Jonathan Livingston Seagull

I have just written a poem for HubPages called

Who is Jonathon Livingston Seagull I have always been entranced with both the book by Richard Bach and Neil Diamond's musical interpretation.

Always, I believe, true happiness is flying with being your inner, higher landscape.

I'm An Artist Sensitive Bout My Ish Smile

I'm An Artist Sensitive Bout My Ish Smile

Hear the music in Nightflower's words! At times they flow, they scramble, they retreat, and then, then they quietly move on!

A great spiritual moment!

a thought for the day

a thought for the day

A gorgeous, spiritual moment captured! - Lounn - HubPages

I'm Sorry...It's What I Do

I'm Sorry...It's What I Do

Here is one of the most dynamic poems I have read in quite awhile! (It is from Nightflower on Hubpages). The tantalising layers of energy secreted in the poem are magical, enigmatic and dramatically disturbing. For some strange reason, I think of the haunting, erotic nightmare landscapes of Salvador Dali's paintings.

Laying Of The Hands

Laying Of The Hands

This is a fascinating piece of information from Nightflower on HubPages!

Lost my Australian identity?

I have just discovered something quite bizarre. I am an Australian blogger, using a .com website admittedly. However, I have found that if I just "Google Australia", I am close to impossible to find. Yet, if I Google the world web, I appear easily on a range of my sites. Surely, with all my Australian tags, I may get some mention on the Australian Google!

e.g. If I Google "Poetry from the Mornington Peninsula", as I have on so many tags, there is absolutely no mention on Google Australia!!! In fact, to find new Australian poetry is very difficult indeed!

Does this mean I am inhibited by .com????

Yes, I agree that the internet is a great leveller of nationality! This is good news! Everyone is equal here! Until now, I believe only death could achieve such a feat! But surely some national connection - especially if you have bursts of promoting your "Australianness" - should warrant a crawler "pick up"????

Or am I just being web naiive????

The Stone Child I Am

I have just found out that I am a Stone Child - according to Cherokee belief. This means a child that is cast out. (Yes! I felt a very lonely child, an all round misfit but a dreamer of magic.)

I thought this meant I am "spiritually hard". I felt saddened, because I feel I am far from this.
But then I learnt that stone is made from the softest sand!

Happiness! Yin and Yang!

As the stars shine down

As the stars shine down on a sea of darkness...
And the moon peeps gently from a passing cloud...
To wink or nod his or her good night...
A soul waits...watching far out to sea...
Letting the gentle cooling breezes take hold...
The breezes linger...a soft carress...
Upon the warmth of a smiling face...
The soul knows...there will be a time...
A time when the sun warms the heart again...
A time when the heart will be whole...
And the body will follow...

For home is where the heart is...
And the heart cries to be home...

But the soul believes it will come to pass...
As the waves upon the shore...
There are things in life that are meant to be...
And dreams to be dreamt...
And lives to be lived...

And tears to be shed...

And love to be found...

Whispering thoughts on the wind

As the dream carries dreams on whispers...
To their destinations...
Just a sigh
And a whisper of longing...
A whisper of dream...
A glimmer of hope....
Standing...watching the waves rush to shore...
And watching the sand dance in the moonlight...
Bare feet...free...dancing
Cool sensation...watching the water trickle...
Like the touch of a guardian angel...
And the hands of a lost soul reaching across the distant shore...
Waiting for the time to be right...
And the sun to shine bright...
Warming the shadows of the heart...

A smile...the touch of a loving smile...
And the faint embrace of an extended arm...
Slowly a tear...a wondrous tear
Rolls down a half smiling half paining cheek...
Perhaps there is magic...
Perhaps dreams are real...
And as the sun warms the face...
All seems to melt away the tears...
And there is only the heart...loving...
Loving the feel of the wind...
The whispers on the wind...the promise of going home...
Home on the wind of dreams...

For a Little While

For a little while...
The music of the spheres lingered sweetly...

For a little while...
The oceans mirrored a smiling sky...
And the horizon seemed a magical allure to somewhere...

The heart danced to the gentle rhythms
Of whispering willows...
The soul sighed in the peace
Of the power
Of One...

For a little while...
Candlelight drowned the shadows...

For a little while...
Time was timeless...

For a little while...

Masks, Machines and Wines

Put aside the masks, the frowns, the angers
Put aside the jeers of judgmental views
Taste a cloud in the mists of dawning
And wonder on the melody of life...

The reels of machines cut circular patterns
Set to the rhythm of the careless dollar...
Cares and concerns cannot be eased
By luminous symbols on cold metal

Put aside the frowns, the angers, the masks
Put aside the tears of biased views
Feel the colours of a fading sunset
And wonder on the smiles of life...

Wines and spirits are the poor man's answer
To the riddles and mazes of existence...
When the wine is empty
And the numb moment passed
The challenge of tomorrow is still there

Put aside the angers, the masks, the frowns
Put aside the fears of troubled views
Sense the rainbow behind the storm
And wonder on the hope of life...

You are the Soul of My Soul

YOU ARE THE SOUL OF MY SOUL


A sleeping love
The embers of my winters
The soft showers of my summers
The dawn of my midnights
The gentle flame in my shadows


YOU ARE THE SOUL
IN
MY SOUL

Thank you Cranbourne!

I am wondering who you all are!

Students of mine perhaps????

If you are, it is good to see you are studying well over the Christmas holidays!

And if you are teachers, looking for inspiration? I warned you I was crazy! Now you have proof!!!

HAPPY CHRISTMAS!

Little Pics of Box Hill Part 2

Remember to validate your Metcard BEFORE you travel…

It was one of those days when the universe seemed a little bit rattled…

Melbourne skies were grey and dribbly…

My favoured pen had walked…

My $2 coin stuck itself in the Met machine…

The “up” escalator at Box Hill station didn’t feel like working today…

An old man wandered by me wielding a folded umbrella…
(the skies were still dribbling)
Muttering loudly to the air
In a language I couldn’t understand…

And ooooooooooo the seat I am sitting on is WET!!!
Great look for the interview!

And meanwhile the women ferret and groan
In the basket of buttons ON SPECIAL you know…
(with apologies to T.S.Eliot)

And a young girl in pale blue
Carried a HUGE black plastic THING
Under one arm
SUPERBAT
Glowed the lemon-lime sign…

And a sign on plastic – over a suit in a drycleaner’s read…
BROWN GOUGE
I am sure I am conjuring all the wrong images!
I must be!

Now the skies are letting it all hang out!!
Please!!! Let my umbrella open!!! Please!!!
WOOHOO!! The universe ain’t aimin’ at me today!!!
I’M OK!!

Return Journey…

I’ve found an underground walkway
Beneath the busy road…

The “down” escalator works quite well at Box Hill station…

And oooooooooooo the seat of my pants is DRY!!!

Little pics of Box Hill

LITTLE PICS OF BOX HILL ( a real place in Victoria, Australia )
Monday 9th February 2004

1. stop…look…and listen…
Two little girls holding hands…
Smiling…
Waiting for the lights to change…
One little girl’s hand held the hand of a man…
Quietly smiling in the shade of his akubra…
He was in a wheelchair…

2. Hecuba…Where are you? OR Nameless Limbo
I visited the dreaded “soup kitchen” today…
Splish and splash………What are they?
Onomatopoeia...
And similes and metaphors………What’s the difference?
Easy!……The captain is like a dog……Simile…
The captain is a dog……Metaphor…
But what if the captain really IS a dog?
Well…I guess…That is just……Fact…
(The English teacher in me glowed with pride and laughter…)
(But the junior chef hadn’t finished with me yet…)
You MUST network……It’s the done thing now…
They get paid to be networkers…so I guess it has to be done…
How many resumes you got?
They’re all school resumes…slight differences…
Every school likes to brew its own recipe…I have 20!!… So far!!!
TAKE ‘EM ALL!!!…Don’t worry about the frown on the network brow…
HAVE FUN!!!

(N.B. “soup kitchen” is a euphemism for Centrelink…the place where the unemployed stagger)

P.S. Ta Robert!!!…By the way…meant to ask you…
Your coffee cup…
Has a saying…
Why is it in German?

3. Stickability…
A film crew…
Small…
Looking like a motley
Bunch of black sticks…
Taking shots of some poor gaudy clown…
(poor because it was a bit hot today for a clown suit)
OUTSIDE
AN ANGUS AND ROBERTSON
BOOKSHOP
WHY???????
WHY???????
??
?

Old Legends

Australia is a vision of people...growing together...but burdened with
Old legends from other lands and lifetimes...
Other dreamings...
Sighing...
Stumbling into tomorrow...

We have no legend that is Australia NOW...
The spirit of Blue Mountains
And Sapphire Coast dreamers...
The old soul of the Gold Coast...
Sunshine...
Adelaide Hills...
Secrets of Yarra wanderers or Margaret River wines...
Or Ghan travellers seeking the heart of midnight...

No soul of living...

Australia has the beauty for the camera eye...
Tasmania...Eden memories of our natural state...
A feast for the visual senses...

But where...
Where are the lyrics of our song...
NOW!!!

Sometimes...

The room is ablaze with smiling lights…
Sensual forms and slow rhythms…
Music for dancing dreams…

Alluring eyes…

Sometimes…
It is easy to wander in wonder…
In the glamour of possibility…

Sometimes…
The rush of want and desire…
Shadows the tiny glow…
In the dark corner…
Watching…
Waiting…

For the strings to play

A special heart song…

Musings on Pink Floyd's lyrics - "Division Bell"

DIVISION BELL - Pink Floyd
Did you ever realise what you had become…And it was not only me you were running from…The rains fell slow…Down on all the roofs of uncertainty…And did you know…I never thought you would lose that light in your eyes…Marooned…On the day the wall came down…The Ship of Fools had finally run aground…Promises lit up the night like paper doves in flight…Now frontiers shift like desert sands…While nations wash their bloodied hands…Of loyalty, of history, in shades of grey…And all but the bitter residue slipped away…slipped away…I’ve spent too long…On the inside out…My skin is cold…To the human touch…This bleeding heart’s not beating much…Extinguished by light I turn on the night…Wear its darkness with an empty smile…I’m holding out for the day…When all the clouds have blown away…I’m with you now…Can speak your name…Till we can hear…Ourselves again…
Beyond the horizon of the place we lived when we were young…In a world of magnet and miracles…Our thoughts strayed constantly and without boundary…But the ringing of the division bell had begun…There was a ragged band that followed in our footsteps…Running before time took our dreams away…Leaving the myriad small creatures trying to tie us to the ground…To a life consumed by slow decay…Looking beyond the embers of bridges glowing behind us…To a glimpse of how green it was on the other side…Steps taken forwards but sleepwalking back again…Dragged by the forces of some inner tide…
The dawn mist glowing…The water flowing…The endless river…High hopes…A world of magnet and miracles has slipped away…slipped away…The grass is greener…The light is brighter…The taste is sweeter…The nights of wonder…The ringing of the division bell has begun...


Today I found Pink Floyd…or perhaps Pink Floyd found me…
Inner tides on the same naked sea…
Of cramped wonder and frozen answers…
Sailing in motley tune with Nowhere to Fly...

New Moon…
Dark portal …
Waiting for some Time Traveller Spirit…
Some yesterday…
Some tomorrow…

Venturing the secret chamber…the quest for the Hall of Records…
Just a diary of possible old memories of Atlantean mysteries
Embedded deep in Egyptian walls…
But I know the Sphinx still smiles…

The precious passport is close…
For the first time I will see my certificate of birth…
And Canada seems but a magical smile away…
The grass seems greener…
The light seems brighter…
The nights of limpid magic have begun…

(Written just before my first venture overseas in a beautiful northern October autumn)

True story of a first female student at Melbourne University

Melbourne University proudly presents…the first woman to attain a degree in these auspicious realms…But don’t you just love to find another side to a story…AND WHAT A STORY…

At the age of seventy she trundled along…
To capture her own special driver song…
Nervous as buggery…
Prayed for skullduggery…
And quaffed a bottle of brandy to help her along…
Sitting tall and straight
Beside her testing mate…
She appeared cool and confident and controlled…
The licence was hers…
She made not one driving err…
But her walk was more a wobble at the gate…

Rhoda should have been on stage…
A laugh for any age…
She could blemish sacred icons with a smile…
You could not take offence
To this woman of no pretence…
City slicker with a dash of country style…

She could booze and smoke with the best…
And intercourse with the rest…
Be it book or bed
Mind or body stimulation…
Life was meant to be fun
To this woman of the sun…
Not a tangle of protocol complication…

But I could only smile from afar
At this female star…
She loved my older brother far more…
One Christmas I remember he received an expensive watch…
My watch was just lonely by the door…
My brother had the brains and a sense of going somewhere…
I was the rebel wanderer…
Unsung music in my soul…
I so yearned to be
A less shadowy me…
But Rhoda simply found my light poor…

Don’t get me wrong…we could talk…
Rhoda and I…
We could laugh at the world till we cried…
Yet never once did I feel
Any touch of real
Closeness…
Love and pride…
And yet…
Behind laughter and bravado and living for life…
(And the world survived 92 years of Rhoda)…
There may be a well of secret sadness…
And sometimes…
Sadness has a unique way of bringing souls
Together…

Katrina was a troubled little girl…
Adopted by her mother…
In turn adopted by her grandmother…
Her grandmother Rhoda…
Katrina danced through just a fragile five years
Of music…
“Animal Crackers in My Soup”…
Katrina loved to sing and dance…
And we all loved her…

But our time of loving her here on earth…
Was just a tiny whisper…

Rhoda laid a child to rest…
With a simple headstone…
“Katrina”…

35 years passed before I could face “Katrina”…
I could not walk there alone…
So I took Rhoda…in my heart…with me…
Gently I cleared a space for Katrina to dance and sing again…
I wanted to feel Katrina’s joy…
I wanted to share Rhoda’s happiness…

One day…I took Rhoda’s daughter with me…
You see…Rhoda’s daughter had lost “Katrina”…
Never knowing where she sang and danced now…
We talked of making a more detailed identity for “Katrina”…
But her “mother” said no…

Perhaps I was disappointed…
Perhaps…

Don’t get me wrong…we could talk…
Rhoda and I…
We could laugh at the world till we cried…
But just this once did I feel
A special touch of real
Closeness…
Love and pride…

For Travellers

Beyond the threads of Time
Is the realm of the Endless Spirit…

Remembering painted clouds
Haunting the horizons of seascapes…
Dreaming of deep valley lights
Awakening the soul of darkness…

But the Endless Spirit is
A Wanderer…
A Rider…
A Seeker…
Waiting to live a life
Again…

Far away…

An island…
A mountain…
Last warmth before lands of ice…
Whispers of Alchemy from the Huon…
Stony Ground…
Land’s Edge…
Dark Wind…
Voices
On a harp and a dulcimer…

Or
Golden fields…
Laced with the smiling kiss of breathless skies…
Mountain lakes…
Blessed with the secrets and colours of Inuit legend…
A northern land…
Of northern lights…
Autumn dreaming…

Or
Nature’s somewhere beyond the southern seas…
A land of sultry summers, ancient forests, wild coasts
And winters draped in mystical snows…
Sacred peaks embraced by sacred blue waters…
Celestine magic in the mist…

Beyond the threads of Time…

To travel old journeys…
To re-visit a moment…
To breathe new air…

To be the Endless Spirit…

Shakespeare is a man for all seasons

William Shakespeare is adept at playing the music of humanity.

The still, sad voice of an Othello
The procrastinating melody of a Hamlet
The devil-may-care bravado of a Macbeth
The mischievous gusto of a Portia
The simpering servitude of a Desdemona
The whingeing whine of a Lear

The magical dances of a Prospero
A love-struck Malvolio

Shakespeare’s plays appear to be dominated by male characters;
But Shakespeare merely adapted to a practice of his time.
Females did not perform in plays till the mid 17th. century
Hence males took female roles - even that of Juliet.

The characters in Shakespeare’s writings - male and female -
Are representative figures of humanity.

Shakespeare’s writings have weathered the erosive tides of Lethe
Because his characters stand recognisable

In any time and
In any place.

Shakespeare’s man is not the male absolute
But humanity absolute.

Test Post

I have made heaps of changes with page elements on my blog, but none seem to be recorded. They are appearing in my preview, (they have been saved) but not in the blog. I am wondering if I made too many changes, so my blog is fogged. Hmmm

We'll see if this goes through.

Video of "Homo Suburbiensis"

I created this video for my 2008 Year 12 English classs. Hopefully, it will give them an extra dimension of poetry appreciation. In the near future, I will present it with another music style. Perhaps it will help the students feel the poem in a different way.

Robert Kennedy writes on Australian Poetry

Poetry has lost its meaning - An Australian perspective
Robert Kennedy - posted 6 November 2007
http://www.culturewars.org.uk/2007-11/poetryaustralia.htm

Our daily newspapers are full of poetry. On average 16 articles a week appear in our Australia’s papers with the word poetry somewhere in the article. ‘Wow!’ I hear you say, but don’t get excited too soon! Only two of these articles ever have anything to do with actual poetry. The other 14 are about sport, music and business, in fact almost every subject you can think of - except poetry.

Being an enthusiastic poet and wanting to source as much information as possible about what is happening in the world of Australian poetry, I signed up to all the major online Australian newspapers to get their articles on poetry. I used the news story email alert function that most offer; try finding these articles in an actual newspaper! Interestingly enough, while the Google alerts I signed up to using the word poetry yielded almost only poetry - about 15 articles a day from around the globe, though mainly North American - from the Australian email alerts I received many articles, but few about poetry. It was almost a direct opposite to Google in fact. 10% of the articles from the Australian alerts were on actual poetry, while it was 90% with Google.

Sports stories were the majority of articles I received from the Australian alerts. Why? Because of that much-abused phrase of ‘poetry in motion’. Most of these articles were describing the sublime efforts of our nation’s sporting people. The other most popular hits were articles with the phrase ‘poetic justice’; these were crime and political stories. It seems almost a prerequisite for sports journalists, that when searching for a word to describe something as effortless or unique they always fall back on the word poetry. You’d think that with the suggested ever-declining readership of poetry that over the years the word poetry would also fall out of use. It appears that it is our newspapers that are keeping the word poetry alive.

The idea of what poetry is still seems to be alive, then, but for the most part, the word poetry is seen and heard in a sporting vernacular, not in the artistic - at least in Australia. How did it happen that the word poetry got to be about everything but poetry? Maybe poetry has found its level for our time. Not long ago Harold Stewart, Australian poet and co-author of the infamous Ern Malley affair said, ‘ours is an anti–poetic age’. This appears to be even more true today.

We all know, however, that since the birth of the internet there has been a groundswell in poetry. With all the writing communities, magazines, lists and general discussions about poetry, sometimes you’d think that this was all that happens on the internet. So why have publishers dropped poetry off their lists? Don’t they see all this action? If people aren’t buying poetry books, what’s all this poetry stuff happening online? Why hasn’t the amount of interest there is in poetry on the internet led to an increase in the production of poetry books? Instead, poetry seems increasingly confined to the internet rather than the mainstream media - except when invoked by lazy sports journalists.

How do we change this, and wrestle back the ownership of the word poetry to its rightful domain? I’d suggest that us poets (pretty good writers that we are) start submitting articles on the state of poetry in Australia to our nation’s papers. Write reviews on a poetry performance, a book, an event and get it into your local paper. There’s a great community of poets out there writing, doing incredible stuff and no one knows about it. If we want more people to read about what’s happening with Australian poetry, it’s up to us to help get it out there, perhaps even start our own poetry newspaper!
Robert Kennedy is an Australian poet and arts writer.

Comment: I dream of changing this perspective. I LOVE writing poetry, different poetry. Helium and this blog are my means of "getting it out there".

An Unusual Christmas Tree

This must be the most unusual Christmas tree I have ever seen.

"The 7-Foot Upside-Down Pre-Lit Christmas Tree Evoking a 12th century Central European tradition of hanging a tree from the ceiling at Christmas, this unique 7' pre-lit fir is inverted to ensure a smaller footprint for less-spacious areas, and allowing more room for the accumulation of presents underneath. Originally designed for specialty stores to display delicate ornaments using a minimum of floor space, the unusual tapering shape allows the tree to stand in places that do not accommodate a traditional holiday tree, such as between two armchairs or in a corner."

It is from Hammacher Schlemmer, claiming to offer the best, the only and the unexpected for 159 years.

Happy Christmas from Australia

I adore the symbolism of the sun. It could be Uluru!

More Favourite Christmas Quotes

"Christmas is a bridge. We need bridges as the river of time flows past. Today’s Christmas should mean creating happy hours for tomorrow and reliving those of yesterday."
Gladys Taber, 1899 - 1980

"I dreamed it was Christmas Eve,and while waiting for a green light I noticed the manger scene on the church lawn.It's all so overwhelming, this Christmas business, I thought.The shopping and singing and partying and gift-wrapping and Santa Claus and Jesus. I feel wonderful then guilty then joyful then confused.God help me, I thought. And the light changed, and the baby in the manger smiled."
Joe Hickman

Favourite Christmas Quotes

"They err who thinks Santa Claus comes down through the chimney; he really enters through the heart." ~ Mrs. Paul M. Ell.

"It is Christmas in the heart that puts Christmas in the air." ~ W. T. Ellis

Christmas is Time for the Spirit

Christmas is a time to burn the diet
It is a time to banquet on sweetness and wine

Christmas is a time to share joy
It is a time to give unconditional love

Christmas is a time to turn off the alarm
It is a time to bathe in the lights of the spirit

The True Meaning of Christmas

The true meaning of Christmas lives on
Maybe a little like a fractured fairy tale
Maybe a little commercialised
Maybe a little painful
Lonely
Lost
For some
But
Like a still small voice
Buried deep in the sham and drudgery
There is still
A beautiful heartbeat
In Christmas

The goodwill of giving
The celebration of living
The breath of Christ within

Box a little of who you are
Wrap in the ribbons of your love
Tie with the bow of closeness
This is the gift of Christmas

Share time with the lonely
Share time with family
Just share loving time
This is the celebration of life

Feel the secret of namaste
Feel the spirit of the higher self
Feel the joy of being
Close to the first breath of Christ

The Yin and Yang of Christmas

Endless fields draped with the softness of white
Lonely trees garlanded with weeping crystals

Windows beaded with twinkling lights
Ribbons and wrappings and Christmas puddings

Voices stirring the songs of Christmas
Voices airing the spirit of Christmas

Endless sands etched with the cool of blue
Lonely trees sighing with burning waters

Windows beaded with twinkling lights
Ribbons and wrappings and coconut ice.

Voices stirring the songs of Christmas
Voices airing the spirit of Christmas

Endless hunger draped with the fear of tomorrow
Lonely souls aching with helpless tears

Eyes locked in empty lights
Chains and cells and haunted life

Voices longing for the songs of Christmas
Voices needing the spirit of Christmas

CHRISTMAS

Christmas is to be a little different this year. My children will be in another state. They love me, I know, but they are caught up in their own lives. I have learnt to accept that.

There will be no presents and no Christmas tree. Even Christmas dinner is a question mark right now. My working every day is simply not enough to stretch beyond basic living.

But that is not a sadness. I have the spirit of Christmas with me in the form of the man I love. (Cancer prevents him from working, so I earn for the two of us). Every Christmas spent with him is a gift I treasure. That is what matters about Christmas, sharing time with a precious person. He gives me all he has - his time, his care and his endless love.

I would not trade this man for all the money in the world.

Every day is Christmas. I can ask for no more.

P.S. I write this post for anyone not quite celebrating Christmas in a traditional way. There are blessings around. Be comforted! There are others like you! You are not alone! This is my gift to anyone who needs reassurance and peace.

HAPPY CHRISTMAS!

Bridge

Some summer moons ago
I lingered away holidays

Walking
Walking familiar drives
Walking to seek a new look at the small things
Missed in the daily haste of highways
Imprisoned lanes
And traffic lights

And there, tucked between gaudy facades
Of gummy colours and red hot sales
Was a park
A tall tall elm
And a bench and table
Tender coated shapes
Hunched over the table
Poetically tapered fingers
Lightly held
A bunch of cards

2 shadows playing bridge

I began to walk daily
To the park
Round the park's elliptic secrets
Through the park's dappling lights
And any time
The dews of morning
The glare of midday
The hush of late afternoon

Always
2 shadows playing bridge

But that was many summer moons ago

And today, a friend told me I should read a book called
"Geophysics for the Wandering Spirit"
A book lost in the dust left by
Gummy colours and red hot sales
But still there
A tiny crystal trapped in the web of progress
Waiting to be discovered

The book was written by some guy with a PhD in Geophysics

Who loved to play bridge

Relaxation Music - Lunar Khandro - Beautiful Landscapes

Stirring the depths of the soul!

Beautiful Landscapes

Enjoy the soft soul voice
Drift with magic!

Inspirational Video Clips www.JawDroppingVideo.com

Drift with the music and Dream!

Inspirational Video - The Don't Quit Poem

Reflecting-
Where have I been?
Where am I going?

You have the touch

You have the touch…
Of rainbows rising on wet roads after the rage and fury of dark storms…

You have the touch…
Of dawn breezes and new glows after troubled midnights…

You have the touch of horizons…
The smiling promise of golden tomorrows…

You have the touch of stars…
Silver dreams
Sailing
Heavenly waters…

You have the touch of music…
Melodies
Haunting
Carressing
Timid keys
And virgin strings…

You have the touch of peace…
The inner voice…
The wings…
For a lost child…

The journey of questions

The journey of questions can be a lonely road…
A slow traveller by the sea…
Translucent shapes in misty rain…
Blue illusions…
Four winds…
Weeping gold…
The second breath of Spring…
White cloud on a quest for old Sorrento…

In the early tears of light…
The coastal road sighed by shimmering glassy waters…
The Painter splashed a few colours…
The buzz of ocean villages…
Awakening…
But the limpid magic of signs drifted by…

Four winds whispering in weeping gold…
White cloud yearning…
Blue illusions of old Sorrento
Waiting…

There was no fanfare of destination…
The body was there…
But watered visions of passing moments charmed the soul…
Echoes of old mansions by the sea…
Laced with new gardens…
Gentle distractions from inner questions…
Till suddenly the road arched upwards…
To a clutter of bright names…

Bright golds…
Bright silvers…

Dark doors…
Dark windows…

Empty tables…
Empty chairs…

By the sea…

Old Sorrento…
Blue illusions…
Waiting…

Few footsteps wandered Sorrento at this time of day…
The cacophony of tourist mayhem begins late…
Happiness is being a lonely traveller…
A spirit free to be moved by the delights of wonder…

The Painter offered a palette of colonial buildings
Gowned for a dance through the years…
Some mingled well in the dance…
Alight with the glow of a new partner…
A new love…
A new lifetime…
But others seemed to wait
Stark and cold…
Fragile whispers from old questions…
Love me? Can you still love me?

But this was not my question…
So carefully I moved on…

Tourist hour was drawing close…
Too soon…white clouds could slip away…

Blue illusions of the spirit guided me to a bookshop…
I had tried the Antipodean world of books…
Tiny gaunt building
White…
Dragged from some servant’s yesterday it seemed…
I thought that was the question…
Sadly…the doors were closed for now…
And the windows only offered some awkward array of vague paintings…
Books seemed to be tucked in some backdoor darkness…
Antipodean…
The name seemed right…
But the question was wrong…

Bookshop…really a newsagent with a dimension of books…
Too many white lights…
Too many choices…
Too many novelties…
I expected nothing…

Blue…a blue cover…just waiting…
“Slow Travel”…
And below the title…
“Sell the house, buy the yacht and sail away…”

Trembling…

Inside the cover…
A map…entitled…
“The Voyage of White Cloud”…

Sorrento…
Gift of the four winds…
Blue illusions…

And questions…

Free Gift

Behind the door is a smiling landscape
Outside the window is a new world
Behind the grey is a whimper of sunlight
A step is progress

Take only nibbles on your journey
A blanket, a compass and torch
But leave a little room for small cuttings
From old lifetimes
To blossom in a new place
A new season

Tomorrow is waiting
For you
To embrace living
Again

And when the rains weep on this new world
And the winds blow wild and cold
Seek the flame of candle glow
The inner flame
Burning softly

Remember me?
Remember me?

Tomorrow

 Perhaps
The window
Is all that separates me from the darkness beyond

The glass
Reflects
The fuzzy light of all that I am

 Should I fear
To step
Beyond
And wander
Blind
In some tomorrow
That is really not

 Or wait
For sleep
To shield me in timeless dreaming

To understand me

To understand me

To understand me, perhaps a few tangibles may help.

If I were the sky, I would be a cloud drifting, reshaping, reinventing, but always enigmatic. If I were the earth, I would be a rock, bathing in the rush of a waterfall.

If I were a tree, I would be a willow, that soft lacy wandering in the whims of beezes, dreaming quietly by water.

If I were a place, I would be Sheffield in Tasmania; coloured with murals whispering of other lifetimes; wrapped in the mystery of blue mountains flecked with snow.

If I were a shop, I would be Berkelouw’s rambling magic of a homestead, alone in serene farmland, in Berrima NSW; graced with an intimate café, window boxes of vibrant geraniums and a wonderful log fire hosted by an old armchair. And of course, those books forgotten by the mainstream bookworld.

But, I am none of those things, for now.

For now, I am just some eerie etchings on a white slate.

“Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass. It is about learning to dance in the rain."

Shreds and Threads

The time has come. A new name, a new lifetime for an old soul.

AuraGem is still within, sparkling deep, but the world needs real people. And so sadly, I must become a real name.

I like Gemma. There is still just a whisper of AuraGem. And Wiseman is not so common a surname. I linger happily in a world where names are only a hint of real people.

Shreds unravelling yesterdays, to make room for the new weaves of tomorrows.

I give you, Gemma Wiseman.

Reflections on a September Teaching Moment

Teenagers can be challenging to teach. But I prefer to remember those precious moments when a teenager surprises and delights. My Year 11 battlers are a motley crew of students, waiting out time to leave school in a flurry of dust. I have created an English course that is not weighted with novels and plays, but reaches out to these students with "relevant studies". Each student has been given an individual course of study, based on needs and goals. We practise filling out forms, writing business letters and continully update resumes. Research involves finding courses for each student, appropriate to the work they would like to pursue. They compare courses and costs. This is meaningful study for these students. In short, the preparation is heavy, but all very worthwhile.

Last week, we were sharing pre-holiday lessons. I gave them homework for the holidays to the tune of "moans and groans". I was trying to record on my laptop what I had negotiated with each student. My computer decided to rebel. Instead of the "delighted silence" of "maybe we don't get the homework now", one student came over to me and said "Let me help you Miss!"

I melted! Such moments are priceless!

Just another winter's day

REACHING OUT
Just another winter's day
Cold sunlight
Weeping through icy trees
When loneliness is
The art of being broken

Heat and summer sighs
Promised eternal warm tomorrows
Dreams of love
Glowed in burning reality

Till an autumn limbo
Of falling colours
Rained acid rain
On my soul

From a distance
Summer love
Lingers on
From a distance
I know
You will always smile on me

But for now
I live
Lonely in
Just another winter's day
Cold sunlight weeping
Through icy fears

Fears for the art
Of being broken

TOTEMS

Versacci black T-shirt…
Glittering nugget
Drooping on a Gucci gold neck chain…
Plastic passes to the Grand Prix…
One for each day…

I really don’t wish to go
He moaned
But I must
Corporate boxes are so expensive
They must be filled…
If I get bored I will leave…
I have been so many times before you know…
Wait for me…Tonight I will take you to a special dinner…
Wait for me…

But I noticed he slung his red designer jumper over one shoulder…
He was prepared for a change of season…
He was prepared to stay awhile…

Take a tram to St Kilda Beach…
You will love it there…
The life…
The music…
The gulls…

He bustled near the door…
Mirrored walls captured
His swirling and swooping…
Captured the huge cave of space
Between us…
For I stood lonely and still…
A totem of silence…

Finally his sounds faded…

And I knew it was time to take a train…
Home…

Thank you for the beauty of other worlds…
For a little while I dreamed through another stargate…
Of special being…
In other worlds…for a little while…
I felt precious and beautiful…
Thank you…

There was a photo…
My photo…
Of the new Ferrari…
Glowing in halls of Hyatt accolades…on cold Italian mosaic tiles…
At rest…
My photo…
To be printed…
Waiting…

The Poetry of People

A spiral, fir-green staircase…
And drifting down in a patchwork knitted poncho…
Limes
Strawberries and watermelons…
A little old guy…
Etched face of a long-term dreamer…

Prancing rhythms of the Pheasant Pluckers…
“Fire in my belly…fire in my soul…
You don’t have to worry as fire’s in control…”
But I smiled, when, for one musical moment…
They sighed in sweet frustration…
About some girl
Not yet met…

Seething fields of Sunday walkers…
Yarra dreaming…
Suited in grey…alone…
Lovers…
Bike riders…
Skateboarders…
And many walking the dog…

But one couple drifted in a world of their own…
A river cruise…
A tiny boat…
He stood behind her…
Arms wrapped close around her…
And together…
As one…
They sailed by…

And then there were those who offered a dreaming
To any who chose to stop…
And wonder…
Awhiles…

Gold…rustic gold…
A breathing statue of old gold…
A tiny lady…slim…
Gowned…drifting…
Long, long curls framing a delicate face…
Trapped…
In gold…

And a painted koori...
Alone...
Dark light
On paved steps...
Playing the rhythms of ley lines...
Old Dreamings
On a didgeridoo

NOTE: This was written after some beautiful time spent wandering by the Yarra River in Melbourne!

Linking to:
Real Toads Open Link Monday
+

One Stop Poetry – For Poets, Writers & Artists

Poetry and Restaurants

A little dose of poetry could give your restaurant business a sense of uniqueness.
Single lines or longer poems can be created. I am available to make your business "SING" with poetry!!!!

Blackboard and printed menus + wine lists could include a small line of poetry! Sell your business with catchy poetry!!!!!

Suggestions for the use of poetry– for business use and customer purchase
· Menus/business cards/business envelopes/flyers/sales dockets/wine labels/ribbons or tags on bottles
· Window signage/door signage – To dine here is to dine nowhere else· Catalogues – special occasion group dining menus
· Complimentary mini bottles of wine or hand-made chocolate – business birthday
· Staff name tags – Believe in the treasures of wining and dining
· Shelf displays of desserts or wall plaques
· Customer cards exclusive to restaurant

What kind of poetry?
· Positive thoughts for the day –
esp to use on business media
· Food is… Our food is magic for body & soul· May the wine…
May the wine be a dream of rainbows
· Special dining occasions – birthdays/weddings/new house/graduation
· Elusive riddles/puzzles –
Am I the dessert in your garden of delights?
* Feelings – love/hope/sadness/happiness

LET ME WRITE FOR YOU!

CONTACT ME ON THIS BLOG!!!!!

Poetry and Wine

Do you want some special poetry for a special bottle of wine? A special occasion bottle of wine? I will write poetry to suit your wine and your wine business. I am a creative, unusual poet! Here is a sample of one liners!

· Wine is the melody on the vine.
· Believe in the treasures of wine.
· May the wine be the heaven of earthly moments.
· May the wine be the sparkling gem of a sacred moment.
· May the wine be with you.

Try me for special orders! Contact me on this blog with your special requests!!!

I will write for you!

SMILES AND LIGHT

Many chat rooms ago, I used to always sign out with

"Smiles and Light".

I still love that signature.

And so, to any who may read my ramblings...

SMILES & LIGHT

The music and poetry of Devah

I have just discovered the magic of Devah! By accident, when I was running out of creative ideas on Helium, I wandered the community noticeboards. To one name. I found a remarkable 500 odd postings. Devah's thoughts have an entrancing aura. It is almost as if she wrenches out the sighs and pains of the soul. Her postings are just poetry mainly. She dares to be what she is totally. She has an enigmatic, shy boldness about her. That raw bravado, posting poetry in the coffee house as her message, is almost enviable. I guess I am maybe a little too protective of my poetry to do that. I guess I am afraid that if my poetry is cut down, it is my last bastion in this world. Almost as if I could not exist, barely breathe.

Poetry and writing generally give me the strength to weather any storm. I can write away the blues when necessary and live again. Take that away, and I am nothing.

I guess I hide behind AuraGem.

More questions on the Palace Theatre Sydney

It appears the Palace was mainly headed with vaudeville acts in the early 2oth century. Yet, J.M.Barrie's drama, mentioned in the previous post, is not vaudeville? Was there an interchange between shows?

When I worked at the Palace, there were a network of dressing rooms round the back of the stage. What fascinated me were two huge mirrors, facing each other, taking up the whole wall and floor to ceiling. They were surrounding with light. Just the grand setting of these rooms seemed to imply important shows, attracting importing actors, were staged here.

How big was the orchestra playing here? A regular orchestra?

Palace Theatre Shows early 1900's

Does anyone know any details of the following?

Arnold, Charles; Hans the Boatman (Clay M Greene); Palace Theatre; Sydney; December 1901.
Arnold, Charles; The Professor's Love Story (J M Barrie); Palace Theatre; Sydney; 20 January 1902.
Arnold, Charles; An Empty Stocking (Fred Wright); Palace Theatre; Sydney; 17 July 1902.
Arnold, Charles; The Professor's Love Story (J M Barrie); Palace Theatre; c. 1902.
Arnold, Charles; Why Smith Left Home; Palace Theatre; Sydney; 1902.
Baine, Florence; Miss Lancashire Ltd; Palace Theatre; Sydney; c. 1905.

Weird Tales of the Palace Theatre, Sydney

In the 1970's, when I worked casually at the Palace Theatre, I heard many strange tales.

One, in particular, fascinated me.

The Palace Theatre still retained the orchestra pit in front of the stage. I would walk down past the stalls, past the orchestra pit, through a side door near the stage. Finally I passed a narrow, black, spiral, wrought iron staircase.

And here is where the tale begins.

Often, I would feel a chill pocket of air. It was not a draught. It was like the air, in a particular spot, was a decidely lower temperature than the surrounding air. It was almost as if the air was wrapping around me.

Usherettes told me they had heard that a ringer (a curtain ringer) had always wanted to be an actor. For some reason, the closest he could get to the stage was his job as a ringer. One night, when he finally brought down the curtain after a live show, he was caught in the ropes, swung to the top of the curtain, and then plummeted to his death in the orchestra pit.

Apparently, he used the spiral staircase to check the ropes and curtain.

Was the chill in the air, his presence still in the theatre?

When the Palace was demolished, I believe the Menzies Hotel near Wynyard Station, bought the spiral staircase. I wonder if "the chill" went with it?

Any information on old Palace Theatre Pitt Street Sydney?

If any one can help with information on the Palace Theatre, Pitt Street Sydney - origins etc.- please help! I have sourced the internet, but can only find a programme mention for 1880!

When was it built? By and for whom?

In the 1970's, to support my study at Sydney University, I worked with the chain of Hoyts Theatres. One theatre always fascinated me - the Palace Theatre.

Dressed in a hideous yellow uniform, I served refreshments (alone) from a small table in the lounge area of the Palace Theatre. Everything had to be all packed away before I ran to the next theatre, just in time to help others working at the Embassy or Mayfair theatres. Yes!!! It was a great "keep fit" job!

In future posts, I will include some memories of the Palace!

The Future

Old man dreaming
In the crumbling light of Uluru
Pale visions
Pale lifetimes

But still
I was and
I am

My mind is the pulse of lingering dance
My soul the whimsy of ancient breath

I am the child of yesterday
Free to be
The spirit of tomorrow

Terra australis
Incognito
For some
But the rainbow serpent
Sleeps
A restless sleep
Within the valley of fears
Tears
Roaming years

But still I was and
I am
Old man dreaming

It’s Marmalade at Midday…

It's Marmalade at Midday...~
The Friday Forgotten #005~

When the planets were slightly askew
And the air
Electronic...

It's Marmalade at Midday!
Secret light lingering
In the silk road
Stillness
Of an infinite moment.
Silent words wandering
Breathless sands
Of a seashore sunrise...

It's Marmalade at Midday!
Distant music of clash and chagrin
Guitared rhythms of pulse and pain
Sonnet couplet of muse and mayhem
Ave atque vale debutante and anthem...

To be or not to be
That is the dream.
Whether 'tis wiser to suffer
The twists and torments
Of smiling Fortune
Or to take a stand
Against the current of ebb tides
And be
Or not be...

Imagine the taste of Marmalade at Midday!
Sweet spice
Twelfth Night at noon
Viola and violin
Orchestrate Misrule...
If Music be the Staff of Love
Play Marmalade at Midday!

Silken light lingering
In the secret
Stillness
Sweet pain wandering
Breathless sands
Dreaming
Warming
Basking
In a seashore sunrise...

Immortal Moment
Hunter to Prey
Chance to Circumstance
Marmalade at Midday...

Langurs in the Guava Tree

LANGURS IN THE GUAVA TREE~
The Friday Forgotten #4~

Sampath paled in the tightening silence...
Many dreams
From the sermon in the guava tree...
Many lights
From the games of silver langurs in the guava tree...

It seems the orchard is empty...
It seems limpid laws of midsummer madness
Shiver...
Straighten...
Leafless...
Naked...

The question of darkness descends...

Sampath tastes freedom...
Unbeautiful brown fruits...
Even the guava...ripened, graced, with a tiny brown birth mark...
Lingering in moonlit leaves...
Mount Olympian chambers of secret stars...

But for those who whirled in the heady sense of dance...
Awakening becomes a dimming...
Moonless...
A falling from a far height...
The lashing crack of splintered timber...

And tremulous eyes in charcoal faces
Wend softly, slowly...
Magnetised...
To the waiting, bubbling cauldron...

Queensland~ 29.12.03.......Tangled webs after reading Hullabaloo in the Guava Orchardby Kiran Desai. 1998.

Café L’Incontro…

Friday Forgotten #2
+
Poetry Pantry #53
Café L’Incontro…
Surfing the colours of Swanston Street
With the eyes…
Civilized delights…
Brewed in heaven…
A sensual Mardi Gras…
Tantalising
The froth of a lonely cappuccino…

The walkers were mainly in black and white…
But I wore deep sapphire blue…

Café L’Incontro is pleased to present…
Sirocco…
Quiksilver…
Paul Bram Diamonds…
Ice…

But the eyes dwelled on a thought…
Passing…
“Laverton or London” is the question…
Passing on a clanking tram roof…
The answer murmured close by…
“I must see Last Samurai again…
Sheer bravery…almost overwhelming…”


I gathered he was a struggling musician…
Struggling to survive his vision…

So I thought I was watching reality…
But reality was watching me…

Tiny dull tinctured linnets…
Nervously scanned the space between the cup
And croissant crumbs…
There were just three…
Till one intrepid soul dared to meet my world…
I smiled as he feasted…
Briefly he eyed the manna...
But his gaze lingered with me…

Very still…I stayed very still…
Only the eyes noticed…
More reality was watching me…

The walkers were mainly in black and white…
But I’m glad I wore deep sapphire blue…
~

NOTE: Swanston Street is in the heart of the city of Melbourne, Victoria, Australia~




The Poetry Pantry is hosted by Poets United

Arthurs Seat Dreaming

Drove around Arthurs Seat area on the weekend. The drive down the mountainside to Dromana below is awesome. Wrapped in clouds encircling the mountain top and then an amazing vista all along the coast of Port Phillip Bay opens up. This particular morning, the waters of the bay were many auras of sapphire blues, softly reaching away to the headlands. Weekend boaters crowded the shoreline. There are still crowds of holiday campers by the old bathing boxes. How do they live in such cramped surroundings, just to savour a taste of blue for awhiles? But from Christmas on, they come. And they stay till Easter at least.

I wish the Arthurs Seat Hotel retained its old name...Mountains of the Moon.
Wonder why it was changed?

A 'Stormy' 24 hours...but now the waters are calmer

The man I love has been in great pain. At last, after massaging and just being there, he is more at peace. Work was kind, giving me time to be with him. And while he slept, I felt moved to write a poem on storms...'Storms-in-Waiting'. You can find it on Helium. No, it is NOT a wallow in misery. But it is challenging!

Somehow, writing saves my spirit.

'I needed that quietness today' my love just said.

He is one of those guys who just won't go to the doctor. It is so frustrating. But, I told him, as I am home from work keeping him company, I must get a doctor's certificate...as a carer. Would you believe, that worked!!!! He is going to the doctor's at midday tomorrow!!!

There is a fragment of hope!!!

The man I love is dying

Perhaps I shouldn't be writing this post. But I need to stay calm. Writing is always great for the spirit. I am supporting a man who loves me - as I love him. We have taken a lifetime to find each other. But now, cancer is slowly taking him away from me.
He hates not being able to work. There is no way he can maintain a steady job.
So, even though I lost all in Tasmania, I long to have my own house again and get off this suffocating, frightening rental merry-go-round. I am probably too old to get a house needing a mortgage. I keep telling myself I still must try. I must keep trying and hoping it may happen. Just sometimes I am not so strong. Like now! I just want him to feel safe. He worries so much about what will happen to me. Don't get me wrong. I do have a full time job. But it is hard supporting both of us. In short, I can never retire. It is just not an option. He cooks for me to keep me going. He does all he can in the house. He is just so wonderful. I feel life has drawn us a heavy card. I wish I could see a way to do more. I dream of just a small cottage on the Mornington Peninsula. I don't want much. I just want to give the man I love all I can. He deserves it. He is so special. I have never been so loved. I wish there was a miracle out there for us; some way I can get the medication he needs and some way I can give him a home. Perhaps there is a miracle for us. I MUST just keep believing. This is not my best writing. Fragmented thoughts...

My last day for creative writing...Just stolen hours for a little while

It is now just on time for sleep. I have savoured my last day of writing when the impulse moves me. My last article on Helium tonight was ''How to dress business casual and still look like an executive'. No!!! I'm not desperate!!! I am just challenging myself to write to a wide variety of topics!!! Great experience!!!

But it is back to work tomorrow!!! Just stolen writing moments for a while!!!!

Longing for the Isle of Light - Tasmania

Even though the Mornington Peninsula is a wonderful world for the spirit, I still have moments of longing for another world...northern Tasmania. I imagine the Peninsula reaching out across Bass Strait and keeping me in touch.

Perhaps someday, the dream may yet happen. I will live and write in Tasmania. Meanwhile, I will just keep writing to get there!!!

A magic carpet ride with AuraGem!!!!

Greyscale Territory + Gemma Wiseman + AuraGem

Why have I chosen 3 names? I like the enigma of the Greyscale Territory nic. It represents the freedom of wandering scattered thoughts, without needing to walk the highway of popular labels. Greyscale Territory interlaces genres and maybe even creates new ones. The AuraGem nic represents the sparkle of my creative inner spirit. Gemma Wiseman is the pen-name I must adopt for political correctness. But there is still a hint of "Gem". Yes, I know a very greyscale argument. But that is the nature of my spiritual territory.

Creative Writing on Helium

What a week!!! I have been churning out article after article ( mostly poetry) for the Helium website. All this flurry has to happen before I go back to school next week. No time to add more thoughts to this blog...yet!!!

I am still debating whether to make this 'a blog of many colours' - poetry, comment...wherever the fancy takes me. If nothing else, it will be unique!!!

All I hope is that somehow I can get my writing out there.

I am now considering real estate ads and travel brochures!!! There should be more hours in the day!!!!

DON'T FORGET!!! IF YOU WISH TO VIEW MORE OF MY WORK ON HELIUM,

I AM AURAGEM.

A Leunig Moment

Leunig is our guru of the 21st century. Not all agree. Few find his teapots, Mr Curly and ducks offensive. He is the little voice of the little people and the voice some 'big' people should never ignore. But many feel his political journeys are narrow crusades. The Greeks understood. Their gods were not perfect, high moral clones performing in perfectly repetitive bland allegories. Once in a while, their gods 'came down to earth' and dabbled in ungodly 'nitty-gritty' life. Hence, there were many stories of the gods. They were alive, lovable and almost human. They reflected the many faces of the Greek world. Sometimes, in reaching an exreme few, they rattled the many. How newsworthy!!! How delightful!!! How Leunig!!!

I have used Leunig in my senior English class. He is a wonderful means of exploring satire AND developing an opinion. This particular cartoon helped a rather average class of students experience satire. There was no need for a complex definition of the term 'satire'. There was just the thrill of the adventure. We all loved it!!!

Spirit Renewed

It is Easter.

The world is simply the wrong shape...I wrote some years ago in one of my crazy, romantic moments. Today, I wanted to post a poem to celebrate Easter. I barely opened my poetry bank savings, and, somehow, this poem seemed just right...There is a sense of the spirit crucified and then rising again...

May your Spirit find new joy this Easter.

Society is simply the wrong shape...for some

SOCIETY IS SIMPLY THE WRONG SHAPE FOR SOME

(The Friday Forgotten #003)

A season to dance
A season to dream
While some huddle close to the flames of log fires
Others wander cold sands
Etched by pounding winter waves
But the longing is the same

Sands of time
Sands of the hour glass
A magical kingdom in a grain of sand

He was a traveler
Seeking the frozen secrets of a land long forgotten
He was different
For some
Watching the flames is not enough
For some
Wandering the same shoreline is not enough
Just to watch a cricket game
Zaps the spirit

For some
The world is simply the wrong shape

This time
His journey consumed weeks of time
Time out
Or perhaps really
Time in

Finally he returned
Dusty
Jagged
Unironed
Some would say wild

The day was windy
The air was chilled
And he found her lingering by the tiny waves
Tumbling on the shoreline

I will bring you back a hand full of sand
On a windy day.
Some will go into your hand
Some will drift on the wind
Like I think it should.
We shouldn't really own anything which belongs to the earth ey?

Hands gently reaching
A little sand for the dance and the dream
A little sand for the winds of time
A little sand for the soul
~

FIRST THOUGHTS - The Internet for a Grey Nomad

Fingers trembling, I wander into the caverns of the mysterious internet world. Just a few years ago, I fought passionately against ever feeling a need for a computer. And now??? Well...It's the most exciting research library...an armchair traveller.

I love to explore new skills...trial and error style...

Right now, I barely know how to begin this blog.

But the thought of maybe airing some of my poetry

and perhaps finding a miracle for the dearest man in my life...

Finally, we found love...we found each other...It's never too late...

We are battlers, but we love...hmmm

The picture was taken down Mornington Peninsula way in July, 2006.

The sea...a wonderful breath of freedom...