lay them down to rest.

The lights of the city had long faded, and at last, familiar stars began to replace them. At my right side as I drove, a nameless constellation pricked out its place in the blanket of the night, and I recalled its presence at the bedroom windows of my past, a fixed point of reflection as I fell asleep. That rocket-like shape had peered at me from afar for so many years, but recently, I had lost sight of it, as it was replaced for a decade by kilometres and kilometres of suburbs, sparkling into distance, meeting the shining centrepoints of the city.

To think I had worried I would not find new places to go and sit and be!

How strange that I had looked ahead with regret to the loss of my quiet bay in the harbour, not for its rough beauty alone, but because I feared it could never be replaced with any other equal prospects to calm the soul and soothe the mind.

So many anxieties have crowded in these past few weeks, at the very least stalking me on the dream-trails if not in waking life. To be torn apart by my own hand from my quiet bay was bad enough, but to also be separated from friends old and new, the comfort of their presence assuring me of their love, this rift has opened up an ocean of inner agony.

But you will comfort and walk with me. You are always with me. Your rod and your staff. You will graciously provide everything, as you already have. You know my needs, you love me, and you desire good things for me.

You put those stars there loooooooooong ago, and they will guide me in the darkest night.

I just needed to see them again, and be reminded.

at the bus stop

Just thought you might like my public transport composition.

After all, you did mention that you like new songs (Psalm 96:1), and I guess this could be sung. You also didn't say what they have to be about, soooooo, yeah... I think its three stanzas of ionic major quaternary dimeter of masculine rhyming couplets... I think!

Also, thanks heaps for beautiful afternoon for wandering through the parks, and also for all the help this morning/week/month with my work. Especially thankyou for all those other people who prayed, what a blessing. Love you!

Bearded men in bright pink glasses.
Slutty girls with pumpkin arses
poking out of short, white skirts.
Slender boys in slender shirts.

Glamour girls in floral dresses,
strappy sandals, 'careless' tresses.
City boys sport gelled up hair,
homeless men sport ragged stares.

All these people at my stop,
heading out to drink and shop,
cast a sidelong glance at me?!
Checking out my pedigree??!!

How shocking!