“Hey, Beautiful!”

I know she’d rather have it on time;
but this one’s running late.

The hallway shuffles at six-past-eight,
and before my eyes peel open
the gate
although trying as hard as it can
to keep her inside, is unlatched
and she is off
hauling shin splints, aching calves,
and that ever shrinking waistline
beneath an ever changing skyline
to the city.

She strides each day,
pacing disappointment,
and frustration away
in steady motion,
caught between 
the constant pull of devotion
to her friends and family,
(feline and human)
and the girl who just wants
to sit out in the rain,
when it’s forty-fucking-degrees again,
to smile at heaving clouds.

She laughs in rounds,
cackles shoot quick fire like bullets
from a trigger happy gun,
at the sheer delight and simple fun
that it is to look at life,
through the eyes of a joy
that’s carved from tears
like a river who’s run deep through years
of tough choices
and unmapped land.

In trials, and heartache,
she bends but never breaks
though retreats at times
to the kitchen to bake recipes
with triple barrelled names;
because you can’t change the world 
with lemon slice,
but it certainly doesn’t make things worse.

A fighter through and through
for justice, and upholding truth
opinionated, unmitigated,
and bemused as the “men,” flabbergast
into boys, put in place by her sass,
and her voice,
the same that calls up the hall
at eight-past-six to say
“Hey Beautiful!”
and before I’ve peeled open
my mouth to say hello,
there she’s sat,
besotted by her favourite cat.

for Fiona and Bennie.

The Golden Ticket.

I wish I had a way
to give out Golden Tickets
to the folks at the chocolate shop
in Sydney today.

They’d be hidden under the coasters,
but not too hard to find,
and they’d hold keys of compassion
to un-coil our wound-up minds.

They’d have honest words to say
to the hurting Middle East,
and all four points of the compass
would work to foster peace.

Oh I wish I had those Tickets,
they’d unlock that door post haste!
And fill our hearts with kindness
to transform Martin Place.

The sky scrapers would be temples
where we’d laugh, and dance as one
with people from around the world,
as gathered daughters and sons.

The road would be re-paved
with the names of those who simply did nice things
and we’d cast those ordinary names in lights
as our happy hearts world sing.

There’d be no more war or crying,
there’d be safety for each child,
and grown-ups from all walks of life
would feel their souls beguiled.

I’d have Tickets enough for all!
For the atheist, Catholic, and Jew
and the same for all our family
who live by Islam too.

There’d be Tickets to give the Buddhists,
for the agnostics and Baha’i,
and our Golden Flags of Freedom
would light up the darkest sky.

But today… it’s all just headlines;
we’ve forgotten the truth at hand,
for it was fear who took us hostage,
not a foreign face from a distant land.

Daffodils, sunsets, and uneventful nice days.

God, thank-you for the sublime luxury
of a day filled with boredom,
where grief neither glued me to my bed-sheets
nor propelled me into a frenzy
of fast paced amusement,
for it’s haphazard plain-ness
and for the way it will be forgotten
as one of so many plain days
I’m graciously given.

Thank-you for the daffodils
the ones, my heart, with pleasure fill
and the times I’ve been privy to pick them
whether running through a field
with a lover in the rain
or walking along Twin Oak Drive
grabbing bunch after bunch
with my memory.

And thank-you once more
for this evening’s sunset,
whose dripping, golden peels of light,
pastelled with orange, pink, and indigo
give me the promise 
of another night’s stars,
and the hope of a new day.