poetry

sky shh

rain is the hush

the shhh that lays a gentle hand
over the sounds rising up
in rebellion

and breathes a bubble around
everyone – with minds tugged
down a stream of elsewhere

rain is the song of the sky

but we are not called on to
harmonise except with our cold breaths

hush

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a thought

pain is part of the picture

i seem to have caught a cold. yet i am glad.

i am glad because: it’s a part of life and therefore it means i am alive, for one. (and not because it gives me an excuse to sit in bed and read books all day. no.) but mostly it’s that, without sickness, can we really appreciate being in good health? experiencing bouts of feeling not so good and the relief from being restored is a comparison that, if it didn’t happen, would there be less shine in being healthy? we already take life too much for granted. we’re not safe.

the bad things are what help us be grateful for the mundane. don’t you wish for your boring life back when in the middle of a troubling situation? everything has its purpose. so why not be thankful for it all – not just the good things?

(and like diamonds in the dirt, the mundane is what, by comparison, lets the extraordinary shine all the brighter. don’t the poor value wealth more than the rich do? wealth in wealth is a drop in a great lake; wealth in poverty is a cup of water in a desert.)

i know from experience that pain in life isn’t a dead end, or pointless, or even a bad thing. intrinsically, it’s bad; but it has a purpose. it’s just like physical injuries: you hurt, then your body repairs itself. it might feel like being nearer to death, but life comes in parts, one has to end before the next begins – sometimes they die quietly and peacefully, other times not so much.

i’m not saying being sick is enjoyable or a cause for joy, exactly. it’s just that life is more than the present moment, even if the present is all we have.

poetry

holding only wonder

i wonder,
is there only a handful of ways
to describe the starry sky?
or is it a lack of observation:
an inadequacy of vision?
or are they simply
too far away —
too small, too many
to be brought closer to
our most lacking minds;
like looking down at a planet
sprawled with strangers?

what would it be
to hold a hand-full of stars,
to stroke the silver that
streams from where they perch
looking down at us:
so far away —
so small, so many?
how would it be
to sit among them in the
painting of night
breathing it as water through gills;
and wonder
how it could ever be described

a thought

september sounds like flowers growing quietly and popcorn

was it always this peaceful in the mornings? after everyone else has left for work and school, and i am left to exist in my quasi-reality state. which, right now, happens to find me sitting on the back of the couch with my legs out the window in the spring sun, the spring breeze. i can hear the sugar cane fields across the paddocks singing shhhhhhhh in the wind like a sunny green sea. its twenty-one days into September and spring but winter still hangs around the edges of the days and paints in some of the nights. all the new greenness is dotted over the stick trees and little flowers have been drawn out by the sun. even if it hasn’t actually rained in weeks.

its probably that, in the mornings, my mind is too busy telling me i should be doing something, anything, being ‘productive’: any number of things which aren’t exactly life-and-death important and only really stress me out more. so i end up doing less. so today i told myself to shut up and instead let myself sit and enjoy the breeze because i am at liberty to do so. and it happyifies me so that maybe i’ll get something done, which i prove in writing whatever this is.

because i guess my goal at this point is to wipe away the anxiety that’s trying to build up again, though i’m really not exactly sure where it’s coming from. not that it matters; i’ve already learned (nevermind after about a dozen times) that analysing problems does not always make them better. the solution is more important. and that solution involves fighting the negativity clogging up my brain – fighting it calmly with birdsong breeze and flowers and matcha ginseng tea. half-legit window seats and breathing in the air that makes things grow. and maybe forcefully preventing myself from telling me how stupid i am.

 

oh, lovely: apparently this peaceful day is the one the sugar cane fields were deemed to burn. (don’t be alarmed; this is normal. apparently.) now it sounds like a large saucepan of popcorn popping in the distance. that’s nice. burn the sea. though unfortunately its not very inferno-like this time.

poetry has kinda abandoned me lately. it does that. although maybe i’m just not trying – but does it need me to try? mostly i just let my ideas float into my head because it doesn’t work much if i force it, but really i don’t know. but i have been able to work on my stories: piecemeal-like but still. i need to try harder at everything, is what i think.

vaguely concerned i’m about to drop my laptop out the window any minute now. maybe get sunburned also.

so before i end this out of fear for my laptop’s health and that of myself, (if you’re questioning why my words have this formallyness to them, it’s just what happens when i read biographies and 19th century classics.) i shall mention that i turned seventeen recently, which again led me to ask the question: what is my life. and still i do not possess an answer acceptably pertaining to reality. though i think it’s fair to say i have a better general idea than i did a year ago; even more so than the year before that, which does not deserve discussion. but anyway, i will continue to live and continue to learn. because what is living without learning?

also now i wish to redirect you, if i may, to the website of International Talk Like A Pirate Day. which was the 19th of September and i am a failure of punctuality, obviously. [i… also forgot to wear my pirate costume.] but, early notice, you know? early notice is good.

 

 

 

 

 

poetry

rain of sand

there’s nothing to see

change one thing
and another
change a life
yet it’s all the same
there’s nothing to see
but how things are different
but how they’ve always been

like how i am
a new version of who i was before
different but in the same skin
skin that records all the time
that wastes by
that i let pass through my hands
like hourglass sand

but no one can flip it
upside down again
cause we’re all stuck inside it
sand pours down
but we like to ignore it
cause it’s always there
and so are we
until our time to drown in it

there’s nothing to see
’cause we’re not looking
’cause we can’t see all the chances
we didn’t take
or all the times we didn’t try
but that doesn’t mean they’re not there
staring back at us
don’t mistake it
they want us to be better

so don’t try to hold on to the sand
don’t try to collect it
’cause it must fall
and you’ll fall with it
so look through the glass
this isn’t all there is

things have changed so they can keep on changing
though some stay the same
like the sand does
but each grain tells us to look forwards
not back
because all the fallen sand is gone
yet more continues to fall

it’s not the end
and there’s still so much to see

a thought

tend to your own garden

i feel like a ghost slowly becoming material again, but still flickering transparent. hesitating because it remembers somewhere the things that killed it in the first place, but trying to know it’s different.

it’s like i have to remind myself to stop thinking the time before the sunrise is the dusk instead – it looks the same but means something different. or maybe it’s always been the same and i’m hoping to find the daylight that stays light. or something.

i wish i could stop confusing myself in everything. cause it’s simple. if it’s not then youre thinking about it the wrong way. thinking is the problem. i dont know. i just wish we’d all stop trying to figure every tiny little thing out by ourselves. look outwards. share the good, share the bad.

i want to change things. i want to pull up the weeds and plant flowers in their place. but then i remember you have to change yourself before you can expect to change anything else. why go out to tend someone else’s garden when your own is a mess? it sounds simple. but it also sounds like fix yourself, but then everything else looks like its stopping that and suddenly perhaps nothing is simple.

but it has to make sense one day – just not today. which hurts because, what do you do now? but it’s soothing cause it isn’t just a tangle with no answer. it will be sorted in the end. how you get there looks like tricky unknowns now, but maybe its worth remembering that you can’t think about tomorrow’s work if you haven’t done today’s. you can’t plant the seeds before you’ve prepared the soil, you can’t expect to see anything growing tomorrow if you haven’t planted anything today. maybe this is a different argument.

sometimes there’s no good place for a flower to grow, but it will grow anyway.
sometimes a seed can have everything it could possibly need, but it stays dead regardless.

either way, its not worth worrying about. all you can do is plant the seed.