13 Candles

13 Candles for my boy
13 flames of mind,
13 vices into virtue
13 thrices find.

And if the number odd it be
Where seesaws claim the fair,
Remember arms that held at new,
For Ill be ever there.

13 Candles for my child,
13 wonders why
13 pride in lucky stars
13 clovers fly.

Now your eyes look down to mine
For you on growing stilts,
But look ahead and upwards dear
past jilts and guilts and wilts.

13 candles for my sun,
13 years the poll
13 and infinity
13 fond and whole.

So when you come upon me here
So if you find this time,
When candles spill the cake grown man
Your hearts sill laced in mine.

The Little Swallow’s Ball

Take me to your

Aerial dining room

Take me to the ball,

Take me to a great trapeze

Take me to your call.

Take me to the vapour dust

Take me to the ball,

Take me to the timber tops

Take me in the fall.

Catch me in your sweetest glide

Where wheels are wings and why,

Catch me in a welkan aviary

Catch me in the wild.

Hold me in the lover’s home

Hold me in the nest,

Have me in the spring-hill rising

And in between the rest.

Awkwardly Orchid

I dreamt of building too
When I was 17
I dreamt we could build orchids
from the awkwardly tangled, butterfingered, up for grabs, fly by the night, disquiet of growing up....
I was trying to see who was Orchis or Rose,
fittings or foes,
but I didn't know.

I dreamt of building
When I was 17
I dreamt of pouring the beasts into beauty
and then no need for railings round the river
with every quiver
room for sure and steady
until ready felt ready.

I dreamt of building too
And the quotient for fitting was no mystery
not outnumbered
never lumbered
with why.

Once I dreamt we'd be the builders
the makers
the mason
the architects
of turning awkwardly aching orchids
into love again...

The Boundary Fence

First up, cherished, intact tended babe, tombed warm in the womb, in a pocket of life. And then out into a cosset of care, then the home, then the walls, then the playpen, first shoes – stick em’ down, tie ‘em tight, buckle down in the pram and divide the day into portions.  Then, when I was a little girl, the boundary fence was always falling over. The boundary fence was all wibbly wobbly timey wimey from the wind and the rain and the sun and the climbing feet and little dog scratching about wanting to explore and the vine all sweet and nectar and passionfruit saying;

“Let’s give you some clothes hey little grey palings.”

Then bigger people talked about who should fit the bill, divide the costs, straighten out the curves. That’s when I went into the bush at the back of our place and stretched out my arms and spun into circles and looked into the sky that didn’t stop moving like an inverted ocean full of peaky white meringue and blue like the colour of happy, not sad. Blue’s reputation was hijacked by darkness in history, but even then perhaps darkness isn’t so bleak. Do you know, sometimes a long time ago, we had a great tall balcony overlooking the heavens and the night wasn’t so sure of the dark either. It probably wasn’t very tall at all, the balcony, because I was very small and I’m still not so tall so everything seems a little more wonderful and great because the world looks bigger to smaller people. In other words there is effectively more to look up to. That’s why I don’t mind being quite short. I used to wander out of bed if I couldn’t sleep to this balcony. I used to stretch my arms out and look up and even the oily midnight sky was very colourful too. I could see white, yellow edged cosmic glints of light, blues and dustings of silver charcoal from the fire, the edges of red and orange and deep purple, sepia moon and a breath of soft pale green magic round the brightest star.

When I was taller but not very tall but grown up and grown in too, people started to talk to me about setting limits and boundaries and about taking a side that meant leaving another side behind. And I had to do that sometimes. But still what I love most are the times when I can open my arms in the wilderness, in the rich green of a beautiful forest or the free sands of an ocean wide bliss you could not barely believe to be real because it is just so very beautiful or on the top of a hill or a mountain looking down to a valley of bush that feels endless and giving and fierce. That’s what I want to take with me wherever I go, even if I feel stretched to the absolute limit by giving, the wild heart, the forever fruitful power of nature, the unending thirst for more life on a united front. I won’t always succeed but the wilderness, the reminder of connectivity, of one life compelling more life and color, of a system in a way that seems to say; 

“Hey little seedpod that’s not the best you can do right now, grow, for us. We need you. You do not just need yourself. It’s not self preservation. It’s simply unbound preservation for the whole piece.” 

I don’t particularly like borders and boundaries as much as I do the lessons of nature, boundless and beautiful and bold, wild and wonderful, peaceful and always there if we give back and protect and care enough. What if the best we could do wasn’t good enough? That means we can find a new best and we will if we try and if we love well enough....