Sunday, May 8, 2011

Song



Turn to me and be saved, all you ends of the earth; for I am God, and there is no other.
Isaiah 45:22

Poem 21, Song, 14th November 2004

When my mind tempts me to sway
May I turn to you, oh Lord
And try to live your way.

When darkness fights to be let in
Let me look to you again,
And be assured that you will win.

When time flies by leaving me behind,
Let me hear your words a fresh,
And be patient, joyful and kind.

When darkness tries to hide the Son,
I will stand firm, because
I know your Light has won.

When I do what I know is wrong
Teach me to repent, for you
Are my salvation, my strength and song.


... And so for now, I'm done with this little experiment. But who knows, perhaps one day I'll open the vault again...

Saturday, May 7, 2011

Like A Spider

This has always been a personal favourite. And as I try to get my life sorted and packed and ready to get on a plane and, to an extent, start again, I've been hearing the echoes of these thoughts. Sometimes they are just a soft murmur, other times so loud they take over and cloud my ability to think rationally so that everything seems too hard, and I feel that I don't know who I am or what I'm doing, or even what I want to be doing. At times like those I still feel a bit like a spider, drunk and lost in its own web.

Poem 20, Like A Spider, 19th September, 2002
oh the eternal
madness
the war that is
never ending
when will it stop?

Let me go &
loose the grip
I don’t want this
any more.
let me out.
Let me out of
the eternal
madness and
run from the
war never ending.

I never asked for
it to be like this
what a spinning
mess -
like a spider,
drunk and lost
in its own web.

Friday, May 6, 2011

Poem 19

So, I need to pick poem 19. I've already picked my last two, so I've only got one more to pick, and it's proving to be a little difficult. See I'm just not sure what sort of mood I'm in, and although there are few that I quite like, and that show a bit of who I was and who I am, or indeed, reveal too much of me - I think the most honest and probably most fun thing to do would be include this verse that signified so little, it never even got a title.

Poem 19, 19th April 2004, 10:08pm

You’re so close to me
It's two in the morning
But I stare at the ceiling
And I’m so close to yawning.

Thursday, May 5, 2011

Disillusion

This morning I did that annoying thing where you cry over nothing. You know, nothing was wrong, objectively anyway. But something must be, because I seemed upset and possibly angry. And all I can think is that I feel like all I've done for the last 3 months is think, worry, plan and stress about moving to London, and even though I leave in five days, I still don't feel very ready. I thought that by now I'd be bursting with happiness and excitement, and while i'm certianly looking forward to being in London, I kind of just want to sit down on some big comfy pillows, curl up and not do anything. Yet I know myself too well, and I know my fear of uselessness, of being idle, of feeling like i've not achieved something with my day. I know my terrible inability to be still.

The cliche fear that runs beneath all this is obvious. Sometimes we're so worried about planning for some elusive life in the future we forget to live the life we have now, and that when you suddenly realise you've forgotten the now, you recieve a great big metaphorical slap in the face.

We hear this fear in the words of Thoreau, the literary motto of the Dead Poets Society, “I went to the woods because I wanted to live deliberately, I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, To put to rout all that was not life and not when I had come to die Discover that I had not lived."


We hear it in The Rose, by Amanda McBroom:
It's the heart, afraid of breaking
That never learns to dance
It's the dream, afraid of waking
That never takes the chance
It's the one who won't be taken
Who cannot seem to give
And the soul, afraid of dying
That never learns to live

I hear it in those beautifully broad and nasal tones of Natalie Maines:
...We're afraid to be idle, so we fill up the days, we run on the treadmill, keep slaving away, till there's no time for talking about trouble in mind, and the doors are all closed between your heart and mine...
(More Love, Robinson & Smokey)

and I hear it in my own life, all the time. When I am gripped by my own fear of mediocrity, when I realise I've worked a 60hour week (rare, but it happens), and the thought of staying in on a Friday night eating mashed potato you've made yourself seems like the best thing ever.

I hear the cliche in a slightly different mode when I recall the psalm that speaks loudest to me, psalm 46, 'Be still and know that I am God.' Because sometimes in order to live, and not just to plan, stress and worry, the reality is we need be still.

And so it is that I have chosen for the poem of the day 'Disillusion'. Strangely, I don't quite recall what exactly prompted me to write it, but its probably not such a bad thing to remind myself of the lessons that seemed so obvious to me then.

Poem 18, Disillusion, 11th April 2004 (Easter Sunday)

Stop. Hold still
Please, no more.
For once, I admit.
I am not sure.
I hate my mistakes,
I need to turn round.
The pieces are scattered
All over the ground.
Frustrated, I look
But I can’t find
A way to go back,
I can not rewind.
Its time to assess
Time to sit still
Time to finally, completely
Submit to God’s will.
Let go. Right now.
Push it away.
And just keep walking,
This is the day.

Wednesday, May 4, 2011

Transient

Poem 17, Transient, 20th March 2004, age 21

My eyes are shut
I slowly weep,
My head is full
I can not sleep.
I wish this feeling
And that my
Lack of healing
Were transient.

My mind spins
It won’t sit still,
I hate my own weakness
I refuse to be ill.
If only my security
And efforts to
Maintain purity
Were not transient.

My heart tries to remember
That my journey is planned,
And that wherever I go
God is holding my hand.
Pain strikes like a knife
But it reminds me
That this life
Is transient.

Tuesday, May 3, 2011

You Are Like

failed romance? self indulgent misery?
wallow in it.

Poem 16, You Are Like, 10th August 2002, age 19
You are like the window
I can not see through.
Like the mountain
I can not climb
Like the ocean
that is much too deep.
I’m sinking.

You are like an illness
I can not recover from
Like a bad habit
I can not kick.
Like the storm
That is much too heavy.
I’m soaking.

You are like a memory
I want to forget
Like a shoe
That just won’t fit.
Like the glass
That is never empty.
I’m drowning

You are like ice
That I can not melt
Like shotting tequila
Which I always regret.
Like a pool of unknown water
That is dark and dangerous.
I’m diving.

You are like the prize
That I can’t win
Like the road
I cant find
Like the ocean
That is much too deep

Monday, May 2, 2011

Irony

This morning Patsy told me that before meeting me he'd "never met a woman with such a facility for seeing possible literary ironies in her own life"...

Poem 15, Irony, 20th and 26th October, 2002


[5 Ill timed or perverse arrival of an event or circumstance that is in itself desirable]

Once there was this boy
Who at the time was just fifteen.
I heard he thought I was the best
That (back then) he had ever seen.
But I didn’t know him then
And we went our separate ways,
I tried my luck with someone else
And it lasted thirty days.
Then one year later, in October
I met the first boy, now sixteen.
I doubt he said more than two words
But I thought maybe he was still keen.
One week later I’d completely fallen
I dreamt of what might be,
We sat close watching movies together
I thought that he liked me.
He took my friend to his formal
And I nearly died,
I felt so lost and so left out
I went to bed and cried.
Six months later he asked me out,
But it had taken far too long –
I left him for someone I could never have
And that was completely wrong.
Two years on, I’m at a party
And the wrong boy reappeared.
He held me close two years too late
All attraction had disappeared.
So here I sit, nearly twenty
But I’m feeling sweet sixteen.
And I miss the boy I threw away
When I was seventeen.

Sunday, May 1, 2011

Pharisee

...from Luke 5...
27 After this, Jesus went out and saw a tax collector by the name of Levi sitting at his tax booth. “Follow me,” Jesus said to him, 28 and Levi got up, left everything and followed him.

29 Then Levi held a great banquet for Jesus at his house, and a large crowd of tax collectors and others were eating with them. 30 But the Pharisees and the teachers of the law who belonged to their sect complained to his disciples, “Why do you eat and drink with tax collectors and sinners?”

31 Jesus answered them, “It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. 32 I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance."

so here is my Sunday morning, sabbath day poem.

Poem 14: Pharisee, 3rd June 2003, 4:20pm Darlinghurst Sydney, but begun on the 9:14 between Redfern and Central.

What a fine thought,
What a nice line:
“God have mercy on me, a sinner”
when will I stop
to make this prayer mine
would I be one with whom he shared dinner?

And then I might ask

What is wrong
With all my pride?
That I can not
Accept or decide
The place of the law
Because I am free
Am I a prostitute
Or a Pharisee?