Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
Footnote: The poem ‘Invictus’ was written in 1875 by William Ernest Henley, an English Poet, who had one of his legs amputated at the age of 17. The poem, which he wrote while healing from the amputation, is a testimony to his refusal to let his handicap disrupt his life. ‘Invictus’ is Latin for unconquered. Undefeated. It was the anthem used for the Invictus Games this year.
‘Wisdoms of Rose’ was originally a handmade book, made to give to children and young people through community groups. The handmade books were later also made available through the Fremantle Art Centre. In 2018 she was printed and published as a pocket book. In 2019 she was included in Clunk & Jam book, second edition.
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). )
