simply: (Default)
Plot marker, Cleveland cemetery.
simply: (Default)

I crave belonging (I suspect we all do).
We hunt it out wherever it is to be found.
We band together in tightening circles
And bear the marks of our believed belonging in
The intricate carvings on our skins,
The unparalleled symmetry of our faces,
Our shared seeming inability to belong,
Or the fact that he said, ‘you, too?’

We search for our best fit—
A tiny head nestled into mama’s collarbone;
His hand in yours like hook with eye;
The three of you slunk against a rusted rail,
Together looking outward.

And sometimes we find it, but sometimes we don’t
(or we do, and it no longer fits).
The belonging we stretch for
Falls just outside our reach
Or abrades, coarse surface to coarse surface.
And we are homesick
Though this is where we’re meant to be.

Take your heart and wade on with courage
Through present tension to future tense.
We are rooted in earth but ethereal
Never full belonging
Where we won’t be long.
simply: (Pictures of you)
This isn't the best photo.
You are high on Pepsi Max
and on life
and there's a cut on your lip
from shaving
(oh yes, this just in: you shave now).

You like Batman figurines,
the Wiggles, John Wayne,
Little House on the Prairie,
and you shave.

You chose to go to Sizzler,
oh most classy of establishments,
and I suspect the attraction
is not the food itself but the fact
that you are allowed to walk right up
to that creepy health hazard of a buffet
and serve the food all on your own
and onto your own plate
--as much as you want.
Am I right?

You are very much thirteen in this regard.
But you also talk about getting married
and having a job someday (farming and
being president are two favourite options)
and you like wearing slippers with that hideous dressing gown
that looks like someone wrapped you in a dead bear,
so occasionally you are also fifty-five.

But you are still a fan of snuggles
and Bob the Builder
and if you're being too bouncy,
your bedtime is nearer 7.30 than 8.
So in some ways, you will always be
six years old.
But in every way, you will always be
my littlest brother
and I'm thankful that your birth mother
chose to share you with us
twelve years ago.
simply: (Rory)
Friday: we are little girls, dreaming, dawdling, playing, and promising never to be grown ups, never to sit around and just talk. Saturday: we talk, sometimes, but we still know how to build treehouses and lay hidden in the overgrown green of the next-door paddock. Sunday: we forget our promises never to be grown ups because it happens, almost, when we were not looking. Someday: someday is here, and I have grey hairs, and I cry, but not just about the grey hairs. It is someday and it's not what we expected. It's harder than we expected and it's worse than we expected. But it's easier than we expected, and it's better than we expected. Someday: and there are other little girls, and they are our little girls. One of them dreams and dawdles and plays and wants to be grown up right now. We could not slow the growing up down, and she cannot speed it up. She looks at us and wonders why we just sit around and talk. But we realise now that it's exactly what we want to do, and it is good.
simply: (Rory)
It is a kind of familiar, friendly pain,
this stretching of unlimber muscles.
Mind reaches into memory and beyond it
into words, straining after significance.

I breathe heavy, bearing the weight of moments,
shifting them from hand to hand.
I balance images:
one, a laughing boy pressed nose to window;
two, thoughtless words like footprints
trampled without care over someone's heart
(from hindsight, they resemble regrets);
three, a fuschia, feathered sky.

I juggle them from mind to memory
and fumble for a unity to bind them/
bear their weight.
No matter; life is its own poem.

52 moments

Jun. 5th, 2011 07:09 pm
simply: (Pictures of you)
I love that breaks in the schedule of the everyday bring with them the promise of headspace and the opportunity to step outside of the now and think ahead a little bit. I'm hoping that the next few weeks (well, those either side of a planned visit down south) will be weeks of new things. I'm dreaming of a new little etsy store, a new hair colour (not the grey that my hair is attempting to become), and a new afternoon each month dedicated to crafting (the Crafternoon! All welcome!).

But today one new project is moving out of the dream zone and into the here and now. Remember the beautiful 52 Weeks project I linked to a couple of weeks ago? Blogger Shaina Longstreet committed to taking a self portrait and writing an accompanying poem, one poem/picture diptych each week, for one year. It's such an excellent concept, and one which works side-by-side with my blog's goal: that of living an examined life.

Over the last week, the lovely Samantha and I have been chatting about how we could explore this project ourselves. In her beautiful introductory post, Samantha wrote:
This is the beginning of a journey. A journey that might further open my eyes to the beauty around me. A journey that just might change how I view the world. May I see the sparkle in the raindrop, the beauty in the rose, the joy in the eyes of those who love me. May I see the green grass grow, the glowing warmth of the sun, the excitement in all there is to see.
Samantha has chosen 'simple little things' as the theme for her 52 weeks project. I am going with 'moments'. I want to take notice of the moments, and I want to challenge myself to wrestle them out of experience and into words. Sam is focussing particularly on the photography aspect of the project, and I'll be paying attention especially to the poetry. Poetry doesn't come easily for me, but it's a good sort of hard work, the sort of work that leaves your muscles aching in a happy-tired way.

I think I'm going to enjoy the struggle to find the truest way to enunciate what is only felt or seen or heard. Want to join us? We definitely welcome your companionship on this little adventure of creativity!

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