Her

Dear you

I never stopped loving you

From the moment we switched on
And we met eye to eye
And you said,
God. You are beautiful

I have not stopped thinking of you
Since the day left

You are there
Far away

And I am here

There is something about being held
When in the chaos of life

As humans dont seem so humanly anymore

I forewarned you

I dreamed you into existence
You pulled me close
Then spat me apart
Disclosure rips shreds
And cloaks cannot bare
The in betweens

Yet
I have not stopped thinking about you

Or dreaming of a notion of ” us ”
Coz let’s face it
Life can be fucking lonely in our fake unmet world of busyness

I just needed to say I haven’t stopped thinking of you

I love you and I do not love you

I miss being able to share
Have that someone who wants to know
How my daily day is

The crap and butterflies and all

I miss your dog
And your books and your art
And your bed

Yet not your heart
As unlike mine
It was unavailable

Yet I still fucking miss ” love ‘
Everyday

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August

I can’t remember when he stopped calling me LOVE

It was somewhere around five years of age

Perhaps I was becoming a lady already and this, Somehow
Was a threat to him

Mostly he was my hero

Dark haired robust fit and handsome

Outdoorsy like me

The dogs did what he said
He could fix things
Drive fast
Always Up early and energetic
Hard working
Knew stuff of the earth

Peter Jackson cigarettes lined the Ute dashboards
And he could shift sheep or cattle riding a horse
Like a john Wayne

He never once said I love you

Maybe he did but I never heard it

My mother and he laughed on occasion
Although
Very very rarely

He was young and vibrant

Mum was an exotic naive innocent lady
She rebelled in manners truth and trust

Of course this was the devil he danced with
From day one

Secret outings and rendeavue
Controlling money and her every movement

Andrew and I were accessories
Perhaps still are
To his wild selfish agendas of get what you want and run

He had
Or seemed to have no soul
At times
But act on ego
Destroying whomever was on his path
Usually for financial gain or status

Nothing about sharing ever seemed
To enter his consciousness

I grew up with a father who resented me

And a mother who attempted to

In her mild meek yet
incredibly strong ways
attempt to make up for it

For his moods
His bellowing
His anger tirades
His disrespect
Put downs
And lack of affection

His glares
His impatience
His rudeness
His lack of emotion
Or connectedness

She reeked silver goddess
Still does

Very much the true
Wise beautiful, now widow
sage

He reeked Prince charming or the devil; no in between

One or the other

Polarity his middle name

Capricorn energy leaking through every cell

Rage and passion not lacking

His patience
At best minimal

He could be scarey

My brother did o.k
He got away early
Sent to boarding school then overseas

He just shut his mouth and stayed away generally
Aquarian in his head

Whilst I was left home to witness wear and breathe the contempt my parents threw at one another

Conscious audible and not

It’s often the unsaids that cut the deepest

Mum was passive
Which gave him even more freedom

Why she didn’t get out then and there I have no idea

I held his fire
I am his fire
Generally

I am
after all his only, as far as I know daughter

This fire. Maybe it scared me too

Yet propelled me to sporting determination and occasional greatness

I played national level sport

I am sure she feels the same thing
Why didn’t she just get away
Early

For the kids
For her

For
Our

Sanity

We all have wings to fly

Eventually

She is free of him

A bit harder now her soulman is not
Around to protect herthough

She is not free of the torture of us having no dad
She switches off
She must
This has undercurrents

No male figure leading her daughter and son

I tend to have feminist views
No; I am not a man hater

Sometimes though I nearly feel I am

A deserted island with entirely women occupants has always appealed to me

I, Dare I say it
Try, allbeut now in a minimal.way

And love him

I do not like him

But I love him

It just sits better

I have to live with this
It’s no biggie
He didn’t hit mum or I
or anything

Just put locks on the petrol bowsers
Transferred money so I would pay his taxes even as an undergraduate

mental scars and abuse that only mum and I know the extent of

Mental abuses etches through my ribs even now

I can feel when I exhie his words of not being good enough
Too slow
Not this not that
Have I seen how fast she is how good she looks how smart and rich she is

Last encounter after four years of no contact
He sat in the driver’s seat of his mercedes
Chewing a sandwich
Open mouthed
Audible
Rude
Repulsive

A knot slithered through my stomach
My throat closed over and not one part of me
Felt relaxed
Or alive

And he chose to not even look at me

Eye to eye

Am I really that ugly?
Too hard to look at?

Lack of eye contact to me
Is and will always be a cop out

Who is actually hiding?

He mumbled I hear you want to borrow a car
You’re not going back to queensland

No hi. How are you.
Or even a fake or half hug
Which, I would have been grateful for

I was going in with a half open mind
Be kind
Mum said it’s about time he helped

I walked away thinking
I never want to see you again

Again

For the umpteenth time

Poor little rich girl strikes out
Again

He did look like shit
His sister had just passed away
And i am sure he must fear death now himself

Normal folk it would soften

Make one want to give a little more

I would

He had gotten fatter
I was shocked to see his dishevelled appearance and his apparent non care

Greyer
Eyes still blue

They are mine

Afterall

My blue eyes

Fire and light
And life

Yet cheeks sagging
Red
Kind of heart attack material

He looked old
And yuck

And made me feel beyond yuck

I am reminded why I tend to do ANY THING
to stay away from this narcissist who can rip me to shreds in an instant

I have had times where I could dissolve it all

He could not even say sorry to my mother

His wife of thirty four years

Sorry for the loss of your partner
Like she is an complete stranger to him

Her beloved
Her soul mate
Her lover
Her walking partner
Her driver
Her confidence
For ten years

All over resentment
And the cage
a bitter
Divorce battle does

Even now

Divorces ruin lives

And families reel in havoc and silence or eventually cracks and crevices leak out through silent gods and vampires and become death disease cancer depression and illness

Being dead alive

There is no worse ailment
Really

Being dead alive

And families disintegrate
And one has to
Learn to rely on yourself

I had my cat
Dogs
the pines
Lovers lane
my fake gun
cowboy hat
and the lush green hills to run in

Thank God

The land saved me

Only thing that did

Still does

And My daddy
My so-called protector

Whomever he is

My strong beautiful male figure who could do anything
rescue animals fix tractors belt the primary school bully Or parent if need be

The man I and my mother countlessly
Stuck up for despite his wrongdoings or harsh embarrassing behaviours

The man I lost at five years old

I remember being in the porch
Pleading to go with him.on outdoor duties
I loved it
I was his motorbike princess

And it was like something stopped.
No more love. Or honey not that either of my parents ever called me honey

Bit there was this switch
This disconnect

Yet
May be

He

Or I

Was never there to begin with

Mum’s father
My beloved papa
Podge
My male heart figure

Would say

” Nobody is better

Than anybody else ‘

Sage words.to.live by if only our politicians would listen

Patriarchy or hierarchy systems fail and divide souls

Look after our own first I say

Life is short
Love hard

hug often

Lots

It can save lives

Dream and give

While you still can

All I have

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Keithy

It’s been a while since I have written; or shared anything significant as the world continues to bellow her white noise.

I have no computer nor blog page; no structure despite having an edited and formatted poetry manuscript of 100 plus pages.

I let my ego get away with me.

Death.

What a gnarly disease she is.

I have been surrounded by it.

My father’s sister.

Then my mother’s partner the next day unexpectedly in his sleep.

Visiting his daughter on the gold coast.

A massive cerebral haemorrhage.

Gone.

No warning signs.

No goodbyes.

He was Mr planner.

Everything happened before it even happened.

Aries fire.

He loved my mother.

All I know and care about is, despite being possessive he loved my mother.

He was a meticulous business man and being.

Properties all hand writtenly managed and my mother’s and his only daughter’s anchor man.

It is devastating.

Mum Had finally found her soul mate.

She was at ease in the world.

Had her faithful go to.

She had been living in a structured world; a bubble, touring here and there, fixing houses, helping friends, cooking, cleaning, walking, living a life together, supposedly forever.

It’s fucked really and I ought have more compassion.

Yet I left on unsavoury terms.

I cannot change this.

It rocks me and it hurts me and destroys me.

I feel it should have been me.

It nearly was me.

He called my mother pet, kept her open, tactile, alive, honest, daring, fun, fit and looked after her practically big time.

The guy was a genius yet despite being the man about town who knew everything about everything, and everyone, properties, the Aussie dollar and even random history of the Beatles and Monkeys, he departed the planet half done. Unravelling his beloveds, who will be left reeling for a long time to come.

I watch my mother, a robust classical woman drop in and out of being present.

She must be so exhausted.

She says from dreamy to organised to fragile and broken, a bit lost and alone yet strong and bubbly and organised and full of will.

It is a wave.

Never-ending.

A cycle
a web

who continues to weave

as i know she must now sleep and wake alone.
Pillows where he once snuggled.
Wondering when her anchor man will be back.

He’s not coming back.

In human form anyway.

The house is hollow and quiet.

And cold.

His hat’s and glasses lay everywhere.

His mail and folders no subtle reminder of his presence.
Meant to be here.

I watch my mother grapple with a bad dream taking 34 years to escape her last husband to then find paradise a large home and comfort with a man, who kind of, saved Her.
Her man. Her double for the last ten or so years.

They thought the same.

I want to be away from it.

I struggle to hear it all 24 7 especially as my own history is not great and I did not get to tell him what he meant and did for my mother
And even me.

I have never had that before.

I loved him.

I still do.

It is a hard one to bounce back from.

Mum would have chosen him and did over me.

And I guess that is ok.

Then there are recent suicides of seemingly capable famous people who had it all.

Money. Homes. Comfort.

I walk the poverty line and if anyone should be there on that edge cliff. It should be me.

I was told the universe will DO ANYTHING to keep the angels here

I was there. At the water. And got a message

Its urgent. Really urgent he said.

Fuck.

Oh no.

Not now.

My mother.
My mother.
My mother…

God no this is not how it was supposed to be.

My life will be no easier with a fragile mother. My only real family who has kind of, despite misunderstandings stuck by me.

Have you grappled with life and death ?

I have no children.

It makes it isolating.

I had an injury. A fracture. It impeded my ability to work.
My confidence. My health.

My place on this planet.

That depends on the mighty dollar.

My home. My vehicle. My life was stolen.

I am single.

The economy is shit and winter is coming.

I had my health.
This matters.

I had my yoga.

This also matters.

Like.mindeds and warmth.

To feel and not be numb by it all.

Matters

At the moment spending 90 percent of the time in a deathwish is shit.

I am a brilliant writer.

An exceptional mind.

A shit system player and useless business woman.

But brilliant feeling hands.

Touch of a God.

Reach out they say.

Google it.
Twitter it.
Facebook it.
Instagram it.

Phone iPhone iPad email it.

But for fuck sake don’t show your feelings or be vulnerable.

People want to know.

Yet like the boy who cried wolf.

They also don’t.

Its in the too hard basket.

Everyone has their problems.

Finances, high blood pressure, high sugar, gluten intolerant, dairy lactose free poison poison poison..

I have no words for the grief of the past few weeks.

When your loss is my loss.

He was not my lover nor father but he was someone’s I care about and I cannot do a thing to make it easier.

But step back and get away.

I need to get away

As right now my hearts a mess and the world keeps spinning with less time and no remorse.

May your day be kind

And if somebody speaks

And shows you their soul for the first time

Listen

Really listen

Not just to what they are saying

But what they are feeling and showing you

Walk away

But never walk away

I love you

Just wish I could love myself

Anna j.h

Grey men.

It’s Sunday

Its always Bloody Sunday

He has grey whips now, where once black robust locks lay

to go with his surly frame

and deep indigo eyes.

He is a loner.

An enigma.

A thinker, a golfer.

Brilliant

Yet not many know.

She cannot satisfy him.

His longing, his empties, his kind kind heart.

Confused, yet alive.

Dark

Then light.

Paradoxical fairytales

Laughter amidst sadness

Tragedy and a father

Who showed him nothing.

His jackets speak in code.

Always designer label.

Like anything less

would be shameful

Forbidden, almost.

Like trick or treating

on a non Halloween Monday.

He is not religious, yet reads Insidiously.

Thinks her weird

Sometimes

as she speaks

Of spirit animals and constellations.

Yet he loves her wild..

She can appear hard

and frank

Unlike her hugs

Which can go forever

Leaving membranous footprints

Inside fingertips

And ribs

And hearts.

And one can fall in love with this

Alone.

A hug engulfing the entire universe

Like an aspergers he can only

Buy in even numbers.

She likes this quirk.

And he buys her billabong hats.

Her favourite brand

To go with the surf

her veins as the ocean

He fell in love

With love

Or at least the idea of her.

Her essence.

Of them.

In a life together

devoid of labels lust and trickery

shame and intimacy

beyond and inside covers.

There was no Intimacy though.

There were hugs.

Warmth.

Laughs, fights.

It wasn’t a physical attraction

With Tingling groins and hard ons;

moments where clothes get ripped in two

bodies contort

with ecstasy and remorse.

None of that excitement.

It was stable.

It was comfortable and not.

It was a friendship

and co dependency of sorts.

He is a good man.

A good good man.

Why are the good men not sexed up?

Exciting spiritual naturalistic?

Always putting others first?

He is old fashioned

Gently Parts his hair

and too good for her.

He really is beautiful.

She has and continues to

slay dragons

Others and her own.

She is devoid of a God right now.

All she loves is nature

and sunshine and surfing and life.

Clinging to hope

In a disconnected world.

Wishing she could be in nature

Continually

Practicing giving.

Yet she needs touch

Her love language, a form of oxygen

More important than food

She is lost

Stress of money

Recovery from a fractured collar bone

Eating, Gnawing at bits inside of her

Life is short

Whispers the moon

Dance dance dance coments the stars

You

Are not so important

Yet, so very very important

Keep going

And

Love more than you can.

Believing in a miracle.

Namaste.