Flight Of The Crane

A crumpled crane drifting
along the canal
with too many puncture wounds
sinks, almost drowns,
all it takes is just one small child or child-like mind
to resuscitate the deflated body,
to breathe an air of their soul into this wilting vessel,
as to glide above the water once again
and release all the things left unsaid,
to soar across the cloud trails and convey the weight of the world
that us conscious beings find so difficult to share

Stitchwork

I’m letting things stick that shouldn’t, like chewing gum clinging to the bottom of a shoe,
you can never quite pull off all the remnants,
the remains harden until they become part of the shoe,
the way these thoughts have been residing in my brain since I woke,
they’re going stale in here and it’s well past noon,
there’s a clock ticking in my peripheral vision
it spits out an old familiar tune
every 15 minutes,
clockwork makes us look backwards, to where we’ve been, who we’ve been,
takes me back to my childhood home in Tasmania,
situated diagonal from the town clock tower,
resounding chimes ring through my ear drums as I climb the attic ladder
dolls, and tent parts and old letters,
fading family photos and pre-school paintings, tucked in the corners, spilling into the doorway,
makes you look at the way
some things stay but they shouldn’t,
the way the past comes to haunt us
when we don’t dispose of the palpable,
as when memories stay in the foreground, the (rubbish) tip
can’t process them and reuse them somewhere more fruitful

We Are You, You Are We

let’s pick the stitches from our chests,
unthread the tightly packed sufferring
from our tired hearts,
it’s alright to unleash the pain,
spread your seeds,
i’ll spread mine
lets grow a shared garden,

i can hear that woodpecker chipping away
at your instincts
piece by piece
until your shadow no longer resembles you
a crammed cage of countless other people
screaming and crying
echoing through the empty corridors that lead to a dead-end,
lets put a stop to this suffocating madness,
grasp my out-reaching hand,
we can’t change the past but we can pave a different future,
let’s build in leaps
instead of ripping up crossed paths in backward steps

let it be your heartbeat,
all i can feel is the throbbing heartbeats of scattered souls
inside your chest,

fleeing souls from a bombing of the charlie Hedbo publishing house,
nous ne sommes pas paris
we are of the world
and we cannot contain the pain,

we are the soldiers blocking ISIS along the Turkish border,
we are the innocent Turkish history professor locked up and tortured by his own government for “security measures”

we are the fleeing children
screaming out of the rubble in Syria and Iran,
we are the lost brothers and sisters,
the distressed mothers and fathers,
we are the unborn babies the world will never meet,

we are the starving and poor citizens of North Korea,
neglected by their self-appointed God
who’s riding the waves of nepitism and priveledge
into a frightful self-interested dissent.

we are the acid-burned girl running from her villiage in Vietnam,
we are the American soldier who doesn’t know what he’s fighting for anymore,
the longing girlfriend trying to get a job,
and the coiled foetus that will be born into heedless tragedy,

we are the dead Syrian child washed up near Australian shores,
the displaced souls on Manus and Christmas islands
battered and bruised from hearing too many “no’s”
seeking respite in the darkness
away from power-fuelled guards,

we are the uneducated scapegoats
water tortured and treated like dogs in Gauntanamo Bay,
we are the mourning, fear-driven officers that dehumanised them,

we are the fearful,
the confused.
we are the constantly searching wanderers trying to find the unconscious truth,

we are all the missing and shot-down aeroplanes of 2014
just trying to find our way home.

Home is inside you

Stop giving a damn what people think of you,

keep on living,
thrive through the smog,
wipe your windshields
and throw away the rag,

you don’t need to be reminded of your
pre-dated self-hatred,
let it remain in the past
let it suffocate and dissipate in the corners of no return
as you roll past the punches
you throw at yourself,

better things are to come,
they have so far surpassed the bad,
so why are you so sure that the best has already transpired,
you can jump from that cloud,
(you’ve just got to allow yourself)
the ground isn’t as hard
as it looks from afar,

you’re near to finding
a place of your own,
a place to call home
inside your own mind

a place where
you’ll never feel alone,
or misguided
or out of place,
where any external circumstance
becomes
a garden you can water
with your inner thoughts

stay away from those
who make you feel unwanted
and unnecessary,
only you can validate
your own existence,
be free from attachment and expectation,

don’t let the rips in your wings hold you down
from fluttering through the wonderland in your mind,
you were torn apart simply to
make room for growth and
deeper nourishment,
to breathe and nestle amongst all the other wonderful worlds around you

seamless imprints

I imprinted your heart onto my mind
so that I’d be able to reach inside my thoughts,
to hold your hand in mine,
a souvenir from where I left off,

I knew a while back that I was a nomadic spirit
so I zipped up my spinal chord,
fastened the lock,
kept all the necessary documents bunched in a stack,
let the unavoidable frivolities spill between rough folds and loose sheets,
and I was off,

I trace your fingerprint patterns onto my flesh
on the nights I can’t sleep,
I’m far from you,
on the other side,
trying to gain perspective,

I made the choice to part from this place
when we were just getting started,
sometimes that thought makes me want to bury my head
beneath all the pillows and blankets
and never return to the sunlight,
thank you for teaching me how to tell myself the truth,
instead of digging,

when I see you writhing in pain or unable to get up off the floor when your legs give way
it makes me want to gather all of your bones and cradle them in my arms and call it home,
wrap your aching limbs in silk sheets
held together with Sunday-market-honey,
makes the mornings taste sweeter,

your frustration in those yawns of 48-sleepless-hours for the third time in one month alone
makes me wish I could exchange a couple of those hours with you,
maybe I’d be able to properly learn the ukulele
within a reasonable time period,

lately this head has been spinning,
tabletop tilt
relentless mulling,
around and round and round
into trails of dust in the stillness between us
I just want to pull you in closer yet,

you’ve got gentleness interwoven between your fingers
folding into me when you hold me,
you always seem to know when there’s an earthquake culminating in my system
long before I start trembling or yelping,
you’ve wiped tears from my cheeks,
tucked my hair behind my ears,
breathed deeply with me when choking felt like the only possibility,
cuddles on the couch watching avatar feels like magic,
drifting off to sleep on Appa’s back,

I can feel your marshmallow lips draw away from mine still,

let me taste your electricity,

everything ties together,
seamlessly