Monday, November 5, 2012
Thursday, October 11, 2012
Stringed Things
vibrates
filters
bends
echoing internally
until it frees itself amongst the air.
Rhythm breaks into stride
fingers find a voice upon the wire held tight by a fretted frame.
My mind escapes
finding it's breath
as notes and time bounce around the room
a smile is found.
The beat moves
past thoughts and into unbounded delight
melodies unfurl.
My finger move without thought
falling into well worn patterns
melting into the groves on the rosewood.
I am in my happy place.
2012
Remnants
seeping in again
all the doubts
the grief
the....
I can feel it
unwinding
all the fears
the tears
the....
I've been through all this before
I know what to expect
I know it will pass
But the stirring
is so strong
so pervasive
an irritation
you just can't
but
help
scratch.
I close my eyes
and
breath
just
breath
into and out
of it
I know what to expect
I've been through all of this before
I know too
that
this itch
will
pass.
2012
DISSECT
From the inside out
Find all the things I learnt that are bad
And throw them all away
Get rid off all the uselessness
The learnt behaviours
Genetically enabled
Remove its stain
There’s to much going on inside
I want to spring clean
I want to take my head apart
Unlearn all those worthless thoughts
The ones that keep me awake at night
How they invade
Find the elusive trigger and blow it away
Chatter splatters and none of it matters
yes I want to take my head apart
I want to discard all the crap
Leave the parental pitfalls shattered and unable to call
I want to take my head apart and see what's left inside.
Re-Fractured Gold
Taut and tense
Golden orb night weaver
Tendrils spread out like a latent bird in flight.
Morning light catches the dew drops
A glint of gold amongst the fog
The wires are a buzzin’
But no one answers the call.
I cup my hands and breathe of them
Condensation fills the space
There’s a chill in the air
And I’m such a long way from home.
The sun breaks through like a gospel choir
Is there a riddle in all of this?
I put on my coat and shake of the ridiculous.
My shoes feel frozen
My thoughts don’t move
Give me five to revive
Retrieve the moment then discard it.
The threads above move
The spider waits patiently to find another’s end
But its another day another hunger
Empty nets she has cast.
I feel like her you know
Web woved and held in place
Waiting for the feast
So scared of tomorrow
And tired of today
I poke at the dying fire
tiny embers flick and fade
I need to move past this refrain
I say goodbye to my friend and wish her luck
There’s really nothing else to say.
2010
The End
Silky smooth fur streaked with a touch of white
She no longer reacts to me
This little dog has always been a fighter
but her mind and body is no longer here
she has become toxic to herself
there is nothing else to try
the battle will soon be over
This is by the far the hardest thing I've had to do in such a long time.
So here we are at the end
together just like we've always been
and I'm trying not to cry
logic tells me I have to be able to drive home.
The vets and nurses are all saying goodbye
it's an honour to her that they are so upset.
I am with her all the way as the end approaches
she doesn't flinch
and I watch her take her last breath
my throat swells and tightens and tears are forced down
as I swallow hard
Gently I pick her up and hold her close to me as I take her home one last time
© Julie Patterson 2009
Monday, September 24, 2012
Rain
Dry old country that we live on.
People in the city complain about being at level 2 or 3 water restrictions, yet they water their lawn.
Let it die, no one will think less of you if it ain’t green.
I have friends that live past the Blue Mountains most Sydney people think that when they visit up there that they’re in the country. The Blue Mountains ain't country. Nope, the real country is beyond the blue.
One of my friends, past the mountains are at level 5 water restrictions. When her child saw puddles for the first time, He was three. First time he saw a puddle. People are having to buy water out there. I wonder if it’s raining where she is.
I lived out where my friend lived for 12 years but we didn’t know each other then.
Strange.
We knew the same kids, same families, but never meet each other.
She’s my partners niece. I meet her through her.
I love the sound that rain on the road makes , the whoosh of the cars driving over it. My dog complaining though, she doesn’t like the rain, hates having her feet wet.
I love the rain always have but there again I lived past the Blue mountains where water is scare.
We had a water tank when I was a kid. I used to sit on top of it under the branches of the Apricot tree that over hung it. Free fruit and easy access to it. It used to get so hot in summer, you'd get a burnt bum from sitting on it if the sun had hit it during the day. But it was worth the risk because it was a cool place to sit, surrounded by wide branches on a sun drenched summers day.
I live in the suburbs now,
the rain spits against my window,
a crack of thunder makes me jump,
and I wonder has it got over the mountains this time.
2008
Cycles
hidden from view,
in the dark, underground.
Days roll over each other and shorten,
nights hues come quicker and a chill fills the air.
The morning bite now,
they snap and crackle under my boot heels,
as I tread on the frozen ground.
The cycle spins as it always does.
Iced up windshield,
splashed water,
high pitched squeal as it touches both glass and skin.
My breath is smoky, my fingers are pink, red, now numb. And I remind myself as I do each morning: “That I must buy gloves.”
Days roll over each other and lengthen
the chill is fading, the sun hangs longer in the sky.
Fresh leaves rise from the undergrowth,
a single golden daffodil I see,
I look at it and smile,
knowing that spring will soon be here.
2008
Sunday, September 16, 2012
Epiderm – I
The me I want to be,
The one that wants to be free,
Suppression though maintains the frame.
Twilight glooms its way around,
Stardust breathes and retains all the memories that decay.
There’s no permeance, no refrain, no last stand.
Sages dance within this merry go round,
Fractured remnants of dreams lay wasted.
Second skin, binding, constricting, contorting me.
No air for my soul,
No light,
Hope is gone.
Name the game that takes its hold.
Little flower fades in the cold,
In the dust of the past no one can see you.
Where to from now, step sideways and fall.
No sun for my soul, all hope is gone.
There’s no light left in here.
From now to where,
Second skin.
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
Planes
Clusters of fluff, floating,
for all the world they look like cotton wool
clouds dispersed out in random order but somehow with a uniform look.
They are changing colour quickly
from pink, orange to a hue of red.
The flight is not long about 45 minutes
On the way back we see the Bumberry Mountain, the Nepean River and a long and winding cliff face cutting through, in and out of the Blue Mountains
The planes wing titanium white glow is fading as is the the view as the setting sun sinks.
It was a night flight on the way up and we only get a little of the day on the way back.
But it is exquisite.
Darkness folds over
no house light below
it lasts a good 10 minutes
then little houses and villages flick into view.
It's such a contrast as you see the city sprawl form from the outside in.
A farm leads up to a village a village into to town a town weaves into a city and suddenly the ground is full of lights
The road back from the mountains looks crazy, Glowing lights look like a snaking river but it's a stopped stream.
Glad I'm up here and not down there.
The city lights are pretty, they always take my head somewhere else
into the land of wonder, awe and excitement.
It feels a bit like I did when the circus came to Parkes when I was a kid
all that glitter.
We slink round the coast it would be pretty in the light,
only minutes now till touchdown.
I do get a little woozy on take off and landings,
so my gal is pressing on the acupuncture point to keep it all calm.
The engines roar then start to slow the runway lights are close then we hit
plane digs in a bit as it kisses the ground
I'm home and the country once again is over the mountains and far away
See you later.
Monday, September 10, 2012
The Haunting
flitter about flapping their way back into my head and laying waste to the good I've laid down upon the flasehoods.
I tried to makes it all pretty, inside.
To cover all the hurt, to crack a joke and smile.
To HIDE!!!
I WANTED TO HIDE!!!
WHY CANT I HIDE!!!!!!!!!!!
But they always find their way back
Their way back home to me
scattering everything as they scamper back within
blowing out the light I'd lit as they slip their way back inside into the dark.
Shivering there
In the blackness
amongst the debris
the malodor of reality putird and true is found.
The truth is unbearable it fills me with a despair I despise.
I can taste it in the back of my throat fetid, foul and loathsome.
I am haunted
hounded at times
by memories I wished were not mine
but they are.
Before morning falls so will I.
writing prompts
Sunday, September 9, 2012
Re-vol-lut-ion
and night turns into day
the shadows will no longer fall
it is then we will return.
A revolution some will call it
but it is not.
When forebearers come home how can it be a revolution.
You may question, but it matters not.
Time will shatter your fears and our presence will be exacly what was required.
Zones will change and seasons will realign
poles will shift and the fog that fills this world
will be released.
Brace yourself
We are not gods, angels or demons.
we just are
and we are much closer than you think.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Candescent
mimicking a mystical creature steering
ebbing slowly rhythmically breathing
rising and falling.
I sit and watch
entranced by the beauty
and warmed by the sun.
It is quiet here
my little oasis amongst the madness.
With each ebb I can feel the calm wash over me
my breathing changes pattern to keep time with the water.
The only time I'm happy
is here.
So I find myself amongst the briar roses and thorns
more frequently than I should.
No one notices my absence.
The sun is almost down now
the display will soon pass for another day
night will grasp the little inlet
extinguishing the light.
One, two, three, blackness
shrouds
till tomorrow
for tomorrow
is another
display.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Sometimes
Thoughts float and glide like bubbles from soapy hands
grasping but never holding together.
I find myself meandering, indirect and spacial.
Deep breaths, long sighs all the sign of my chain of thoughts floating.
I try to capture these bubbles but they just collapse all around me
so instead I just sit back and wait for them to come into view and then fade.
Focal points of light
illuminate the gloom
their ethereal phases turn and rotate
in and out of themselves
a bit like I do
Sometimes I wonder about my head
the weirdness of it
but most items I am thankful for the quirks.
So I rub my hands together and blow
and watch as the bubbles float.