floating

theodolite

I’m cool back
jellyfish floating
on the coral sea
weightless drifting
problems shifting
away with scant clouds
swaying with the jazz scat
of almost waves
sun through blood orange eyelids
warming in the no-where to go
flow

Happy 18th Michael💝

Molly and Michael (2)

dog-napping Darth Vader style

Wow, our son is an adult!

Eighteen years old today – happy birthday Michael.

How did that happen 😍💥😁

So proud of Michael – he’s nearly finished his year 12 schooling (one term to go) and he is coping magnificently with life, learning and all things that go with growing up. In fact, I think he may be the most chilled year 12 student around. He has the right philosophy you see – an appreciation that life requires a good balance between work, other boring stuff, play, family, and study. He is also blessed with a very good heart and that is my definition of success in this gritty world of ours.

Love you to the end of the universe and back Michael (and any alternative universes) 💖💥

Michaels 18th

Heaven on Earth

 

BrolgasJune2018 020 (4)
photo by Gabrielle Bryden

We have been blessed to have Brolgas visit us recently – they are one of Australia’s largest flying birds standing about 1 metre tall and a wingspan of up to 2.4 metres. It’s a bit like watching an emu fly – which would be very strange 🤔

Haiku:

Brolgas in the sun,

watching with admiration

the wings of angels

wine connoisseur

poetscorner

wine connoisseur

 see, swirl, sniff, sip, savour
spit
blahblahblah vibrant drop blahblahblah
see, swirl, sniff, sip, savour
spit
blahblahblah full bodied blahblahblah
see, swirl, sniff, sip, savour
spit
blahblahblah woody notes blahblahblah
see, swirl, sniff, sip, savour
spit
blahblahblah complex flavours blahblahblah
see, swirl, sniff, sip, savour
spit
blahblahblah strong finish blahblahblah
see, swirl, sniff, sip, savour
slurp, slurp, slurp, slurp, sluuuurp,
blahblahblah flubalubalub blahblahblah
hic
hic hic
zzzzzzzzzzzzz

RIP Sweet little Pippin 😥

Baby Pippin

Sweet mini-goat Pippin passed away last night – we got the vet out but he had a blockage in one of his stomachs and it was too late.

He will be missed by his human family and his herd (Raspberry, Benny, Billy, Merlin and Spirit) – especially Raspberry who was particularly close to little Pippin – we bought them together and bottle fed both of them 😪

raspberry and pippin

Pippin

molly-and-co

Pippin and Merlin

Beasties

The Volcanologist (Mr X)

abstract active ash color

The Volcanologist (Mr X)

Looming cautious, he peers like a jaguar in a tree,
an addict, on the edge of a big mistake –
mind split, fractured by equal needs to flee
and stay, here with the sacred magma lake,
to gaze, heart aching, on such magnificence,
ever moving, potent beauty and force,
he stares and drowns in true ambivalence,
to leave or join Gaia, to stay the course.
~
Obsession took its hold from early days –
a younger Mr X devoured all the words he could
on the marvels of earth’s seismic rage displays.
But that was not enough, he understood
his studies heart would need to be insitu,
so travelling far he searched volcanic forms –
those most fiery, not subdued.
This fascination deepened into swarms

of thoughts, so strange, they frightened him, in ways
not clear, but also a calm, they did provide,
a balm to life’s disasters and dull days,
a twisted but faithful beacon to guide.
~
The earth rumbles, lava blobs and hot spits
sulphur breath into the air, hissing yes,
or was that no, his ears are playing tricks
and his feet move closer, as if to acquiesce,

his face glows in the heat of his adored,
his lips dry and crack in desiccated air,
but his eyes crave more than he’s had before,
never tiring of this burnt burgundy affair.

So he moves in, closer still, skin all but touching
the creature that is this moving lava flow.
Such crushing heat and smells, the flooding
of agony through every synapse – No!

Sheer panic rises in his throat, he turns for flight,
the heat so strong his boots have all but melt,
his shirt melds to his skin, the glaring light.

He flees, goat-like, far from this earth’s death belt.

_____________________________________

I may have tracked down Mr X 🤣:

Hawaiian local suffers serious leg injury being ‘lava-bombed’ while sitting on porch

Note: Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

OCD

room

My parents divorced when I was five;
I swore never to eat another tomato.

I  line up condiments and cutlery, never
step on the cracks, and everything

must
pair.

I will check that the stove is off,
once, twice, thrice and again.

I will touch wood lightly
four times, before speaking.

a place for everything
and everything in its place

the house is neat and clean,
but the weather outside is wild,

the house is neat and clean,
and I am calm inside.

I grew tired of matching the colours
of pegs on the line,

so now I use
a clothes dryer.

I will not eat a tomato;
my parents are still apart.

_________________

Note: This poem is based on an old friend of mine who has Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD) – she told me the tomato story and it stuck with me – she knew how irrational it sounded but she understood that that is the nature of OCD – the desire to control the uncontrollable world around us.

Nuddernote: OCD stands for Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.

An Empty Dubrovnik

pi42896-hr

A re-post from quite some time ago – my mother and brother 💞 have both passed away since the writing of this true story.

__________________________

It is the Easter long weekend and my thoughts are drifting to things religious. My Mum is a crazy catholic, there is no doubt about it.  She is more traditional than the Pope and right up there with Mother Theresa when it comes to devotion and dedication to God. Her rosary beads, scapula and gold crucifix on a chain never leave her person. She worries constantly about her four children who have strayed somewhat from the faith. But that’s another story.

Today I am going down memory lane to a time when I accompanied my mother to the middle of a war zone in the name of God. It was May 1995 and I was single, in my twenties and pretty much a zombie depressive with violent tendencies. My Mum decides that she must go to Bosnia-Herzegovina on a pilgrimage to the town of Međugorje. Problem was the Bosnian war was raging and hundreds of thousands of people had been killed in the conflict.

Why would anyone want to go to Bosnia during the war? Mum explains that Međugorje is a Marion site, a place of miracles similar to the holy site of Lourdes where Our Lady appeared to small children. A place where water from springs has miraculous qualities and can heal all manner of ills. Yeah right I thought, blah, blah, blah.

She must travel to this small village in Bosnia-Herzegovina to receive blessings from Our Lady who appears daily to young visionaries. “Yeah, but why do you have to go this year while the war is full on? ” I asked horrified.

She responds with “Nothing will happen to me or the people of Međugorje as God is protecting the town”.

Yep, I told you she was crazy.

Well, I just had to go with Mum to make sure she didn’t get blown up, and if she did I wanted to get blown up with her. After a very long journey, including two plane flights and a 3 hour bus trip on winding mountainous roads, we arrived at Međugorje, a small nondescript town on flat farming country surrounded by rocky snow covered mountains. The largest building in the town was a cathedral. The only sign of the conflict was the presence of NATO soldiers in the cafes, large rifles at their sides, and the odd tank roaming around town.

The pilgrimage was only for one week but that was long enough. Mum said the rosary about 5 times a day and went to mass twice a day. There was an obligatory trek up neighboring Mt Crucifix to worship at the foot of a giant white cement cross. I had to literally push Mum up the narrow paths to get there and I still don’t know how she did it. I must admit the views from the top of the mountain were to die for, if you’d pardon the pun. The people were all lovely and I did get caught up in the peace and energy of the place.

However, the war was never far from anyone’s thoughts. At every mass the priests would report on the casualties from the war. One day 3 priests were killed in a nearby village and a town in central Bosnia was destroyed with a reported 5,000 dead.

On our second last day a group of pilgrims, including Mum and I, traveled over the border by bus to nearby Croatia to visit one of the most beautiful cities in the world, Dubrovnik.

The day trip was an eye-opener. We passed through village after village decimated by the war. Lovely old buildings and churches blown to pieces by bombs. There was a bridge that had been totally destroyed. There was a forest near Dubrovnik where nearly every tree had been decapitated by gunfire. We saw a number of tanks travelling the same roads as our bus.

We arrived at Dubrovnik and I immediately fell in love with this ancient walled city with narrow cobbled streets on the crystal waters of the Adriatic Sea. Dubrovnik is one of the world’s great tourist destinations but it was completely empty of tourists, apart from the crazy busload of Catholics. I felt my heart wrench for the locals whose main source of income was money from tourists.

Mum and I walked through the winding streets looking into exquisite gift shops and stopping at a restaurant for a seafood lunch. I was surprised that these places were open but the locals were desperate for trade. Dubrovnik had been this way for some time. One good thing was that the great wall surrounding the city had protected the inhabitants from bombs and sniper fire.

Two days later we returned safely to Brisbane, Australia, much to the relief of Dad. We missed a connecting flight at Bangkok because of a search by customs for drug smugglers and arrived a few hours late. Dad was in a bit of a state, convinced that something had happened to us in Bosnia.

The war in Bosnia ended a few months later.

Mum has been back to Međugorje a couple of times since than and would like to go again but is quite elderly and frail. She also feels, as mothers do, that she has to look after her son, my brother, who has acquired brain-injury, and can’t leave him for any length of time. The irony is that I think the main reason she goes to this little town of miracles is to pray for a miracle for him.

Happy and safe Easter everyone.

_________________________

 

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