Hope

Sometimes hope must be reborn

At a tired two o' clock in the morning

Hope must be forced into the dark room

Like a small spluttering candle struggling to breath

Sobbing words are forgiven

At this eye rubbing time

The stomach acid feeling of surrender

Inevitable, showing how we are inextricably linked we are

Hope must be pulled from the deepest body part

a brutal caesarean bringing new life

This private mourning

Before the morning

Is ours alone to hold with new cries

Navigation

My navigation of the ship of destiny
is faulty, I lose focus in the mist
I consult inefficient maps
and forget guiding constellations at night
I turn against the strong winds
and return to a safe place for a while.

Earth Magnetics

I was eight, maybe seven
the first time I held the fork shaped stick
an ability to find underground water source is rare
a handful have the gift
they feel the fork shaped stick bend,
even against equal and opposite force
I have felt the pull of the earth
under a certain tree, before a rain storm
I walk shaking with bent concentration,
wishing for the gift of finding water,
Finding a deep life source
desperate in the dry season,
cattle putting hopes on my young arms

Mince Pies

The inflammation of my psyche
is momentarily undone by a reminder
the uncomfortable shiftings of the world
disappear for a moment, bent over the kitchen table
with a plate of mince pies, Christmas signals
indicators of innocence
calm inducers

grass cutting

the smell of the lawnmower petrol
even before the grass is being cut
and my sense of present falls directly into a confused past
lawns mowed in December, in March, different lawns
wheezing after the grass has been cut
spanning years of my life in so many houses,
this one smell has joined forces to bring them together
In a short clean smelling light green line of stripes

sleepthoughts

my mind has found a footpath
a walk through foliage
through mud drenched ground
thick with remembering
then open, dried and clear
with a broader view
sunlit, quiet, free
undisturbed.

Night War

The internal war
of those years, is not over
I wake at two in the morning
reminded by fear
panicked by the confusion of time deception
I bring to life my demons
I talk to them, I breathe with them
I live with them beside me at that time of night.

the soul seeker

the night brings a searcher
wading between a resilient and a restless soul
weighing up the attributes
strength versus wandering

Yesterday

Yesterday will stay

In all my senses

Shaking, my body ceases to release

The grief

It repeats the day over 

Every time I wake in the night

I see the whole day unfold with a blinding sickening certainty 

The adrenaline pulsing through my body, liquid cocaine

Each minute gaining hourly gravity

Waiting, waiting for the total darkness to ease into dawn

That never ending night

The scream I could not not know, dog or child

They sounded the same 

Burial

We killed you to save a life
a small protective life
it was a fight to the death
intervened by a human and a whip
you stood, half knowing half confused
from behind the electric fence border, maligned by fear
my child sang to you about kindness
I fed you meat, wept for your last night
waiting behind the fence you once patrolled
one shot and you collapsed, heavy in death as in life
the small quiet burial in the poplar forest
followed by a rain storm in the evening
the wind sang you away.

Alice

you are the protective shadow behind my children
asking little, keeping away lonliness and snakes
they call you 'our best pal'
fiercely beloved among the canines

we drive home in oppressive heat
empty, the house tricks me into hearing your footsteps
we walk through the rooms, senseless,
lonely, lost
we fall asleep midday
waking up confused, sweating
I bake cupcakes in a dreamstate,
forgetting to measure ingredients
my daughter sits in front of the fan
counting down until we can call the hospital for news
we will you back to life across the mountain to where you lie
bleeding, shaking, wounded
we hope that the sheer force of our collective grief
and love, can bring you back to your home.

Home Drawn

The time inevitably comes
When the view is too green
Too close, too covered
Too moist
I pack bags and drive on autopilot
Turning right onto the dirt road
Telling the girls,
Open your windows
Seat belts off
The air joins our visible relief sigh
The dry dust red earth clouds behind the car
We wave goodbye to traffic
And sink back into familiar bare trees
Panting dirty dogs
A living house, pictures drawn on the walls
As effortless as drinking cool water
We settle with the dust.

post rain

what I miss about that land
and will always miss about that land
the vast all or nothing natural habitat
is, that the land mirrors my character intensely
I meet myself, crudely, openly
in the rainswept expanses of back to back horizons
the collective force of sensory stimulus
stamping approval on my wayward solitary soul

Sunday Afternoon Visits

The stigmatized walls smell too clean

Wandering half alive girls with haunted sunk in eyes 

There is something sinister, unspoken, hanging from the high ceilings

A collective wish to die binds these girls together

Starvation, permanent pajama's, a denial of existing

Life becomes a twisted game of avoiding meals

I sit in the ward with you, numb, fighting this grief, this horror

I drive home with mom

And curl up in my room

Willing this nightmare away, thinking of childhood

Running through the sprinkler

Chasing ducks on the farm

When you were my understandable sister

Not this ghost victim of disappearing.

The Hunted Heart

The blood may stain the ground, temporarily
Dry cracked bones litter a path through the winter grass
Clay cracked, the surface of a murder
The theft of feeling was silent, brutal, decided
A self governed life was torn open
Taken, leaving subtitutes of spirit and name

Rock Pool House

Better to visit at low tide,
Shivering
From the confluence of Atlantic and Indian Ocean breeze
We take the same route across the rocks each time
Scrambling up to the tilting rock
Surveying the view, squinting in the sparkle sea light
We have mapped out our territory in our minds
The rock pool with a few fish, our kitchen
A longer narrow rock binds the house as passage
He sits high on the tilted 'lounge'
Looking out over the the bay
We hold out sand and small pebbles
For his dinner.

Fleeting

Fresh farm mornings
flowers, fragrant French croissants
Friday's, the fireworks at New Year's
forgiveness
fiery sunsets across the ocean
fear relieving embraces.

Border Control

We crossed from no man's land
leaving the scratched bareness of Bostwana
we were hungry for the clean skyline of your country
we waited, we walked, and we were stopped just before the gate
signalling the entry, the road where we can stop anywhere, alone
we didn't cross that night, as the careless stars overtook the winter sky
dignity absented and left space for the demons, that night
our precarious dreams fell apart that night.