the story is different now

You're the line
And the break
That fall under
The weight
Of my words   
Buried beneath
Are the untold           
Where In the dark
I have no name 

Work Conversation

they laugh
and giggle
"It's a joke
calm down"   
they say
smiling at me

CALM DOWN   

this is my life               
you are laughing
at, in around and
through

i am losing
my dominant sense
and no I can't get a
motorised scooter

I  AM GOING BLIND

for the same reason
i can't drive a car
or pushbike
or take the kids
to the park
that's 100 meters away

they laugh
joking that I use
him to get home
from work

USE HIM

let life take away your
precious licence to
drive then see
who's laughing

when driving to
work no longer
exists
or go down the street
to buy some milk
get across town
to see your friends

GONE

then there will be no
more laughter...

Morning story

Under the grey
Plastered red
Powdery
And thick black lash
Roses drift
Around
Pointy shoes
And kitten heal   
Speaking of
The retired Scottish
Friend
Lifting leg on the ballet
Pole                                       
Mother dying at 52
Son dying at 24
Grandson at 3
And I turn down my music
My words
Nestle in my restless
Heart

In the garden

I want your shovel
So I can dig
To the you that
Is buried
Deep in me

I want the everything
In me
To become
The everything
In you

I want your words
To leave my mouth
And your thoughts
In my mind

Like the sun kisses
The moon
And the trees
Dance in the wind

A touch of reality....

The writing of this piece has come through my constant inspiration in music.

The lines "have a monkey", "sit with the devil" "walk the wire" float in my mind and all come from the album Rattlin Bones, a co-written album by Kasey Chambers and Shane Nicholson. I know here I go again with Kasey Chambers, I love her music!! This album is a constant companion and will always be!!

So we all, at some point are faced with a life changing/altering experience/challenge that will test our measure/person, that's what those above lines represent for me.

It could be cancer/losing a limb/self worth, having your heart broken/shattered your innocence taken/eroded.

For me it's living with a visual impairment and the always changing/unpredictable darkness/light. Not only do I live with an impairment I live with pending blindness/darkness. Every so often I am reminded/notice I loose a little/a lot of my sight, the dark/darkness becomes greater/darker.

I am controlled by what I see/miss, I am two people with light/dark I am not predictable/reliable. On one day I may walk on a set path that I walk each day with ease/confidence the next day I will walk with hesitation/caution because of the level of darkness/light. On day one/two I may spot you in a crowd but on either day one/two I won't see you two feet in front of me all because of the darkness/light.

Some days the world seems flat/hollow/grey/shadowed or it can be glarey/bright. Neither is a comfortable state/place. Very rarely is the world with definition/depth each moment is faced/attempted with a level of uncertainty/unpredictability.

This is tunnel vision, the flatness/world closed in state. Life/visions have to squeeze into a tube/tunnel like state/space, its like someone turns down/up the lights and you wait for your eyes to adjust, except they don't/cant. You cant run your way through the world you can only walk/stumble/feel/sense your way through it.

I'm visually impaired.

Not blind.

There is a difference/expectation. The difference/expectation is that I can see because I look/appear like I can see. But sometimes I can't. I run into things/people I trip/stumble/fall always mistakingly/misinterpreted for clumsiness. I can guarantee any visually impaired person is not clumsy the world is tackled with caution/care.

I wish I didn't wish/agonize/worry and at times be consumed by fear. I wish that I could be more positive/grateful for at least having had vision. Honestly, I think/know I am mostly focused/consumed with seeing/navigating/watching that I at times forget/miss/don't notice/appreciate the positives. I know I am ungrateful because I feel it's robbed/taken away my independence/youth. Its taken away trust/reliability visually and internally/personally.

And as I stop I just realized it has given me THIS...my passion/love/devotion to the written word. I write. I HAVE to write/feel this, because this is the moment/thoughts that make up who I am/was/can be/will be.

Lastly I know/feel this ultimately makes me a better/open/accepting/fortunate human being. I may consistently write about my vision/sight/darkness/light/shadow but this is the process that saves me from losing my mind, because it's this stuff that makes sense of the world. I've been waiting for the time when my words will dry up/fade/ but while I continue to try and understand the world/people/the heart/my heart I will continue to write/create.

So my monkey can walk the wire with me a little longer....

What is the colour blue?

Thanks Paul, for allowing another drive-home-from-work be life's classroom that's allowed meaning to be given to the "blue" in life....

To Michael, Laura, Deb, Troy and Melanie...you all reminded me of one thing...

Blue is gentle



Blue is the moment
Of quiet that folds
Around the dark
That doesn't fade

Blue is the wall
Around my heart
Blue is comfort
Caught in the voice
And the throat
Blue is fluid
That holds the breath

Blue is the weakness
It's the painted mask
The cold spell
Freezing me shut


Blue is gentle

Blue is you

By the River

Pull on my flesh
I breathe your light
Open my body
Crack the stone
Un-thread my mouth
Watch the broken sun
Pull me toward fate

I will wear your crown

Keep My Love

In September 2010 I gathered three writing prompts, feather, shell and charm, I boxed and gave them to Melanie, and she unwrapped a poem, a version of her own.  

Below is my now refined version, which I revisited last night, after she reminded me of the beauty through her original poem from 2010.....

Looking downward

At his empty shell

Shriveled amongst the sand

Whispering to the night

I love you, but

You are my curse

Goodbye, goodbye my love

As he clutches at the charm

Held tight to his chest

Like the memory

That lingers in the air

The past floating

As the layers begin to fall

Salty tears flow from his eyes

The wave’s crashing

Over the rock and the heart

As a yellow glow drapes over his back

Daylight has returned

Watching as the last lone feather

Drops, spiraling toward earth

Landing on the water’s edge

Sparkling inward light

                               

                                                I won’t forget you

Waiting

The trees gather
Their dress for spring
Weaving around
Spines arched toward
The sky

Upon arrival

I watch the world bleed

Upon my open wound

The gaping hole filling

With a constant

Reflection

Of my reflecting mind

Capturing the ghost

That lingers in the night

The little travels

I owe you my weakness
Woven throughout
I owe you my mistakes
Hidden beneath
I owe you my fear
Captured between
The one I was
And the who I am

And the who I will be

I am not lonely

His eyes stare
Through the brown curls
That hang over His thoughts
He smiles like His picture
Locked into His presence
I can't help but break
He captures my smile

You will love them with that heart of yours

Yesterday I was lucky enough to share a few hours with Deb Ellks who I have known for roughly 20 years, she's a beautiful friend of my aunts , she performed a song at my mothers exhibition so she has always kind of been on my periphery but yesterday she was in my central vision. Her insights and beliefs are rich and full of depth and spending time with her was a privilege....thanks Deb!!



The story I have been telling myself involves the realization of growth and knowing. I know in times of growth and change I really struggle and I usually live in a freaked out state until the wave of change passes.

But today choose to step into the light today, I choose to see the light I radiate and I allow others to also shine their own light too....


The heart covered in cloth

The heart beats with rested ease

The cloth is love

Her hand comforts the place

She searches amongst the rubble and clutter, where she finds the key. It shines a brilliant deep blue. This is the key designed to unlock your cupboard.

Inside that cupboard is your soul

The cupboard has been waiting for this day where unfolding trust is ready

Her hand reaches toward the well polished cupboard that sits amongst your bones and skin. Her hand shakes as she moves the glistening key toward the key hole

Your heart beats faster, for now you realise this a moment of true beauty

As she turns the key you both hear the click sound as the cupboard door unlocks. The tiny door feels free

She opens the door slowly and with care as fear begins to fill you

Fear for what might escape

Fear for what might be seen behind the door

Silence falls completely between you both

She peers in and it is your heart she sees. She pulls it closer

“Where is your flame?” she asks

“My flame?” You respond

“Yes, the warmth that makes you, you.” She says

“I don’t know.” You reply

“Well we need to ignite it, because you can’t live without it.” Again amongst the mess surrounding me she finds a match, which she strikes and leans into your cupboard and in the corner of your heart she ignites a small fire

She stands back, where she can see the tiny flickering of light illuminating the space with an orange and golden radiance

“I see your spirit.” She tells you

“It is beautiful and perfect.”

She moves closer reaching in and shifting your heart slightly

“Don’t be scared" you look into her eyes where you can see the reflection of the quivering flame

“For this is you.” She says.

You begin to feel your insides fill with warmth as the flames grows bigger

The blanket of darkness that covered you both begins to lighten

Looking above, the sky begins to turn in colour from black to green

The horizon tinged with a yellow lining

She too stands and watches the beauty of darkness fade into light

“Its time.” She says taking your hand

“For what?” You reply

“For you to see your own light.” She smiles warmly

“I can’t see it.” You respond trying to look down and in to yourself.

“You must, it’s all there. Can’t you feel it?”

Doubt emerges. You cannot see what she sees

“It’s beautiful my friend. It’s unique. You need not fear anymore.”

She stands back looking at you. She closes the cupboard door.

“I can’t do this for you. I can’t show you.” She smiles.

“You must do this for yourself. Because until then, the flame within you will never burn brightly.”

You feel the warmth begin to subside and you know the flame is losing its lustre

“But I am scared.” You say

“I don’t think I am strong enough to keep my fire burning.”

“But that is where you are wrong.” She takes your hand in hers and a warmth moves between you

“You just need to believe it is there. Because is in all of us we have a spirit that is ignited by self belief. I believe in you and I see your inner beauty radiate. You just need to feel it.”

“What is that I feel within me, that thumping feeling, the warmth?” you rest your hand on your chest

“That is your heart, your shining spirit that is your radiating soul, and it that is what is your flame. And that is what you must never let burn out.”

You take her hand and place it below yours

The yellow glow above you both begins to turn to orange and green to light shades of blue. You both look toward the sky

This is the realisation.

Times three

Her eyes stare
Through the brown curls
That hang over her thoughts
She smiles like her picture
Locked into her presence
I can't help but break
She captures my smile

"Have Mercy on Me"

Music shapes the person I am and the writing that comes from me. "Have Mercy on Me" is a new track from Kasey Chambers and Shane Nicholson. It sings to me about being freed, I'm not too sure of it's origins but it makes me think that all the "things" we fill our lives with will ultimately mean very little...


My eyes threaded shut
As the river of gold
Washes over me
In the land of dreams
You will hear my heartbeat
As you set me free

The way they made you

I stay
Holding onto the you
In me
I lay next to
Beneath
And amongst
The bloom in your
Heart
I keep beat
Your rhythm is in
My beatless walk
I judge the wrong
In me to
See the right me
In you

The Artist and the Slaughtermen ~ The work of Mary Martin

I am Sarah Martin.
I am Mary’s daughter.
I am Jacks eldest granddaughter.

I am a poet.

Mary Martin's show The Artist and the Slaughtermen was opened last Thursday 30 August at Steps Gallery.

Deb Ellks a beautiful friend of my aunts brought a room of vocal people to a quiet hum. Her voice sung in the story of a mother calling home her sons. In this moment I felt like I was blanketed by love as I stood next to my closest friend and beside my grandmother. My brother and family were in my vision, my Dad was holding his head high, my aunts, uncles and cousins were scattered around, my friends caught my eye with smiles.

I stood directly across from my mother who kept smiling at me. Like me she had a heart shift almost two years ago because of this song, this song carried her through the art work, a strong line in the song "the buffalo used to say be what you are...." and here we were witnessing the being of my mother.

Sarah Tomasetti then officially opened the show. This woman in her own right is a talented and gifted artist, but to me she is part of the reason why my mother is successful at HER art. Sarah has a way with my Mum. a way I envy. For the past 20 years she has been undoubtably the "unconditional" in my Mum's life. What Sarah did in opening the show was tie the art with the written story. She held my uncles in silence, commanding the space by telling their story, and speaking their story in a way that allowed them to ONLY feel pride.

My Mum was generous enough to allow myself to show a piece of art along with my two cousins Jack and Jess both talented artists who shone their hearts and I know this is just the beginning of their story telling.

I don't think I've yet taken it all in, but what sits with me is an amazing amount of honor. This was for my family, their story their lives, who they are, who they have made me to be.

My mother has this gift that allows you to get lost in this dreamy like world where you are captured in image and story, and possibly I've grown up with this being my life, for me this isnt anything unnatural or odd.

However, this is probably the first time I've experienced what others experience when they become lost in her work. I know they were there for her, and even though I know they came with an idea, those ideas were blown out upon the winter night air.

Her talent was received. Her story was successful. My mother was present.

I know my life as a visual artist/poet will never be the same, my relationship with art will now be different, my story will now be present.


The story of my grandfather resonates through the whole of the family. He too was a present man, he gave, he was strong, disciplined, provided, was a mate, a worker, a leader, a father, husband and most importantly to myself was a grandfather.

This was his story, their story.

My mothers story.

My story




Below are some shots of our art

iN tHESE bODIES wE lIVE

The cat with three heads

Licking the rabbit

His darting eyes

And wavering tail

Quivering like a

Black snake in the grass

forget your petty crime

The fear captures my gaze
Like it wants to warn me
That I'm about to find myself
Lost amongst the light

Pass The Parcel

I don't often like to explain where my poems, thoughts, ramblings come from. Usually the writing speaks for itself.

However this comes from a place I very rarely write from, anger and hurt and fear, fear of being let down when I invest myself, complete with heart and honesty. I guess my lesson has been with risk there is always the chance of let down


Wrapped up
Between sheets
Of paper
Are half told stories
And lies scrunched
Around denial
The stories
They tell themselves
Are passed from
One to another
Around in circles
But no-one unwraps
To the center
Where in the middle
Is the truth

For the boys

The water drinks in my shore
Crashing over my thoughts
Making my heart draw breath

the wind is in the pine tree

I bit on my quivering lip
Holding the ripple
In my mouth
Her wandering spirit
Engulfed by the flow
Fell in my hand
Like the failure
That slept under your skin
I hid with you
Under your covers
Wanting to live your dream

In a forgotten dream

Words spoken silently
To the dust
As my fear falls
I watch your flowers
Grow old

But I can't throw you away

Man on a step

I hear Your ghost calling

It silences Me
You etch sadness into the night
Im done talking

I watch My words fill Your empty vessel
My tears turn into Your possession
And Your demon walks with us

My lungs will fill with
The scent of Your tired
Clothes that You once wore
But You are now gone

She'll be the Ocean

How sleepy dreams speak out your stories....how my dream kept me company



I swam in the backyard
Amongst her broken pots
As eucalyptus branches brush
The tin roof
You cup my wet face in
Your sadness
Promises soaked in love
Are pinned against the mud brick
Wall

Tram Stories

Two musty men
With Scratches and
dirty hands
Sucking a lollipop
Un-matching socks
strangle his feet
One leaning on his knees
wearing Dunlop shoes
He reads Master and Reality
Sadness worn on their
Foreheads












I need my life to be different, I need for it to be better, I need to make change

Little broken nights

Under here
Tiny fishes
Kiss my skin
The water
Carries
My breath
And dreams
away

What is in a prayer?

Are "prayers" a right or a gesture??

Do I have a say whether someone prays for me??

Are "prayers" simply good thoughts??

Am I ungrateful for not wanting someone to openly pray for me, and am I ungrateful for essentially rejecting someones positive intent?

I feel this says more about me than the act.....




The prayer
Or the thought
The intent
To move
To change
You are the thief that
Stole my?

I am not sure what you took

Im done talking
My words fill
your empty vessel
My mind turns
Into the possession

Lorsque les vérités de l'amour automne ~ When truths of love fall

How the two places in my heart meet.........

L'amour

a baissé

je dérive entre

la lumière

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Love

has fallen

I drift amongst

the light

Goodbye moon Goodnight sun

Before I share my poem I'd like to firstly thank Paul, through his kindness and generosity he has driven me home from work over the past couple of months. Through this offering I've also been fortunate and extremely lucky to be presented and inspired to take the everyday and make it known....and it is the unknown that remains undone and unfinished....

So it makes me wonder how do you want to be remembered when you die, when your life ends?? Are we the things that we leave behind? Or are the thoughts, feelings and perceptions held by others all that remain?

I hope I leave this world with a little incomplete....a little left behind, a little undone!!







You left the half painted wall
smeared green across
the sky of deep blue
my arms outstretched

I can't reach the places
your half read book
and half played game
the sounds of an unfinished tune

This will remain undone

Get off at Smith

They removed the shoes
That hung from the sky
Their sadness
Worn by the morning bird
And the sorrow
By the breeze
They left behind
The darkness and wires
No longer the steps
Dressing the sky

What I know of Love

You are almost gone
But I stand on the edge
Of my words
That might fall
From the beauty
In you

A Calling to the King

They built a house from mud
as summer was carried by the river edge
and desperate snakes haunted the night
autumn fell away
and the low hung darkness choked the space
winter drifted amongst the embers
as silence filled up lungs
spring was released toward star lit nights
while mice shuffled along the outside of dreams
the truth swung from the straw laid roof
moth wings caught the light
as the green of the valley
cradled their hearts

the impossible kiss

The thoughts break the divide
The eyes down turned with pride
The talk is put aside
The noise weaves against the tide
The dark and light collide
The heart aches from inside
My love has been denied

the red bus

I bury my love in Paris
Below the polka dot palace
Where my cousin folds her warmth around me
Capturing my dreams
Of wanting to be here
We listen, as the five bells ring out
Drowning the fire in my chest
We look above our heads
As metal towers over us
Breaking our dreamy state
We follow the sun
As beauty seeps into my being
And I cling to how soon this will become a memory
I watch gypsy's beg for their babies
Holding notes with names scrolled across the crinkled page
And I beg to the earth
To bring back the love
That I buried beneath the polka dot palace

what's love go to do with it

How an image can open a discussion between two strangers.

What is love and are we all courageous enough to fold away the "things" we believe IS love, and become defined by the true essence of what love can be??

Thanks so much to Dave, my new friend on instagram who has a gift of showing a richness and depth in his photos, check him out his username is

bodypiercingsavedmylife

You won't be disappointed. Thanks for reading my poem, and encouraging me to share it....




I love my iPhone 4s
I love my ps3
I love my fast car
I love my manufactured plasma tv
I love my designer branded coat
I love my sparkling boat
I love my multi function romote
I love my stuff, my things
I love what they do for me,
How I look and how I be
When did love become so flippant
Just another word
When did love become defined by object
When love longs for me to look deep in your eyes
And feel you wandering in my mind
Love wants to be in command

I love
I love

I love seeing the moment your heart feels the rays of sun break the flesh
I love how dandelion wishes brush your cheek
I love the warmth of your friendship amongst my clutter
I love your breath upon my soul
I love the crack of autumn leaves under your feet
I love how your music fills my lungs
I love how deep love can take me
I love it's truth
I love you
I love you

truth

 You stand under my shadow

Waiting for me to join you

Cold wind blows

                            Across my faltered ghost

Come back to me you say

                                       Feed on my hunger

Hold Back

The night bird plays the tune
For the short falling day
I am a coward to the night
Covered in its darkness
I whisper under dim light
Weaving my thoughts through the air
As my sadness falls on the tune

Inspired by Gossling

Because the theme of the week has now become the theme of my life I want to share the below poem I wrote when  I heard the song Paper Boat by Gossling, I was unable to find a video to upload but have included a link where you can hear it. It is a beautiful song....

I carved out a boat for you

A boat made of wood

I painted it in the colour of my heart

And stained it with the varnish of truth

The boat will carry you

Upon the seas of my love

Where I will be your current

And I will be your waves

My body will be intertwined in your net

My breath will get caught in your sails

My desire will be tied in your knots

And when you leave my shores

I will be your anchor

That drags heavy behind you

Held fast and buried in the sand

Because my longing wants you to
Stay wrapped in my arms
Forever

http://grooveshark.com/#!/search/song?q=Gossling+Paper+Boat