November 5, 2017 - BOy Can’t Fly
And anyway, fixing is rarely quick and some things are better left alone – like the notion of the Super Hero and this whole saving the world business.
Stories
November 4, 2017 - BOy No Idea
Was it at all possible to know where he’d end up next? Skipping tomorrow and the next day and the next was no great way to travel but it seemed the only way of leaving well behind where he’d come from. But maybe his place wasn’t up ahead somewhere, beyond the days (and the daze). Maybe there wasn’t such a thing as a ‘right place’ after all – which left him free to travel with absolutely no idea where he was going…
(BOy Series, Clunk & Jam book, 2019)
November 1, 2017 - BOy Saw It Coming
Sometimes when answers can’t be found – questioning is a good alternative … like why is a BOy suppose to have all the answers anyway? Who’s a BOy to turn to when he’s not sure what to do or where to go? How’s a BOy suppose to live up to all these BIG expectations? What if a BOy can’t? Doesn’t want to? Doesn’t think he can? Doesn’t believe he’s good enough? And what if he doesn’t want to be like all the other BOys? If he doesn’t fit in – then where’s a BOy belong? And if a BOy can’t stop the trees from falling and the ice from melting- what then? What if a BOy doesn’t have answers to these questions – doesn’t that mean he’s not as alone as he thinks he is?
(BOy Series, Clunk & Jam book, 2019)
September 29, 2017 - Army of Ink Butterfly Tears
Butterfly Tears .
She imagined her tears as butterflies on strings, knowing that to truly transform the sad, she had to rise up on her own steam and snip them forever free. Not that they went away forever. Just so they could gently move and hover – not spin and crush.
(Reposted from 2011. Find her in Clunk & Jam book, 2019.)
September 9, 2017 - The Good Man
The Good Man .
Where are all the good men, who see us. Hear us. Touch us with a gentle hand. Tie our bow. Kiss us dryly on the cheek. And love us in our strength.
Where are all the good men, who mind us in our fragile state. Cradle us as you would a broken bird. Not to satisfy a need within themselves. Nor to forever stroke our weakness. But to strengthen the flight they wish for us to take.
Where are all the good men, who can accept without threat, all we invite and excite over. Remain seated throughout the pleasure of each unbridled offering. And protect the innocence of the gift.
Where are all the good men, who safe keep precious pieces we discard. Hear our strange and distant song. Follow notes beyond the noise. And return knowingly without taking.
Where are all the good men, who keep light and air in windows high. Flowers on the stairs. Who hold a mirror quietly to the side, so we can recognise the newness and the goodness in ourselves. Comprehend the whole of who we are. And fear no more the stage.
Where are all the good men, who wait well outside our hiding place. Offer not hand but time. A refuge where within we tend neglected hurts. Slow to a halt from our exhaustive run. And bring to life our dreams.
Where is the good man, so sure and steady in stride, he invites us into our own. Where we unite in all our consciousness with the good man in ourselves.
Where we feel the fearlessness of taking our very first step. And release ourselves from an endless edge.
(Reposted from 2016. Written August, 2015. Pictured: Poem emerged from book read on Rottnest Island, 2015). )
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