The Magnolia Tree – a poem

It was under the Magnolia tree, He loved me, And our children played, All three, (and then four, five), And the puppies leapt high, Under the Magnolia tree. We’d sit and talk for hours, Under the Magnolia tree, Butterflies & dreams & wishes, And she’d listen, Our beautiful old tree. The seasons came & went, more

My Magnum Opus:

“Is it? Is my work going to live? I wanted to be a writer, that’s all, I wanted to write about it all – everything that happens in a moment – the way the flowers look when you carry them in your arms, how it smells, how it feels. All of our feelings – yours more

She Sleeps With The Light On…

. . . Just in case, The night is still, There’s not a sound, Except the rumbling of a distant truck, Which propels her into a memory; It was of the time when she had her babies, A marriage bed full of passion, youth & hope, It was a time long before these lean times. more

A Fight To The Death:

In my sleep, I am an Angel fighting the Demonic forces, I use reason, wisdom, love and patience, From behind my shield; Never wishing to do bodily harm.   The sinister laugh reverberates, Through my entire being, But I do not wither away for I am full of light; All encompassing and saturating.   “Be more

The child in you needs love too:

Little babies grown into big people,

She didn’t know it would feel like this;

She was always on the lookout,

For someone who might need her,

But then she realised;

Maybe at this stage of life,

It was time for her to rescue herself,

She strokes herself tenderly …

even though he threw her life into chaos she still loves him mona

 

More Snapshots of my life:

 

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The needlework that I saw at NGV almost made me wish I did that for a vocation instead of being a writer :)
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Just so much detail…

Colder than the coldest blizzard!

My own little boy, Inside of me and yet not part of me, He belongs to her that would run away, “I’m crying because I miss her,” He tells me and my heart does a backflip, “That’s my nightmare: my mum’s gone away,” He confides in me and my heart cries silent tears, If ever more

A quandary, a quandary:

Hermits would rather write, Far into the night, And watch their words take flight. And pickled men will lose the fight, When they see that she won’t bite, She wants their sex, But that’s not right! Unless she slaves for them in the daylight, Dragging up their brats, With all of her might, So stick more