I can’t write about . . .


I can’t write,
About you,
My friend.
Your laugh,
Your stories,
Your pain.
Our tears,
Our desires,
Our secrets.
You left too soon,
I don’t know why.
I wasn’t ready for,
Our friendships’ end,
I still wait for the call,
That can’t ever be made
By you,
By me,
For us,
My friend.

On the Road

kangaroo sign

I don’t register why I slow down,
When from the corner of my eye
A shape leaps toward the road.
A large roo hops out in front
From nowhere into the traffic.
Brakes screech, but it’s too late
As it meets the bullbar,
And disappears beneath the four wheel drive.

Then as if in slow motion
It struggles up with a feeble hop
To land for its last time in front of me.
Eyes signal its distress and
We shudder together before it slumps.
Traffic stops and people swarm
Someone has a bag, another has a sack,
Two men drag the carcass to the roadside,
Check for a Joey and tag for unknown disposal.

I sit not knowing what to do,

Then there is nothing else left

But to go on our way as before.

Not There Yet.

long-road-007 White lines hurtle past
Someone’s waste caught by the bush
Dead land dotted with tree skeletons
Not there yet.
Black lines on the pale sky
Birds sit like musical notes
To play to their own tune.
Not there yet.
Crosses and flowers show
Someone else’s grief
And sadness for what was,
Not there yet.

Oh To Be Perfect!

Well here goes. Here’s my first blog. I suppose that’s what everyone says.

I admit that there are lots of things I am good at and when I’m good at something it feels comfortable and safe. Who gets to see the things I’m good at or that I think I’m good at? Well my family does. They praise and defend when it’s needed. Family can be relied upon to happily tell me when things aren’t good, sometimes with sensitivity and sometimes not. Good old fashioned honesty is great except when you are at your most vulnerable.

Friends on the other hand can be guaranteed to always be optimistic and reinforce your feelings that you are good, even if you don’t always believe it.

A little self criticism usually knocks on the door when you least expect it; lying in bed just before falling asleep; driving to work or my personal favourite, in the shower.
Well, for the most part aren’t we our own worst critics? We can be optimistic and full of confidence one minute and critical and deprecating in another. Women are the harshest on themselves. For many, everything has to be perfect. To move out of the perfection zone means taking a risk and having a leap of faith that it won’t exactly fit to our exacting specifications.
So here I am bungy jumping into the world of the blog. Outside the safety net, there’s no harness to keep my rambling words from tumbling into the stratosphere of the internet. Now I know how George felt drifting off in Gravity…..the movie that is.

Forgive me and my failings to anyone who reads this.

So a little about me…..

In case you hadn’t already guessed I am a new writer. I began my first novel nine months ago and have completed the story. Is it ready to make its own way into world yet? No, but it is coming along.
That’s the thing about being perfect you have to keep at it until it is just right.