He had white, wavy hair

And when I was small and sick

I always saw him there

He came with his bag

His stethoscope and his hat

He entered my room

And he quietly sat

His voice soft and gentle

I was never afraid

I knew that I’d get better

With the decisions he made

On one particular day

I was laying in bed very sick

I know my mother called him

I realise he came very quick

I’m aware that it was serious

I saw alarm on my mother’s face

Yet in his ability to care for me

I had complete and utter faith

My fever was raging

It was a hundred and eight

When I saw his head at my door

I immediately felt safe

He gave my mother clear instructions

She followed them to a ‘T’

I began to slowly feel better

A calmness came over me

My mother’s alarm began to flee

I will always be thankful

Shout out to you Dr Pearson

For coming that day when I was four

You are forever etched into my memory

The wise and gentle Dr at my door

some things i just don’t understand

i never got to be with her and yet

i have her eyes and i ache to hold her hand

My mind goes back, my heart is torn

Remembering that walk so long ago

In this same field in between the rows

The heaviness, just before you were born

Your dad and I in the soft light of dawn

The sun was rising as we walked along

The music was playing; it was playing our song

The conversation was light until it was not

Sweat formed on my brow; I began to feel hot

The words thick and fast as I froze on the spot

The pain is still raw; the exact words I forgot

We managed to make it back into the car

We sped towards the hills; it wasn’t very far

Your dad grabbed his things, within minutes he was gone

And I’ve raised you alone from that moment on

So now you have the story, my darling son you see

There really was a time when our family was a three

Though since you were born, it’s just been you and me

That walk in the cornfield, the beginning of the end

The rift from that day, that never was to mend

255am Friday January 15

On this daughter

We don’t want her

We won’t fight for

Her, she doesn’t matter

She’s worth nothing

She’s not a boy

Boys are worth something

Not this daughter

She’s worth nothing

We don’t want her

Boiling water

I hear your laughter

And I know that is not the truth

Of how it is after

This cheery get-together is over

And we all have gone home

The look on your face will change

When you are alone

And the tears may flow

And the tears may flow

I know

I know

I guess I’ll fake it another year

Just for the sake of it, wipe away my tears

Paint a big smile, bold and bright and clear

Don’t get too close however, for I fear

You might see my mask if you draw too near

In my voice, you may hesitation hear

You may not understand me, I feel, my dear

And I don’t think I can fully explain it here

You’d better sense my distress I think, if you were near

Although you might not believe what I’m saying, I fear

So I lift my voice, bold and bright and clear

Just for the sake of it, wipe away my tears

And fake all this pretence for another year

Of Jolly stories, Painted faces and Christmas Cheer

And I am alone

The children are out

And I’m here at home

‘Happy New Year’

I’m expected to say

Though none of us knows

What’s coming our way

The sad I cannot speak

I’ll share it then with me

In the dark, in the silence

In the car, where I be

Let the tears have a voice

For a moment, it’s right

Then I’ll put them back on mute

Step out into the night

And I’ll wait for the clock

To tell me the year’s new

And then I’ll fall into line

With what I’m expected to do

And say ‘Happy New Year’

Yet behind these words of old

Will be a whole other story

That has no place to be told

758pm Thursday December 31st, 2020

Made up why you never came

Forgotten, so easily dismissed

As if of no worth, not even missed

I don’t agree, I say no

People matter, I want to show

In how I speak, in what I say

In how I behave, each and every day

If it’s awkward, let it be

I don’t erase people, that’s not me

I will fight to have each name spoken

I will not continue a practice that is broken

Each soul has value; I will not be restrained

I do not forget people, I will not be contained

So I will say your name in the family space

You may not be seen, but you will not be erased

Sydney in 1932

A bridge was built

It took 9 years of manual labour

To span the divide of a beautiful bay

A harbour

Of twinkling lights and bustling barges

Of salty air by the seaside

A bridge of 6 million rivets

Painted grey

Thousands of pounds of granite in the pylons

16 workers died

56 years to pay off

Six million pounds of debt

A 52 thousand tonne steel coat hanger

For 1.2 million Sydneysiders and yet

I never crossed it

Until I was grown

It was a whole other world

That part of town

I lived in the southern suburbs

Mom and Dad, a menagerie and us kids

And we never did quite venture

As far north as The Bridge

But all these years later, I’m tethered to it

No matter where I roam

It’s forged deep into my memory

I see it and I feel home

And the Sydney Harbour Bridge still spans the harbour

I’m grounded in its strength

And the connection to this 88 year old wonder

Dwells within this Sydney girl yet

1159pm Tuesday December 15, 2020

219pm Wednesday December 16, 2020

Snow in my hair, snow on the ground

Snow in my heart, snow under my feet

Snow in your words, snow on the street

Snow when we meet

Snow when we eat

Snow when we wake

Snow when we sleep

Snow in your eyes

Snow in your lies

Snow when you sit

Snow when you rise

Snow in your hands

Snow in your demands

Snow in your voice

Snow in your plans

Snow in my bones

Snow in my head

Snow at the dinner table

Snow in our bed

Snow as you pack

Snow in your feet

Snow out the door

Snow on the street

There is no goodbye

It’s snow all around

Snow in the air

Snow on the ground

You go

and

snow

snow

That I have seen on any man

And every time he sits with me

My heart’s at peace; I can see

Into his ‘a’asalli’ eyes

The love that we share

It’s a giant oak by the water

It’s the gift of our son and our daughters

The leaves rustling in the breeze

His hand resting gently on my knees

And his ‘aasali’ eyes, they see

Me; I look down at my hands

They are resting at peace

And I reach out to hold my love

His ‘aasali’ eyes tenderly smile

And he holds me

With the most beautiful hands

That I have seen on any man

Note - ‘aasali’ eyes - honey coloured eyes

For each and every time you used your voice in the past

And you were ridiculed, ignored or forced to be silent

You learnt that nobody cares enough to hear you at all

And just for trying, there would most likely be violence

You learnt that predators were disguised at every turn

And they matched in with the crowd and they were smiling

And this occurred year after year after year in your life

And the people who looked like that were most often lying

But you didn’t know

And you kept hoping for love

But it didn’t come

When that is how you have been treated over and over again

By those who were supposed to nurture and love

And with their maltreatment so well hidden so that no one else would notice

Then your daily struggles are unimaginably tough

And you pretty much know that people won’t get it

And almost all will fail to understand

That the invisible scars that disfigure your soul

Were inflicted, by another’s hand

Someone you knew

And someone who people thought

Who you hoped

Loved you

In the quiet

And when you were probably alone

And with no one there to protect you

Untold damage was done

You may not be able to speak it

It’s not always possible to put the atrocity into words

But if someone were able to hear your silent whisperings

Then I believe you may one day feel heard

908am Friday August 16, 2019

Sorry for being born a girl

Sorry for being born with eyes of blue

Sorry that my skin is white

Sorry I’m not more like you

Sorry I sometimes like to sing

Sorry I read too many books

Sorry l am not exactly like your mother

Sorry I don’t know how to cook

Sorry I say you work too much

Sorry I don’t earn as much as you

Sorry I’m not very smart

Sorry for not being perfect too

Sorry I didn’t give you all sons

Sorry that at the end of the day

Sorry I am not what you wanted

Sorry that I so often say

Sorry

Not like you

I’m really sorry

For I am woebegone and weary and for too many years I have faced

The fury of fire-breathing dragons, burning flesh right down to the bone

While my shoulders have borne heavy burdens, heavy burdens of solid stone

So fly away, fly away oh my burdens, fly away my soul deeply sighs

And in return grace my shoulders with beauty, with gilded gossamer butterflies

Does it mean I must be black, brown or white

Does it mean I like to down six-packs of beer

Does it mean I love to get smashed every night?

Do I have to be obsessed with the beach

Do I have to lay for hours in the sun

Am I required to watch Aussie Rules footy

Do I have to think that cricket is fun?

Do I drive a particular price-point car

Own a house worthy of instagram

Do my fashion choices make me truly good enough

Do these choices ascribe value to who I am?

Should I be keeping up with all the Johnnos and Kylies

Should I have given birth to the standard 1.7 kids

And what if I don’t pass the mandatory pub test

And what if I tell you, I don’t think I ever did?

I wish I could just be me

And let all the stereotypes fall to the floor

And whatever is supposed to be Australian

I don’t want to be judged by it anymore

For being Australian got me made fun of

Blond hair and blue eyes brought me abuse

And in a country where all cultures are made welcome

I was seen as ‘other,’ ‘not important,’ ‘of no use’

So I think I’ll deflect from my accent and appearance

And continue to be kind and the best me that I can

And if I can be rid of my Australian identity

Maybe I can one day love myself for who I am