My Judge

I wish I could tell you everything
about that past you seek to understand,
that childhood which you keep on questioning.

You say you seek resolution at last
of your mysterious, difficult past.

My recollection’s less obscure or dire.
When I say that, you yell at me: ‘Liar!’

I can only tell you what I recall.
When you insist I’m being underhand,
I wonder — why bother asking at all?



Day 29 - The person that you want tell everything to, but too afraid to

The Psychic

Many have changed my life.
You are the latest.
Messenger of the Universe,
with simple words
you reconnected me to my Spirit.
I knew at once you spoke truth.

With a hug that touched my heart,
and with your smile,
you blessed me.
I saw a sweet reflection in your eyes,
and I was thankful.
Thank you.


Day 28 - Someone that changed your life

At Samhain

(Admonition to myself)

As the veil thins
between the worlds
notice you’ve spent the month
honouring the dead,
recent or old.

Take a moment now to reflect
on what was said today
by a healer: Spirit
isn’t finished with you yet
on this plane.

You’ve been wanting
to take things more quietly,
you’ve been feeling
tired and old. But it’s only
those 2012 changes coming.

Instead of this draining,
summon
that zingy young you
that you’ve been and are.
You’ve got more to teach.

And as the veil thins,
say hail and farewell
to your dear dead, then
with your hands on your heart
regenerate.



Day 30 - Your reflection in the mirror
Days 28 and 29 still to be caught up with)

Brief Encounters

Ex-Boarder

You bastard —
friendly that first day,
so I said
you could stay.
Soon we parted in anger.
Missed your thefts later.


Fellow Passenger

You sat hard.
The front seat slammed back
on my toes.
Then you talked
for the whole trip, fast and loud.
I’ll say goodbye now.


Interested Stranger

Yes I know,
you ‘re a real nice bloke —
advising
perfect cures
for my husband’s health problems
on first acquaintance.


The Guy Behind Me

Do you think
I like that nudging
of my chair?
What long legs!
I keep inching forward, but
you keep reaching me.


Day 27 - The friendliest person you knew for only one day (I've skewed it a bit).

The Last Person I Pinky Promised

Well, I don’t know who you are
but it must have been long ago.
I have forgotten the promise too.

And I’m sure we didn’t call it ‘pinky’.
We didn’t have that word here then.
It came across from America later.

We would simply have linked
our littlest fingers and pulled them
tight, to set the promise.

It wasn’t done in my core family.
Maybe you were my cousin Anne
who brought exotic ways from overseas.

Maybe you were my Aunty Ev,
half friend, half substitute mother,
teaching me innocent fun I never knew.

And maybe you were the son
who grew up to become a stranger —
when you were still a youngster, and my pal.

These maybes are too full of loss.
Both life and death take people away,
and the promises we made just disappear.

So I’ll say you were a little girl at school.
Probably you sat next to me. The promise
was something we’d never tell. See, I didn’t.


Day 26 - The last person you made a pinky promise to


Oct 1 2011: Submitted for Poets United's Poetry Pantry #68

Death of a Bluesman

I’m sorry for your pain. It’s mine as well.
Not that I loved the man the same way you did,
but I knew him even longer. He was a friend.

He played and sang at all my children’s parties
while they were growing up, and ours as well,
no matter how famous he got — and finally,
when my boys were men, at their father’s wake.

He told me then his secret: ‘Jack Dancer,’ he said.
Yet he stayed alive and kept on singing
and doing shows for another sixteen years.

He’d only just retired. He said he was feeling well,
but in recent photos he looked frail and haggard.
I don’t know any details. Did the invader return?
He said he felt good, and twelve days later he’s dead.


Day 25 - The person you know who is going through the worst of times

A Favourite Memory

Dear Bill, it’s hard to pick
one favourite memory
out of so many,
but in twenty-seven years
of adventuring together,
a lot of them are due to you.

I wouldn’t have seen
half so much of my own country,
let alone South-East Asia,
without your unstoppable
drive and imagination,
the almost foolhardy daring

that had you, at fifteen,
new to this country, set out
to hitch-hike over the hill
from Melbourne to Sydney
and get home by dinner —
till the first driver set you straight.

But I digress. I started
to write about one memory,
one of my own memories,
and yes, I can pick one
that comes back sometimes
unbidden. A simple one.

After the long, tiring
birth of our first —
when you weren’t allowed to stay
and anyway had to work
hard, to finish by deadline
on your father’s building site

(you told me, when it was done
you’d just sat down in the gutter
exhausted, wiping your forehead,

when your friend turned up
with the news that you had a son
... but I heard that later) —

finally, cleaned and rested,
lying back on the pillows,
I opened my eyes to see you
struggling one-handed
into a white gown, the other hand
clutching a bunch of blue iris.

Above the gown and flowers
your eyes were their brightest blue.
(Why is it — I dreamed of negroes
and Sikhs, but all my husbands
and most of my lovers had blue eyes?
Such shining blue.... Again I digress.)

You never took your gaze from mine.
‘He’s beautiful, darling!’ you said,
whispering in your awe, and came
smiling, to embrace me, your face
alight with joy, your eyes
their brightest blue....


Day 24 - The person that gave you your favorite memory

To the Last Person I Kissed

Dear You —

as long as we’re both alive
you’re likely always to be
the last person I kissed,
and also the next person.

Mostly there’s only us,
and mostly that’s good.
Today, though, the house
suddenly felt empty.

I found myself thinking
what a quiet street, and how
if you die and leave me,
this could be an isolated life.

Then you said how strange
it felt, to be the only ones,
no other people here with us;
how you kept looking for them.

Even before that, you asked,
‘Where’s all our family?’
fretting that your cousin in Scotland
is slow to answer your emails.

The year draws in towards winter.
It’s a long holiday weekend.
We haven’t got a car, and it’s hard
for your painful legs to walk our street.

Yet, when I lie beside you
and say, ‘Yes, it’s just us two,’
you smile and say, ‘That’s good!
‘You’re enough for me,’ and we kiss.


Day 23 - The last person you kissed

Dear Gaia

I’d like to give you a second chance.
There is still time, if you’re quick —
time to turn around those natural laws
so that we people can have our comforts,
our conveniences, our pleasures,
and still have a healthy planet too.

You could fix it, I know you could.
Aren’t you the great Goddess?
Grow your trees faster! So, if we burn,
say, the Amazon Basin, or half Indonesia,
millions of replacements can sprout up. (Oh —
you want to know where to put them?)

Well anyway, surely the oceans
are vast enough to be retrieved. Surely
you can make it so oil spills are contained
and fish uncontaminated. And hey,
while you’re about it, let’s save the whales!
No, really. (What — we have to ALL want it?)

Gaia, I’m getting desperate here.
You don’t seem to realise things are grim.
Couldn’t you have set Japan
on firmer ground? Somehow turned the tide
of that tidal wave? (Whaddya mean,
you didn’t cause the radiation leak, we did?)

Dear Gaia, you’ve always been
an excellent Mother. I can’t complain.
I know you tried to warn us many times,
I know you’ve done your best to teach us
right from wrong, and consequences.
Could you now be forgiving? Could you
give your wayward children one last chance?


Day 22 - Someone you want to give a second chance to


Submitted for Poetry Pantry #69 at Poets United

Dear Gardenia

Gardenia of the dangling hem
Gardenia of the tangled hair
big, awkward girl with hanging head

you were the dirty girl
Mummy told me not to go near
because Things might hop off you

and I didn’t go near, didn’t even
look at you more than I had to;
I turned my back, I turned my eyes

I never said a word to you, I pretended
you didn’t exist (how dare you be here,
in my school; how dare you be?)

so when the letter came
from your parents, complaining
that three little girls had picked on you —

mean Lexie, rough Janet, and me —
I protested, indignant in innocence,
‘I never did anything to her’.

The others confessed. ‘I hit her.’
‘I kicked her.’ But I got into trouble
for telling lies. Until roll-call.

‘Oh, you couldn’t have done it;
you weren’t here yesterday!
Why didn’t you say?’

(Because, Stupid Teacher, I wasn’t here,
so I didn’t know this was about
something that happened yesterday.)

Gardenia, I don’t think you ever came back.
I wonder what you would have looked like
clean and cared for — or were you

a big old dumb girl kept down in class,
never going to catch up, unable
to keep yourself nice? I’ll never know.

But I do understand now
that you weren’t just talking about one day,
and why you said I picked on you.


Day 21 - Someone you judged by their first impression

You Pester My Mind

You pester my mind
more and more
old doom-sayer,
you in the hood.

What right do you have
to come in here
night after night,
giving me the old hurry-up?

‘Do it now!’ you say.
‘Get on with it!
Time waits for no man —
nor woman either.’

That may be so, but I
would like to smell
the roses, take a breath.
‘Breath runs out,’ you warn.

And it might be
my breath you mean,
but I think of his
and all the things undone

which he’d like to finish
before he goes, and I
could help complete
except that all my time

is spent on helping him
stay alive. How sweet
if both of us could live
till the end. We survive.


Day 19 - Someone that pesters your mind — good or bad

Dear Sarah Jane

Dear Sarah Jane,
I wanted to be you.
I wanted your slim form,
your long dark hair
wide eyes and pretty mouth.

I wanted to be
just your age
at just that time
in a London that was still,
I imagined, a little bit swinging

and then to go
adventuring
into all kinds of times,
all sorts of spaces, with all four
of the most charming Doctors.

Above all I wanted
your bravery
when you climbed
that high wire lattice
leading people to freedom.

Sarah Jane,
you are my hero.
I loved Rose and Leela,
wonderful Donna, and Wilfrid;
liked Martha and Ace, Jo and the Brigadier

and of course
I always adored
dashing Captain Jack.
Amy, I see, in her own way,
is as brave, smart, and good as you —

but there’s no more you,
dear Sarah Jane, who crept
so easily into our hearts
and now will never return
ageing brilliantly, for more story.

Sarah Jane,
I wanted to be you.
I don’t want to be and I’m not
dead at 63, like the actress
who played you.... Oh loss! Oh sad reality!

RIP Elisabeth Sladen, d.19 April 2011.



Day 18 - The person that you wish you could be

Published in HAVE YOUR CHILL, July 2018

In Another Country

Hello, you. Nice photo.
You look good in your black hat.
I wasn’t mad on the dreads.
Now you look distinguished!
It’s that touch of grey in your beard
and edging your temples.
And of course the hat.

I wonder if we'll ever again
see each other in the flesh.
Oops! Let’s not put it like that;
in person, I mean. That other
might best be forgotten, right?
(Except I don’t forget.)

It’s good to see the pictures
of you with the right woman
and a new child. I never was
the right woman in that way,
nor indeed you the right man.

I like to read of your adventures
with chooks and gardening,
learning to build earth domes,
and fathering a young daughter.

I like to get the invitations
I’m too far away to accept,
for candlelit vigils, drumming circles,
courses in dragon magick
and workshops with crystal skulls.

You call me Teacher. I only
encouraged you on a path
you were always walking,
even when you thought
you’d strayed off course.
The angels never left you.

I like loving you quietly now
as friend / confidante / sister. I love
that your wife and my husband
feel no threat. (Nor should they.)
And just occasionally I like to say,
‘You look good!’ and be told,
‘You look good too, dearie.’



Day 16 - Someone that's not in your state/country

Dear Bogeyman

You missed! I got away
time after time after time,
leaping on the bed
from the middle of the floor,
flying in a flurry
of cotton nightgown,
to land soft and safe
from your sneaky hands
that reached to grab
my naked ankles
and pull me down
into the darkness
of your nether regions.

I never met you in the flesh
though some of my friends did.
I wonder now about those tales,
that fear — where did it come from?
Did fear or tales come first?
Are both an age-old way
of keeping children safe
from real-live bogeymen
who really lie in wait
for unwary children, and who
might even be in your own house,
hiding, ready to pounce,
under your own bed?


Day 17 - Someone from your childhood

Published in BEYOND THE DARK ROOM, 2012

Dear Beth

I’m afraid to phone!
It’s been so long.
What if you’ve moved,
what if you’re dead?
What if you’ve got dementia
and don’t remember me?
What if you’re annoyed
that I haven’t been in touch?

Perhaps I’ll leave it ... but
I long to hear your voice.

Day 14 - Someone you've drifted away from

Missing You

Laurentino mio
I don’t suppose
it could have gone on,
but there’s no-one I can be
as silly with as you.

I miss your brain, I miss
the late night conversations
on msn. The deep discussions,
the nonsense, and the way
we always got so hilariously rude.

Life intruded. Events
took up time. Inevitably
months passed
becoming years.
The long gaps extended.

‘I miss you,’ you messaged
suddenly. After a pause
I replied, ‘I miss you too.’
That was all. Now
you ignore me on Skype and facebook.

I understand. I do it too.
What’s to say?
I’m sure you do miss me
as I miss you, and those times.
But the world and our lives moved on.


Slightly out of order: Day 15 - The person you miss the most

Dear Telstra

I wish you could forgive me

if I were to end now

our brief relationship.

Sometimes one just knows

a thing isn’t working

and never will.

It’s clear that we have

a communication problem —

at least one.

Your beautiful upright modem

lacks potency and staying power.

How much interruptus can I take?

When it’s this much struggle,

why not give up already

and both cut our losses?

But that’s not the way

you operate.  It’s an expensive

alimony you demand.

Hundreds of dollars yet

to break our contract. I’ll have to

stick it out the rest of the year.

I hunger for a love affair

with the National Broadband Network —

which is still too far away.

Meanwhile I’d be happy enough

to hook up with Dodo while I wait

for the someday when my NBN will come.

Telstra, won’t you please forgive me

all severance payments

and let me go?

Day 13 - Someone you wish could forgive you

Wicked Stepmother

I don’t hate you any more

and the pain you caused is past.

There are those who say that you 

were one of my greatest teachers.

It may be so. I learned

that hate poisons the hater

so then I had to work hard 

to make myself stop.

But I can’t like you.

There are no names bad enough

for the way your tortured

my Dad and my little brother.

Me too — but it’s for our loved ones 

we hurt the most.

That’s it, really. Nothing more 

to say, and I want to expunge you

from my thoughts.

You’re dead. Stay that way!

Day 12 - The person you hate most/caused you a lot of pain

Submitted for Poets United's Verse First: Poetry Heals

To the One Who Broke My Heart the Hardest

Dear John —

But this is not a ‘Dear John’ letter.

Once, in a letter to me, you said,

because I had signed, ‘Love always’,

‘Always is a long time to love. 

How about

Love ... as long as you’re still 

the person you are today?’

That was twenty-nine years ago.

I am of course changed 

but this I know:

when it’s love, it’s always.

******************************

‘The wind doth blow today, my love,

and a few small drops of rain.

I never had but one true love.

In cold grave he was lain.’ *

Probably not. I expect 

they burnt you up in a fire, your family. 

Whatever they did, I didn’t have to

witness it. Our love stayed secret.

And I know you didn’t intend

to break my heart, hard or at all. 

I have had other loves, all true,

and other heartbreaks, but ...

* A slight misquoting from the anonymous ballad, ‘The Unquiet Grave’

Day 20 - The one that broke your heart the hardest.  
And yes, this poem is out of sequence in the 30 days.

Nana

I wish I could talk to you now

and ask you to tell me the stories.

My other Grandma

lived longer and told me tales

of my Dad when he was a boy,

and all his sisters and brothers.

But you, Nana, could have told me

stories about yourself.

I want to know about India

when you lived there,

your hotel on the beach,

and the people in the old photos.

But most of all I always wanted

the guidance you would have given me

all the years of my growing up,

because you were loving and wise.

Mum and Aunty Franki

always asked your advice.

I can remember that, and remember

their skirts and flirty hats.

But I was only four when you died.

If I try, I can almost remember your voice.

Day 11 - A deceased person you wish you could talk to