I Have

I've seen world,

as my playground. 

I have.

I've stood outside,

in the cool noon-time breezes,

that rocked my heart,

to the sway,

of the 2/4 waltz of the sea. 

I have.

I've been more that here,

more then just working,

from the will to survive.

I have.

Asshole - Ode to an X

You are,

so far gone,

even the absence 

of love for you in my heart

 has vanished.

Having known love,

both greater and more pure than yours.

Having known heartbreak, 

both more profound and more meaningful than you ever were.

Having known lives,

 more full and rich,

than had ever existed between us.

For you there is nothing but a small hole,

that I sometimes put things in 

from

'that time'.

Things I no longer need or want,

like memories of your yellowed teeth 

blood stained eyes 

and

 rotten hollow mind.

So the flies might keep you company.

You,

and your

infinite misery.

Amid the tranquil days and nights without you,

so awash in all that never was,

as if it never existed.

Not a thought,

not a word,

not a whisper 

has been spoken of your name.

Until.

 Still,

the truth will hurt,

even in a million years.

Asshole.

The Wink

I'm looking for the wink.
The all knowing understanding
shared between upper and lower lids,
that says to me,

Hey.

Hey you.
Yeah, I see you.
I get it.
Isn't this illusion
a wonderful cluster-fuck?


Because living a lie is one thing,
and one I am prepared to do.

But living it alone,
I am not.

ESL Poetry

Picking up the current,
wiggling in the breeze,
dizzy,
like the swaying tops of trees.

Bringing me me back
back to a time when this made sense, 
all made more sense. 

When scotch tape smelled like Christmas,
and I was touched inexplicably
at the perfection,
of slightly undercooked pancakes.

When family meant
never having to stay past the time,
of engaged and loving house guest,
a romance between,
familar strangers.

When lying was easy 
to keep up the apperance,
that you really were as happy and well adjusted,
as your mother said you were.

Memories of boredom,
plauged 
by magic.

Childhood.

Where are you now? 
Do you still infuse me somewhere with your wonder? 

Or are these longings only the memories of a feeling,
lost forever.

Compassion for a Girl

I have compassion, 
for the girl 
who doesn't know any better.

Who's loveless relationships,
stem from her inability
to believe, 
in her own worthiness.

And who holds this sense of worthlesness
in a little pouch
on her gut.

Who's dated jeans,
are just a little too small.
Carrying one bag too many,
for it to not seem akward.

I have compassion for this girl,
who sees the shapely cleanliness 
of the other women,

and wonders silently at night,
what's wrong with her

The End.

Beckoning me back from the obscure fringes of my adventurous paths, I would welcome back the city and its splendors, resting my travel weariness inside her as she breathed new life into me with her chaos and indifference; both of us filled to the brim with one another and simultaneously lost in the fluttering golden light. Marvels in our own right, ones of evolution, progress, and fusion. 

It takes a certain amount of daring to scrape the sky with the earth, to house and cast away the hordes of life's refugees crushing themselves at your ports for a glimpse  of your cold and marbled groves of luminescent pines. It takes a certain amount of daring to be so impetuous, moving through the world like a whisper, sweeping in and out; inevitably just another discorded footprint on time's relentless march. The city has always been a fascination and a terror, breeding a deep duality within me; excitement and expression as well as oppression and obscurity. Lending itself to hope and indifference in a single instant.

In many ways I knew it was the end of an era, as Sydney and I sat side by each, examining each others existence. It had been three years of travel. Three years since my last footprint fell on home soil and I had made myself dirty with the places of the world. And now? I'm not sure just how I should feel, with the finality of so much. Mostly I am afraid. Afraid that it will all fade, the lessons, the love and the newness. I fear to be nothing but the nostalgic shadow of just another women. 

I am afraid I won't remember.

Remember how to hear the sounds of a soft shoe scuffle, the parade of leather souls down cracked and beaten paths. Remember how to see the stars, as I have again and again, as if for the first time.

Remember how to free my eyes, when the time comes, from those perspectives that do not serve me.
Remember that we creator of all magic and the directors of our dreams. That I can breath life into the narratives that I have lived. Narratives of strength, endurance and perseverance. Of kindness, insight, and a quest for commonality.

Remember that home is a place we carry in our heart and not a destination. To be kind to ourselves in our moments of weakness, they are fleeting and necessary. 

Remember to be open to the possibility of all things and all people. 

To not be afraid. To never, ever let fear rob us of curiosity. That all fear is a creation of the mind.
Will I remember that we are not just a summation of 'proofs', of things you can put down on paper, awards you can hold, or deeds you can count.That freedom is a mechanism of choice, not about having choices. We don't have freedom, we choose it, in the deepest parts of us. 

Travel has shown me these things and more. It has infused them in my being, in each breath taken 'out there'. In each memory there is so much joy and so much sadness its as if they wish to come to life, infusing even the most banal moments with significance.  It has also shown me loneliness. Shown me the pocket of silence that exists in the long stretches of time between departure and arrival, when attention is spare and suspect and the worlds indifference crushing. When you will be lonely. Utterly, despairingly, lonely. This is where it starts. This is the beginning what you really are. Every step after this point is victory. This is when you begin to live by choice, not default.

Not all travel is running, but sometimes it is. Recognize the difference. You cannot hide from those feelings or things about yourself you feel are ugly or unwanted. Their denial feeds deep resentment. Root it out. Understand what haunts you and face it. Call it out and sit with it. Then let it go. Burn that ugliness with the light of conscious awareness. You are infinite both in weakness and in strength.
No one has any answers, though many have some very interesting things to say. Listen first. Don't force yourself on others. If they're worth the time they will ask.

Your greatest attribute is the beauty, joy and persistence that comes from doing those things you are truly passionate about. For God sakes, Try Everything Once, you'll never believe all the things there are out there that you don't already know.

More people will love you, respect you, and do right by you than will let you down. Let it go and move on.

Sleep when you're tired.
Eat when you're hungry.
Be here now and enjoy. 

So goodbye Sydney, good bye road side cafe. Goodbye Moleskin notebook forever in my pocket, goodbye long endless road that has carried me for so long. So long love. Once again, I've got to go.
To follow my heart into to the world again is to know I still haven't given up.
To quest on,
roll on,
feel on,
to go - all the way.

Monkey in the Middle

Three girls,

in between three boys,

and all themselves,

in between,

youth and age,

and the endless possibilities

of time,

and a shy smile.

Over

There comes a time, 

when that fire of youth,

burns up,

all that is non-renewable within you. 

And you become fatigued 

as the muscles of your ferocity

ache and cave, 

in line with a desire, 

to be anything but numb. 

Age is,

the number of lies ones told themselves, 

etched as lines upon a weathered face.

Time's a winter,

that freezes shut,

a once sacred place. 

The dream lives on,

until it's over.

And the dream,
is over.

Inescapable Truths

Drowning out,
that internal engine,
that hums with malcontent,

not with chaos,

but silence.

What will I say now?

Without the unacknowledged roar,

of my upturned soul?

I don't even believe,

in the struggle anymore.

It's validity,

it's righteousness,

or purpose.

It's a perfunctory shell,

cast upon the shore.

Grey calcium remnants,

of some poor creatures old home,

who was,
probably eaten up,

by some other wretch of the depths.

It's the unanswered challenge that haunts me.

To be free,

not as a matter of principal or action,

but to remain at all times,

simply an ideal.

A piece of vocabulary.

A word etched,

either on an arm,

or in a mind.

The hardest part isn't doing,
those unfathomable things.

The hardest part,
is loosing the purpose,

in the crushing monotony
that follows.

Real or not, 

there was a faith,

in those vaulted idealizations.
In pen and ink,

that sent my cries into a universe that cared.

Surprise.

I am the universe. 

I am the tear that falls.
And the heart that recives it.
The child that weaps.
And the mother that calms it.

All these things.
Seen and experinced,
felt and shared,
nothing but,
rancorous self-importance,
to bleed out the dull-grey
and the whimper of the everyday.

My vision was a lie.

A joke.

A larf

A fad.

A fucking sham.

And it continues.

Onwards towards another rabbit-hole destiny.

Still thinking we're 'getting somewhere'

till we fall,

back into the new and familiar blackness.

Until there's no where to go.

Pining for a time, 

that makes no sense.

A time that never was,

a breath of fresh air,

outside of which is inescapable,

that which thou art.

Trans-Oceanic Inspiration

Wait. 

Wait long enough,
until the pain chrystalizes into memories you'll never forget. 

Wait, 

Until the tide washes away the harsher edges of all that has been,
and you become a collection 
of all the smiles you have seen, 
10 million or more,
over the years 
and never one the same. 
Never one that didn't melt,
your tired, wary, heart 
and some 
that did much, much more than that. 

Nothing perfect or pretty about it.
Thank god.

So.
Here's my advice.
If you want to live,
Live.

If you want to know,
see the world. 
Not just for what you want,
or what you think you know.

If you really want to know, 

you.
must.
know. 

You must touch 
and see 
and feel.

and be touched,
and felt,
and scene. 

Take it and run while you still can,
run, baby run. 
until that old familiar sun 
sets on new sands, 
with different eyes. 
And new is breathed back into you
from the life, within each breath. 

Walk tall,
in the direction of forever after. 
And embrace it
with compassion.

Welcome to the fairy tale. 
It's a wanderer, 
just like you. 

I believe what I have seen with my own eyes. 
I believe in the miracle of redemption. 
I believe that love is real, 
endless, 
nameless, 
lost and confused 
and spins around a universe that cares. 
That picks you up on its back and carries you through. 
Past all doubt, stupidity and shame. 
Carries you on relentlessly, 
in its love of you. 

Be alive,
without compromise.

It's the only way to live. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tDZjgKfgIlg

New Daylight

alight in the glow of,
a sunset of characters.

bearing witness,
to all the threads that bind,
past and present,
through gooey outstretched bands
of beaded sweat.
an aggregation of all efforts,
of all trials
and tribulations.

of the heartbreak,

heartache

and disappointment

we all must sustain

to be on our own -
with all that was,
and all that is,
and all that could be.

and when emerging
from that cold and dampened night,
of self imposed isolation,
however necessary,
never let it cease to amaze
and excite,

that which can be seen so clearly,
as if for the first time,

from the promise
of new daylight.

The Reminder

Her orange in the breeze,

succulent roasted sunshine,

annihilates the stagnant air

and reminds me how to breath.

Deeply.

And for the pleasure of it.

Never Enough

Moments of panic,

followed by

moments of calm

I can do this

I can do this

Sometimes it's too much

Sometimes not enough

I have no idea how to do it all.

How to heal, protect and conquer

How to grow, manifest and dream

How to be all things for all times, at all times

Solving myself like a riddle, a problem

something to be fixed, rewired, changed

trying to create

with the canvas of accomplishment

and capability

trying, trying trying

all the time

its exhausting

and it's never  enough

The Last Laugh

And when I do, remember this

I'll be laughing

and you'll pay me to tell you how I did it

to share with you the secret

not behind success

but inside it

and I'll laugh

and compassionately tell you anyway

because my misery

is your misery

through the grace of knowing it

The Jar

I just ate a half a jar of peanut-butter.

Premium health food peanut-butter,

at $6.95 a jar.

It took maybe,

25 spoonfuls,

to get it all out.

That's like,

$0.12

every time my grubby spoon,

left my lips

and reentered the brown gooey cavern,

of that 250ml jar.

I eat like this when I can't sleep.

I can't sleep when I am anxious.

I eat when I'm anxious,

I think it calms me.

Except this morning,

that waded through the night,

with me on it's back.

This morning can go fuck itself.

For showing up so soon.

I go for long stretches.

without doing it.

But inevitably,
I break

out of frustration,

or boredom

or fear,

or maybe all of the above.

That's ok,

like everything else,

it's not something I can't recover from.

Professional sufferer.

Professional recoverist.

I should write a book.

Instead of these stupid poems.

Something,
 that might really help someone.

Suffering with the privilege 
of too much

and simultaneously
too little to do,

and all the time in the world

in which to do it,

or not.

I don't know why,
 I try so hard,

my imperfection always catches up with me,

regardless,

at the bottom of the jar.