For too long our women have listed on the heels of patriarchy. For too long our men have governed the houses and hoarded the wealth in their towers. For too long our children have gone hungry. For too long our colour has suffered hate. For too long our daughters have been raped. For too long our queerness has been condemned. For too long our bodies have been controlled. For too long our disability has been mocked. For too long our faith has been maligned. For too long our streets have been unsafe. For too long our earth has been destroyed. For too long our equality has been denied. For too long we have conceded. Yesterday we didn’t. Today we don’t. Tomorrow change is coming cos democracy is broke. Democracy is coming of co-operation and care, for here is our love that conquers the fear. Here is compassion that collaborates. Here is our kindness. Here is our kindness. Here is our kindness. -am
hang prayer flags
poem for blog
weedmat lavender (plant lavender)
buy groceries/chiminea/white jeans
fill bird bath
kayak (if time)
dinner for friends
(write better poems)
Happy New Year
You are a wild horse too.
Had you taken yourself
for the man on your back
hunting down the herd.
Had you forgotten your wild ways.
Dulled by comfort
to stay inside the fences;
to bend to the bar between your teeth
and move in the direction of other’s bidding;
to surrender your aliveness for popular opinion;
surrender everything that might be
if you only tried.
You are a wild horse too.
Born for freedom and endless spaces,
for running as fast as you can.
You are not broken.
The wind still knows your name.
You are that child still
before the taming began
that knows she might fly
if the conditions are right.
Some days I wake in the shadow of a dream eyelids slow and weighted by ghosts that crowd the corridors of my day hanging in the eaves, hiding in doorways – the dead bodies, sharks and prisons of sleep. On these days I'm better left alone - people have a tendency to look like sharks. Then I can’t accuse you of yawning too loudly or get annoyed by the peppercorn still stuck between your teeth or feel selfish for taking the bigger cup. On these days I eat chips and cheese and they incite no defence and only a little retaliation but then you go and love me anyway and more often than I deserve – It puts me on my knees. Like the times we part when the prospect of leaving shaves off the lonely shelters spinning appreciation to a fine point filling my heart with the kindness of you. -am
As I eat I am walking. As I walk I am working. As I work I am showering, dressing, getting ready for where I am going and when I get there I am leaving thinking about tomorrow and the holiday in October. Living in front of the day. Fall back - land. Watch clouds roll across the sky. Hear birds singing to the day. Notice thoughts come and go. Taste the earth in this pungent leaf. Smell the tea before it's drunk. Feel these boots on the ground - heel, toe, heel, toe, heel. -am
Sometimes Mum will say, ‘you know you don’t have to call me every day’ but on the days I don’t she calls me. She talks of baking, friends, church, weather, gardening, frustrations, family and funerals then asks about my day which quickly blurs as I recount bland descriptions like communion wafers that stick to the tongue before being judged jokingly as too much, too little or ‘nice for some’. How to say I am reworking the pattern of my life, tying new stitches and weaving different pathways; or that I’ve been reflecting on the shape of hearts; doing the laundry and naming the day. Mum puts out a towel and flannel when I stay. On the bedside table are flowers from her garden artfully arranged in a teardrop vase – roses, maidenhair fern, daphne and violets; the flannel is never used but these are her rituals of love and welcome. How might we know one another were we not immeasurably bound. In her friends reflected gaze is a cheerful, well-groomed woman - much younger than her eighty plus years, always on her way somewhere to do something. ‘come on, come on’ she says and her friends seem glad to be swept along. One day Mum said, ‘you know I love you don’t you – when I grew up we didn’t say things like that’. Her goodbye hugs, whether for weeks or hours, start from ten paces back her arms flung wide for a hearty embrace. Now when we hang up Mum says swiftly ‘I love you’ like a last incantation when all goodbyes are redolent with the possibility of forever. -am