Because this little soldier asked for so little she wondered if that’s why others believed she had it all and therefore offered nothing in return for what they took. So she fled into the darkness that shielded her from the glare of eyes that stole. An endless space void of the strike of green, swell of black and blue, ooze of red, shock of pink and lure of white. And while some thought they’d made her disappear, others thought she’d succumbed to the darkness. But what they couldn’t see long after the sun had sizzled and sunk, was how she’d become one with the inky moonlit balm that soaked deep into her soul as she lay cocooned in the soft white sheets that wrapped around her and always carried her home … just in time for breakfast.
(Reposted from 2009. Originally in ‘Rock The Boat’ handmade book, handwriting by Mags. Now in Clunk & Jam, 2019)
I wish upon myself, that one day I’ll be as comfortable in me, as she in her tub. Pop this in your cup … once the soul has left its pot, its own cup it must fill. One teaspoon or two? Entirely up to you. But do we must, fill our cups, with pinkies pointing up. And rise we do in fluff and blue, and endless possibility …
Personal footnote: Just got back from talking at a conference up North in the remote mining town of Newman. Struck by the extent of individual and community suffering, this ‘Ink’ arrived.
(Reposted from 2011. Find her in Clunk & Jam book.)
It’s hard when things end. When you really, really want them to keep going. To last forever.
Footnote: This ‘Ink’ could be suggesting an eventual shrinking of the loss. An end to the slide. And perhaps even new growth – in herself. Her arrival and the hopeful spin on her meaning was influenced by the music and message ‘Never Give Up – Find Your Own Way Home’ by Sia. Suggesting … the secret to change could well be in the building?
I held a young soul suffering, and my Achilles heal I bared. I hugged a breaking heart and it punched right through my chest. I held a breath of deep despair and shared a lifeless void. Surrendered to a stolen moment and entered a sacred place.
I allowed words to pierce my guard and a trembling hand met mine. I shed a tear as pain took hold and it softened another’s fall. We sat with silence, moved with fear, and together we returned. We captured moments of relief, and I held the hand of hope.
( Poem written for a young person on a Youth Focus camp. Reposted from 2014. ‘In My Room’ book. Art by Harley Manifold, original in colour.)
