Loneliness

 Fanny Howe, 1940

Loneliness is not an accident or a choice.

It’s an uninvited and uncreated companion.

It slips in beside you when you are not aware that a

choice you are making will have consequences.

It does you no good even though it’s like one of the

elements in the world that you cannot exist without.

It takes your hand and walks with you. It lies down

with you. It sits beside you. It’s as dark as a shadow

but it has substance that is familiar.

It swims with you and swings around on stools.

It boards the ferry and leans on the motel desk.

Nothing great happens as a result of loneliness.

Your character flaws remain in place. You still stop in

with friends and have wonderful hours among them,

but you must run as soon as you hear it calling.

It does call. And you climb the stairs obediently,

pushing aside books and notes to let it know that you

have returned to it, all is well.

If you don’t answer its call, you sense that it will sink

towards a deep gravity and adopt a limp.

From loneliness you learn very little. It pulls you

back, it pulls you down.

It’s the manifestation of a vow never made but kept:

I will go home now and forever in solitude.

And after that loneliness will accompany you to

every airport, train station, bus depot, café, cinema,

and onto airplanes and into cars, strange rooms and

offices, classrooms and libraries, and it will hang near

your hand like a habit.

But it isn’t a habit and no one can see it.

It’s your obligation, and your companion warms itself

against you.

You are faithful to it because it was the only vow you

made finally, when it was unnecessary.

If you figured out why you chose it, years later, would

you ask it to go?

How would you replace it?

No, saying good-bye would be too embarrassing.

Why?

First you might cry.

Because shame and loneliness are almost one.

Shame at existing in the first place. Shame at being

visible, taking up space, breathing some of the sky,

sleeping in a whole bed, asking for a share.

Loneliness feels so much like shame, it always seems

to need a little more time on its own.

The Dream

Love, if I weep it will not matter,

  And if you laugh I shall not care;

Foolish am I to think about it,

  But it is good to feel you there.

Love, in my sleep I dreamed of waking, —

  White and awful the moonlight reached

Over the floor, and somewhere, somewhere,

  There was a shutter loose, —it screeched!

Swung in the wind, — and no wind blowing! —

  I was afraid, and turned to you,

Put out my hand to you for comfort, —

  And you were gone!  Cold, cold as dew,

Under my hand the moonlight lay!

  Love, if you laugh I shall not care,

But if I weep it will not matter, —

  Ah, it is good to feel you there!

Edna St. Vincent Millay, 1892 - 1950

Daddy

You do not do, you do not do
Any more, black shoe
In which I have lived like a foot
For thirty years, poor and white,
Barely daring to breathe or Achoo.

Daddy, I have had to kill you.
You died before I had time--
Marble-heavy, a bag full of God,
Ghastly statue with one gray toe
Big as a Frisco seal

And a head in the freakish Atlantic
Where it pours bean green over blue
In the waters off beautiful Nauset.
I used to pray to recover you.
Ach, du.

In the German tongue, in the Polish town
Scraped flat by the roller
Of wars, wars, wars.
But the name of the town is common.
My Polack friend

Says there are a dozen or two.
So I never could tell where you
Put your foot, your root,
I never could talk to you.
The tongue stuck in my jaw.

It stuck in a barb wire snare.
Ich, ich, ich, ich,
I could hardly speak.
I thought every German was you.
And the language obscene

An engine, an engine
Chuffing me off like a Jew.
A Jew to Dachau, Auschwitz, Belsen.
I began to talk like a Jew.
I think I may well be a Jew.

The snows of the Tyrol, the clear beer of Vienna
Are not very pure or true.
With my gipsy ancestress and my weird luck
And my Taroc pack and my Taroc pack
I may be a bit of a Jew.

I have always been scared of you,
With your Luftwaffe, your gobbledygoo.
And your neat mustache
And your Aryan eye, bright blue.
Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You--

Not God but a swastika
So black no sky could squeak through.
Every woman adores a Fascist,
The boot in the face, the brute
Brute heart of a brute like you.

You stand at the blackboard, daddy,
In the picture I have of you,
A cleft in your chin instead of your foot
But no less a devil for that, no not
Any less the black man who

Bit my pretty red heart in two.
I was ten when they buried you.
At twenty I tried to die
And get back, back, back to you.
I thought even the bones would do.

But they pulled me out of the sack,
And they stuck me together with glue.
And then I knew what to do.
I made a model of you,
A man in black with a Meinkampf look

And a love of the rack and the screw.
And I said I do, I do.
So daddy, I'm finally through.
The black telephone's off at the root,
The voices just can't worm through.

If I've killed one man, I've killed two--
The vampire who said he was you
And drank my blood for a year,
Seven years, if you want to know.
Daddy, you can lie back now.

There's a stake in your fat black heart
And the villagers never liked you.
They are dancing and stamping on you.
They always knew it was you.
Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I'm through.

by Sylvia Plath

The Poor Ghost

"Oh whence do you come, my dear friend, to me,
With your golden hair all fallen below your knee,
And your face as white as snowdrops on the lea,
And your voice as hollow as the hollow sea?"

"From the other world I come back to you,

My locks are uncurled with dripping drenching dew.

You know the old, whilst I know the new:
But tomorrow you shall know this too."

"Oh not tomorrow into the dark, I pray;
Oh not tomorrow, too soon to go away:

Here I feel warm and well-content and gay:

Give me another year, another day."

"Am I so changed in a day and a night

That mine own only love shrinks from me with fright,

Is fain to turn away to left or right
And cover up his eyes from the sight?"

"Indeed I loved you, my chosen friend,
I loved you for life, but life has an end;
Thro' sickness I was ready to tend:

But death mars all, which we cannot mend.

"Indeed I loved you; I love you yet
If you will stay where your bed is set,
Where I have planted a violet

Which the wind waves, which the dew makes wet."

"Life is gone, then love too is gone,
It was a reed that I leant upon:
Never doubt 1 will leave you alone

And not wake you rattling bone with bone.

"I go home alone to my bed,

Dug deep at the foot and deep at the head,
Roofed in with a load of lead,

Warm enough for the forgotten dead.

"But why did your tears soak thro' the clay,
And why did your sobs wake me where I lay?
I was away, far enough away:

Let me sleep now till the Judgment Day."

by Christina Rossetti

Unhappy Christmas

What did you get for Christmas?
Was it something nice?
I'm sitting here in Casualty,
My face is packed with ice.

I dread it every Christmas,
They never give me toys,
Daddy will get drunk again,
His nights out with the boys.

I know he doesn't mean it,
He's far to drunk to know,
He hits me hard for nothing,
And bruises always show.

A Christmas to remember,
The policemen had to call,
They took my Dad away this time,
He said I'd had a fall.

He's really done it this time,
An ambulance had to come,
That's why I'm sitting here in Casualty,
Waiting with me Mum. 

by Steve Woodman

Inspiration

You ask me if I love you,
Then you suck the lips off my face
And chew on the delicacy of their maroon creases.
'Body shop' lipstick, no. 12;
The taste of compact slabs of cherry.
This cheap adolescent disguise has guided me through all
my realizations.

I left it on the edge of plastic vodka glasses and blood smeared mirrors,
On the foreskins of Greek men,
And finally, on all your cliched perfume soaked letters.
Now it is in your mouth, your throat, your stomach.
You have swallowed my teens and all those fermented mistakes.

The ones I danced into blind,
Fumbling for an urgent exit
In whitewashed jeans and tobacco coated pockets.
All the words that flew out and assaulted
Steve, Damien, Kieren, Gary, Ben
(and all the others my high tech brain has crashed out and deleted),
Have left open wounds in my voice box,
gauged by their barbed wire font.

But as you savor the many varied tastes of my existence,
I can feel my insides frantically stitching and nursing
my pubescent cuts and bruises. Healing in seconds.
Now I am your fetus and everything is warm.

You feed me with a mother's strength and make me reborn,
Without all these zits and misadventures.
My new born 'Halleaugh' scream, realized from sterilized lungs
will be pristine, no lipstick stains in sight.

The answer to your question is
"Yes, Yes, Yes! "
Yes, I love you.
YOUR PURPLE MECHANICAL PALMS,
THAT AT NIGHT SOFTEN LIKE CHOCOLATE IN THE SUNLIGHT
AND MELT INTO MY THIGHS.
YOUR HEAVY TORTURED EYES, YOUR LAUGHTER
AND THE WAY YOU INHALE YOUR MARLBORO.
Yes, Yes, Yes.

I swirl out of your anesthetic
With a bacon rind for a belly button
And that's my first word,
A singular syllable.

I can turn the lens until my eyes are in focus,
And you, my surgeon, become my mother.
"Your adolescence has been successfully removed.
The operation was beautiful, wonderful,
Just fine. "

My log in word is 'You'.
That is all I remember.
I am a blank canvas, a cut- price jotter pad, an overflowing biro.
Write all over me.

Scrawl your name in my razor sharp armpits,
In my louse- free hair, my eyelashes bulging with years of mascara.
Practice your joined up handwriting on
My Mound of Venus and the folds of my labia;
Magenta pink and bald.

I am your Frankenstein,
but I promise not to fail.
I will get top marks in my oral stage, my anal stage
And all the others I don't remember,
Because we hit the doodle stage in class.

With you, I will grow old and withered
And our tree roots will be dangerously entwined with time.
We will become soil once again and make love amongst the worms.
'Yes' will be always be my answer, my mantra.
You will always be my host, my vessel;
A place to store my happiness and tears.

by Mimi

Still I Rise

You may write me down in history

With your bitter, twisted lies,

You may trod me in the very dirt

But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?

Why are you beset with gloom?

'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells

Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,

With the certainty of tides,

Just like hopes springing high,

Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?

Bowed head and lowered eyes?

Shoulders falling down like teardrops.

Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?

Don't you take it awful hard

'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines

Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,

You may cut me with your eyes,

You may kill me with your hatefulness,

But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?

Does it come as a surprise

That I dance like I've got diamonds

At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame

I rise

Up from a past that's rooted in pain

I rise

I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,

Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear

I rise

Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear

I rise

Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,

I am the dream and the hope of the slave.

I rise

I rise

I rise.

by Maya Angelou

A Dream Within A Dream

Take this kiss upon the brow!

And, in parting from you now,

Thus much let me avow--

You are not wrong, who deem

That my days have been a dream;

Yet if hope has flown away

In a night, or in a day,

In a vision, or in none,

Is it therefore the less gone?

All that we see or seem

Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar

Of a surf-tormented shore,

And I hold within my hand

Grains of the golden sand--

How few! yet how they creep

Through my fingers to the deep,

While I weep--while I weep!

O God! can I not grasp

Them with a tighter clasp?

O God! can I not save

One from the pitiless wave?

Is all that we see or seem

But a dream within a dream?

by Edgar Allan Poe

My Puppy Punched Me In the Eye

My puppy punched me in the eye.
My rabbit whacked my ear.
My ferret gave a frightful cry
and roundhouse kicked my rear.

My lizard flipped me upside down.
My kitten kicked my head.
My hamster slammed me to the ground
and left me nearly dead.

So my advice? Avoid regrets;
no matter what you do,
don't ever let your family pets
take lessons in kung fu.

--Kenn Nesbitt

I Taught My Cat to Clean My Room

I taught my cat to clean my room,
to use a bucket, brush and broom,
to dust my clock and picture frames,
and pick up all my toys and games.
He puts my pants and shirts away,
and makes my bed, and I would say
it seems to me it's only fair
he puts away my underwear.
In fact, I think he's got it made.
I'm not as happy with our trade.
He may pick up my shoes and socks,
but I clean out his litterbox.

--Kenn Nesbitt

Of Course I Love You

How can you doubt that I love you?
Didn't I marry you, eh?
And though I don't say it too often,
I show it in all sorts of ways.

I'd take you out dining and dancing...
Can you find me a mountain to climb?
An ocean to cross? A boulder to toss?
I'd do them if I had the time.

I'd give you the shirt off me back, love,
I'd give you me last pair of socks;
And last time we went into town, love,
Didn't I buy you a frock?

I let you go home nice and early,
So you have the time to cook tea;
Remember that sometimes on Sundays
I give you the afternoon free.

I tell you when you're being bitchy,
I notice when you're getting fat;
I give you free rein in my tool shed,
I let you wear my fav'rite hat.

So next time you're thinkin' of leaving,
Remember that I think yer great;
And though there are times when yer grumpy...
Fair dinkum, yer still me best mate.

Who else would I trust with the cheque book?
And who else knows just what I like?
And when there are paddocks to muster
Who else but you borrows my bike?

I'll eat humble pie if I have to,
I'll say that I've been a right jerk,
I'll tell you I love you; I've done it: okay?
Now bloody-well come back to work.

Copyright; Janine Haig

FIFTY SOMETHING

“Do you know...what day it is?”
“Nope”...said my beau. “What's today?”
“Well! If you can't remember”, I cried
“I'm not gonna say.
Well aren't you gonna ask me?”
I insisted with a few tears.
“Alright”, he said...”you're fifty today...
and you have been for three or four years”.

That wasn't what I wanted to hear.
Just a few...simple birthday wishes,
a romantic night...a bottle of wine
and someone to do the dishes.
Instead...like a mature plucked Cinderella
with mascara blurred...eyes
my Prince Charming declares he's swapping
my fifty for two twenty fives.

He'll have a problem handling two;
his belly hangs below his belt.
He said my boobs were no better
like saddle bags...last time he felt.
See...they fall underneath me arms.
He knelt on 'em once and they spread.
Reckoned he was leaning forward
to switch on the light overhead.

He can't do things...like he used to
gets short winded and very abrupt.
When we were young...he worked all night
now he's all night...working it up.
Mind you...I don't give him a lot of help
like I did when I was young.
The elasticity has left my vital parts
you could say...spring has sprung.

We try to get together...
was recommended a book called "Fore Play"
wasn't a crossword or card game in it,
and the pictures were worn away.
I looked at myself in the mirror
perhaps the problem lies with me.
Surely the body doesn't fall apart...
...life begins at fifty.

I need to recharge by batteries,
get rid of my facial hair,
buy new underwire bras,
make 'em look like a pair.
My beau used a whipper snipper on my face,
“I'll trim it”...he said...”it won't pull”.
So I laid on the floor with his foot on my neck,
it started...then ran out of fuel.
Just as well...it went berserk,
desexed our neighbour’s cat.
I said...”Whatever you do...don't mention it...
when you give 'em the snipper back.”

I've been going to the gym lately,
I wear the correct gear...
you know...leotards with that skinny strap
on the strategic part of your rear.
No-one told me to wear tights as well
as I sat on the rowing machine.
Imagine how I felt...when a man pulled it out,
thank goodness it came out clean.
I'm preparing my body and keeping fit,
you know age is a state of mind too,
don't ask me what state I'm in,
let's just say...’Thirty Two.’

Copyright; Shirley Friend
From her book 'Another Dose From Floozie'

Ringo Blues

He's bought himself a set of drums -
Seems that's the latest fad
For them with teenage craniums
Just to annoy their Dad.
So now it's straight into his room
When he gets home from school:
A raucous thunderous sonic boom -
Could make die dead rise from die tomb
...And those alive to fear their doom -
A racket dial is cruel;
An audio nightmare of gloom
As decibels and senses zoom,
My ears and I can now assume...
That Ringo's on his stool.

As drums resound and cymbals crash,
The airwaves saturate;
Bush poetry's a culture clash -
He says I'm out of date.
His hair is fifteen shades of blue...
He only wears what's cool...
He bangs away the evening through...
He says I wouldn't have a clue...
But oh!! that noise!! I'm tellin' you...
When Ringo's on his stool!!

With peace and quiet vanished now
From in our neighborhood,
I get no more milk from the cow,
The dog's left home for good,
The chooks have all stopped layin' eggs,
The goldfish left his pool,
The cat has even found his legs,
My home-made beer has turned to dregs.
Is that a tune ? - the question begs...
When Ringo's on his stool.

The ducks from on the billabong
Have all flown south for Spring;
No more we hear the magpie's song -
He's lost his urge to sing.
T.V.'s a relic of the past -
Those drums win every duel;
Not even ghetto-blasters blast
As loud or even half as fast...
While ear-drums flutter at half mast...
When Ringo's on his stool.

The Flick man has no need to call -
Our cockroaches have gone;
The termites that live in the wall -
They too are moving on.
It could well drive a man to drink...
But who am I to fool ?
I have already crossed that brink -
I cannot hear myself to think -
And oh...this week, his hair is pink...
That's Ringo on his stool.

So I thought I would be the bird
And grow myself some wings,
Until today...! got the word
That somehow changes things.
The music shop is on the phone:
This afternoon it comes -
An instrument that's all my own -
He need no longer play alone -
We'll form a band that's all home-grown
I'm flexing up my gums;
Though I'm tone-deaf as any stone,
I'll join the raucous monotone -
Me playing my new saxophone...
While Ringo...plays his drums.

Copyright; Graham Fredriksen
From his book 'Paradise Revisited'

Happiness

Happiness is wanting what you have, not having what you want.
At first glance this sounds like the same thing, take a
Closer look, it's not.

If your completely fulfilled by spending time with
Your friends and family because you really want to
Be with them then you truly want what you have.
 
On the flip side, if you drive the nicest scar and have
A huge house, and have worked hard to get those things,
Then you have been successful at having what you want.
 
When you have what you want eventually the 
Feeling of satisfaction wears off.  Once you get what 
You want the old wants are replaced by the new wants
And the cycle continues.  True happiness remains at bay.
 
Look around you, happiness may be closer than you
Think.  It may just be a matter of changing what you 
Value.

Honor This Day

Feel what a privilege it is to be alive today. Consider all
The possibilities available to you, right now.
 
See the wonder and the beauty all around you. Let yourself
Truly love who you are and where you are in this moment.
 
Sense the eagerness within you to get started, to make
Things happen, and to create value. That eagerness comes
From your genuine excitement about expressing yourself
Through your accomplishments.
 
Look at all the new ways that this day gives you to express
Who you are. Even the troubles, even the problems, and even
The obstacles give meaning to life because they give you
Something to build upon.
 
Life's many circumstances and situations give you a way to
Pull yourself up, and rise to a new level of being. Whatever
Comes your direction gives you a way to create value that
Will last beyond this day, value that will be with you
Always.
 
Honor this day, honor the possibilities in this day, honor
The love and the beauty in this day. Look around at all you
Have, and in this moment make it, in your own way, into
Something truly great.

~Ralph Marston~

The way You Chooose To Live

Good fortune may sometimes bring success sooner than it otherwise would have come.

 And bad luck may sometimes cause a temporary setback.
In the long run, though, success in life is not much affected by luck or by accidents.

 It is based on the character with which you live from day to day, moment to moment.
In fact, success is not really defined by any particular point that you reach.

 It is much more a matter of the way that you live.

In order to be successful, you do not need any particular circumstance or set of events.

 Real success comes from living with purpose and meaning.

That's something that requires no one else's consent, assistance or permission.

 It's something you can begin to do right here and now.

Fortune can bring you a fleeting windfall or a momentary setback.

 The way you choose to live, though, is what brings true, lasting success.

~Ralph Marston~

No day is Wasted

Living with purpose and clear focus helps you to understand
The value of being meaningfully focused. And aimlessly
Wandering with no clear focus can also help you to
Appreciate the power of a positive purpose.
 
Either way, life leads you surely, steadily toward your
Purpose. Whether you experience the pain of losing touch
With that purpose, or the joy of living in harmony with it,
You grow in understanding and appreciation.
 
No day, no experience, no encounter is really wasted.
Through the ups and downs, in the good times and in times of
Despair, you feel more intensely the longing to express who
You truly are.
 
The beauty of this day is not in its particulars. The beauty
Is that you can take it all in, whatever and however it may
Be, and add it to the substance of your being.
 
Whatever comes along, be thankful for the opportunity to
Pass through it. Whatever is, go with it and grow with it.
 
Your purpose cannot help but become stronger, as each moment
Passes. Feel that strength, and live it more fully, more
Authentically, day after day.

 

~Ralph Marston~

Be Joyful

Whatever you enjoy, you improve. Enjoy where you are,

 and suddenly where you are has more value.
Enjoy the moment you're living.

 

 And suddenly the moment offers new and positive possibilities.
Enjoy what you're doing. By so doing, you transform your effort

 into a pathway to success and achievement.

You can always find a reason to be miserable.

 But being miserable will accomplish nothing.
Being joyful, on the other hand, will put you in a positive,

 productive, effective frame of mind.

 You'll be well positioned to accomplish and succeed.

Whatever this day may hold, find something to truly enjoy about it.

 And you will have found your own best path forward.
~Ralph Marston~

 

~What Life is About~

Life isn't about keeping score.
It's not about how many friends you have
Or how accepted you are.
Not about if you have plans this weekend or if you're alone.
It isn't about who you're dating, who you used to date,
How many people you've dated, or if you haven't been
With anyone at all.

It isn't about who you have kissed,
It isn't about who your family is or
How much money they have
Or what kind of car you drive.
Or where you are sent to school.
It's not about how beautiful or ugly you are.
Or what clothes you wear, what shoes you have on,
Or what kind of music you listen to.

It's not about if your hair is blonde, red, black, or brown,
Or if your skin is too light or too dark.
Not about what grades you get how smart you are, how smart
Everybody else thinks you are, or how smart
Standardized tests say you are.
It's not about what clubs you're in or how good
You are at "your" sport.
It's not about representing your whole being on a piece of
Paper and seeing who will "accept the written you."

Life just isn't.

Life is about who you love and who you hurt.
It's about who you make happy or unhappy purposely.
It's about keeping or betraying trust.
It's about friendship, used as a sanctity or as a weapon.
It's about what you say and mean, maybe hurtful, maybe heartening.
It's about starting rumors and contributing to petty gossip.
It's about what judgments you pass and why.
And who your judgments are spread to.

It's about who you've ignored with full control and intention.
It's about jealousy, fear, ignorance, and revenge.
It's about carrying inner hate and love, letting it grow
And spreading it.
But most of all, it's about using your life to touch or poison
Other people's hearts in such a way that could have
Never occurred alone.
Only you choose the way those hearts are affected, and those
Choices are what life's all about.

Nothing Wrong

There is nothing wrong. There is simply what is, and what you
Choose to make of it.

If you spend all your energy on judgment, there's no energy
Left for progress. And judgment doesn't pay the bills.

You have the opportunity to create something beautiful. It
Starts with accepting and valuing what already is.

Life's energy comes to you, and you can do with it whatever
You please. Very little of what comes your way is under your
Control before it gets to you, but every bit of what you do
With it is yours to decide.

Instead of fighting battles that are already over, simply
Accept that things are as they are. Then look closely with a
Positive purpose, and you'll find plenty of opportunities
For creating meaningful value.

Life is bringing you amazing possibilities right now. Let
Them come, let them be, and find joy in making the very best
Of them.
 Ralph Marston