Blurry past

some memories are a haze
no recollection of the first kiss
nor school graduations
it was like a tasteless fog

breakups used to taste like sour wines
hurtful words once felt like poisons
friendships were full of giggles
fun time used to be like sunshine

some memories are like sharks
they are capable of swallowing you alive

Pop covered Nan’s head with a tin bucket
dented it all over with a hammer

Ma attacked Pa full force
left fingernail scratches

some things once seen
cannot be unseen
I wish they were blurry

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Sydney Homelessness

I am reposting this as the Sydney street count is fast approaching this month (August 2019).

 

373 people sleeping rough around the inner city on the night of February 19.

I was there counting…

Their faces rushing to me like the dying souls swallowing by the swamp
Their stories I had heard playing like vinyl records

I ain’t got mama ain’t got nothing, papa’ s punches driving me scatty…
If you licked it and you liked it, a couple pearly dewdrops will get you high and die in ecstasy…
I was raised crooked in a dungeon, the city street lights are bright and shiny, it’s so much safer…
Not going back that sty, slave to two pigs from a mode. God I hate them sweet Jesus…
I am a failure as the financial crisis. I have sold my soul to the grog, 10 seconds sober to see my princess walking in school…
When Mama died she prayed God would take me. Now I am here and I don’t know why. Where is my Mommy…
My Dad needs help, he is all schizoed out. My mates can’t help, the weed can’t help…

I was there counting…

One by one the forgotten in our city
The stories were told
None has changed

373 people sleeping rough around the inner city on the night of February 19.

Homelessness

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Mr Scribble came with his blue staffy
He hadn’t eaten for two days
Bluey was well fed though

I told him I missed his devil’s horns tatts along his temples
He grinned and said he would ban his children having tatts
cos the laser removal hurt like hell

Mr Scribble would be homeless for the night
Mrs kicked them out cos coming down from a bad trip
They escaped before taking her punches for the 26th times this year
and it’s only April

He knew I offered them no shelter
He knew I offered them the staff shower facilities
so he would be clean and human again after a day’s work
and back again the next day to demolish more buildings
He called that going to anger management therapy

They stayed for a bit
He told me some more tales of his 5 brothers
except the one visited his room too often

He told me God bless me and my family
like every time before they left my office
I watched their backs to see them off like every time
I prayed for a safe and cosy corner on the street for the night

Mr Scribble and his blue staffy
He was hungry and Bluey was happy

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Lightning on the ocean

I draw the blinds open
watch children playing on the beach
their fingers digging into the sand
toes getting sun tanned
chuckles and giggles trolling toward me
like the unforgiving waves

I once was that carefree
when we built this love hut by the ocean
the handprints of Lily and Declan
still hung on this silent wall

My mind is cluttered with last night’s terror
as ants lost their scent trail
the drumming in my head lost its rhythm
to chimpanzees’ screaming
prewarn me the coming of the storm

I grab my ears trying to erect the noise
clomp clomp clomp
here comes the tormenting spirit
the lightening flashes are blinding
they are lunging on my head

Whipped me once
Lashed out ten fold
Cracked me a life time

I give in to the chimps
hooting and screaming
at least I know what they are

A Love Story

I had a dream about a love story.

The scene was setting in the sunlit hillside overlooking the green pastures, a boy and a girl under an oak tree. She was sitting against the giant oak tree and he was lying on her lap. He was looking at her with his honey brown eyes full of admiration and love. She launched her gaze far far away to the green hills while combing her fingers through his golden curls. They were just talking softly.

This was after they made love throughout the night with unquenchable thirst and fire. She was in awe of how pure and innocent he is. He drank in her mesmerising beauty and gravitated by her inner strength.

There under the oak tree, he expressed his unfailing love for her with his passion and commitment. And yet, she was torn between her uncontrollable falling for his pureness and innocence, and the dimmest remaining logic.

I would have written on and on about how this sweet love developed and she came to her senses that he loves her unconditionally…

Nah…..

The reality goes like this:

It was a warm autumn day in the east coast of Australia.

An American writer had been spending a long overdue holiday in the land down under. His recent book launch was a success which funded this holiday. He always wanted to live in this land for its rich aboriginal culture and diverse landscapes. He suffers spells of blues most of his life. Wearing the sun shine and ocean breeze seemed to be helping to relieve the itchy jumper prickles.

He hadn’t felt this relaxed and free from torment of the past for a long time. He was almost feeling a tinch of lightness in the foreign land of his dream. He felt he could breathe again and he was able to think pass today to what breakfast he would like tomorrow morning.

Being a bald-headed bearded guy with tattoos, he blended in nicely with local Aussies except when he ordered his meals in a northern American accent. She instantly looked up when she heard that familiar accent and she gave him a grin. He is the type of guy who will avoid eye contacts at all cost, not because of shyness but the intensity he feels when souls colliding.

She is an Australia born Arminian recently returned from Tehran. She spent her school years and most adult life in Tehran. She learned to speak English mostly from soap operas she watched when growing up, hence the familiarity of the American accent. All her Aussie friends asked her ‘How was life in the States?’ when they first met her. She left her 22 years of life in Tehran behind with no regrets. The physical violence and mental anguish she escaped from gave her permanent scars. Although she did regain her will and power to live on in her homeland. Beautiful sunshine, warmth of the locals and the uncomplicated layback life style are assurance for her continue recovery and healing.

They hit it off from the American accent and the share benefit of the sun and ocean, to long walks to watch the sunset. There was no doubt that the attraction was instant regardless the constrain portrayed by both. Love was certainly dancing in the salt air, energising, rejuvenating and invigorating, to the souls, the minds and the mortal bodies.

Life takes unexpected turns. Love comes in a mysterious way. He felt he had just started to leave the bag of bones behind while she just started to settle in the freedom she long missed. They applied their logic and both knew love came in such an inconvenient time.

They traveled together to Uluru (Ayers Rock) to walk the same path the traditional land owners of Australia, the Aboriginal people first set foot on over 20000 years ago. They read about the Aboriginal Australian way of living, the waiting. They wait in life with patience, waiting for rain to fill the rivers, waiting for the bush to open to harvest, waiting for the young people to grow up to flourish. They let the nature guide them, never in a hurry. They listen deeply to connect with the inner springs inside them.

They were at the cross-road of their lives. The choices he made against his heart and the bitter past led to fear filled tormented living death. She was a wounded soul trampled and deprived by the one she vowed her life to. They shared the common longing for healing and restoration.

Finally when they were both standing in front of Uluru, all the questions, uncertainty, insecurity, inability, inadequacy started peeling away, fading, vanishing. Their moment of waiting and listening deeply to connect with their inner springs surfaced to a connection and bond between them. The rain drizzled on the land into the dry rivers, and the rivers overflown into one, the season of harvest, the future of flourishing.

When hope is lost is where hope is found. When love is untangible is where love is a reality.