Middle C

Mellifluous
Melodies make themselves
Known to me
Hitching a ride
On winds wild
And wrenching
Dead wood away
From the garden
Of my musicianship
It's a comfort
To reach beyond
Middle C to the
Depth charges
Of the alto lands
Momentarily
Forgotten there
Below my belly
Where the mezzo ends

Spotlight

Underneath the spotlight
I am a creature transformed
At rest at last
Composed and calm
Tranquil for a change
You will see
The frantic funster
Give way
To the herald
Who lives in my heart
And humbled by your attendance
I will share my tales
With all of you
My friends, my kin, my loves
My anchors
To where I belong
Purring platitudes
Quietly
So as not to startle

Have you?

Have you ever
Sung a note so pure
And full of everything
You could never find
The words to describe?
Have you ever
Sung a note so loudly
It carries your story
Through the neighbourhood
And the birds chime in?
Have you ever
Sung a note so freely
It warms your whole being
From toenails to split ends
And you feel thoroughly massaged?

He

I wear armour
Forged from hurt
He slipped me from it
And I am safe
I stifle giggles
Bubbling from nerves
He laughs along with me
And I am soaring
He answers to Sir
He answers to Daddy
He answers to silence
When I am overcome
He gets me
He reads me
He speaks me fluently
When I am overthrown
Our darkest demons get along
Dancing quietly out of sight
Leaving us alone together
He has strength and sweetness
In equal measure
Just as I have
But he stills me with a look
When the mania threatens me
And I am able to exhale
And reclaim my wayward mind
He is generosity and integrity
And I am humbled

On talent...

This is not a "poor me, please build up my confidence" cry for help. This is just my opinion about how I classify my writing.
I keep being called a talented writer. I get a little uncomfortable when I hear this, for two reasons. Firstly, because I find it really difficult to accept compliments, and secondly, because I don't believe I possess talent. I find the notion of talent to be slightly alien and I'm not sure why.
I like most of my writing. Like any other craft, or artform, I have good days and bad. Sometimes the words just flow through me and onto the page. Sometimes I am bugged for weeks by one word in a piece, and it takes patience to unravel the riddle of why the word doesn't fit.
I write from a place of integrity and courage, which is also how I approach my life in the broader sense. I also write as a form of therapy, which I have touched on previously. I do believe without my writing and my music I would die. These two worlds are where I find my inner peace, and am fully self expressed.
Perhaps this is why I'm uneasy about being classed as talented; because I am of the belief that everyone has the innate ability to express themselves, and that these authentic expressions (be they in the form of writing, music, art, gardening, car detailing, et cetera) are all inherently beautiful, none are superior to the others, and each expression has value simply because of its honesty, vulnerability, and humanness.
I am very fortunate to have found my form of self expression, and if others happen to enjoy reading/hearing it, then that is even better. The payoff for being courageous is the opportunity to be vulnerable, and in being vulnerable I am being my true self and able to receive joy. So for me, writing isn't about talent, it's about sharing and appreciating the beautiful mess of our shared existence.
I do, however, appreciate the compliment of being called talented, and the encouragement and support which accompanies it. It only serves to make me want to share more of myself. I guess I'm just bashful, and I want everybody to feel the way I feel when I write....elated, alive, exhilarated in the moment of being one hundred percent myself and not apologising for it.

Funk

You can keep your pop
Princes and princesses
They don't have the pipes
To win me over
And again
Like the original
Rhythm and bluesmen
And insatiable soulwomen
Who thrill me
Bend me over
And again
Just like the man
Whose fingers
Play me like a tenor horn
Screaming out syncopated
Sensations
The man
Whose tongue
Bites me like a brush
On a snare drum
Just enough sizzle
On the offbeat
To send me begging
For more fire
More funk in the four
Beats to the bar
The man
Whose eyes
Compel me to moan
Like a siren songstress
High on life and
White lightning

Grateful

Compare and contrast
Are inevitable at the
Launching of this virgin craft
And I am staggering
In the eddies of such
Delightful differences
I am serenaded
Not snapped at
I am blissful
Never barked at
When the night terrors
Send me speechless
I am held fast
By genuine caring
Warm even as tears
Freeze my cheeks
And muscle memories
Spasm shivering along
My unsound spine
I cross my fingers
Waiting for my luck
To run out
As I bitch and moan
In my incoherent
Morning moods
But still I am respected
Met with joy and curiosity
Never with contempt
Never named unworthy
Instead I am gorgeous
And funny
And a good girl
For scratching your itch
And in doing so
My mind is finally
Quiet and soothed
Into silence
Here I rest in service
And revel in truth
Trust becomes me
And you are the beacon
Patiently illuminating
My voyage into amnesty
Thank you, dear Sir

Someone

I never could fathom
The common desire to be
Someone or something
Some job
Some title
Some rank in particular
I always just wanted to be
Full stop
Or maybe not
Maybe I could emulate
Bobby McFerrin
His freedom and courage
And his ever presence
Maybe I could imitate
Ella Fitzgerald
Her humour and grace
And her startling beauty
But no, not me
I tried and tried
And just ran back into myself
Awkward and frumpy
And ugly to most
But blessed despite all these
Trivial concerns
With companionship
A voice
And a soul of fire and steel

Weak Tea

First world white woman guilt
Is what initially bleats up
To the surface of my busy brain
When overtly opinionated
Right wing boat shoe wearing
Short back and sides
Old school tie for the rowing club dinner
Types tell me that terminating a pregnancy
Is the Easy Way Out
The capital letters are audible
Despite the rounded vowels
Soaked in twelve year old
Scotch and soda
Hold the twist if you don't mind boy
But the guilt is quickly booted aside by frustration
I am confounded by their pomposity
How dare they assume abortion is easy?
They are not female
They are not feeling their breasts swell daily
Their hips creaking, adjusting to make room
For a gently expanding womb
They are not suddenly sickened
By previously inoffensive aromas
Or tastes, or words, or images
They are not in a swirling ocean
Of choices to be made
Of decisions about
What will be the Right Thing To Do
While crying at the slightest nudge
And only able to stomach weak tea
Salt and vinegar crisps
And broccoli
And wanting to nurture an embryo
Until it's a healthful foetus
But are not well enough to do so
And wishing they were older
And fitter
And didn't have multiple illnesses
Which push them to the brink of
Mental and physical cliffs
With frightening monotony
Wishing they could bring this life forth
And feed it until it glows with happiness
These men live elsewhere
They are not poor and alone
Wishing they had a Proper Husband
Or a Real Job
Or at least a watertight house
And enough money for the gas bill
While they try to piece their life together
After it was ripped apart by rape
Ruin and tragedy
And they're glad to get through
One day without having a panic attack
These men are from another world
Where their class is their life jacket
And they will never understand
Why we don't listen to them
Best to leave them be
In their fairytale houses
And think for ourselves instead

Girl

You were there
When you wanted your cock sucked
You were there
When you wanted a hole to puncture
You were there
When you wanted a listener
You were there
When you wanted
A masseuse
A cook
A cleaner
A painter
A tiler
A brick shithouse
To carry your fucking
Dusty dirty furniture
From shed to trailer
And into another shed

But where are you now?
When I cannot stop
Crying until I retch
I cannot stop
Punching myself in the gut
I cannot stop
Hurting myself
Until I do more damage than you did
So I can forget about you
And how ugly you made me
How useless
How unlovable
How you ignored the safe words
Then blamed me for bleeding
Blamed me for fainting
And you did nothing
But laugh and sneer
And harangue me about my weight
My size
My face
My voice
My soul
You did nothing
And left me dizzy and bloodless
And wishing for death
Because I could never please you

You were there
When I cried
For a relative lost to cancer
And you punished me for it
Caned me black and purple
After the funeral
In front of your perfect girl
You were there
To humiliate and degrade
To manipulate and brainwash
To take advantage
You promised to help
Heal my trauma
Instead you got your kicks
Re-traumatising me
You cracked my spine
And now I can't stand
For more than an hour
And every time I hear
The word "girl"
My hands curl into fists

Well I'm not your girl anymore
You were there
When I left
And you didn't say goodbye
You didn't even look at me
The girl you said you treasured
The girl you said you cared for
You were there
And you never cared for me
Just for you
I used to apologise for my existence
For wasting your time
But not now
Now I'm sorry I wasted my time
And my precious trust on you
Now I'm sorry for your existence
And anybody unfortunate enough
To encounter your sick personality

Fuck you
You filthy fucking degenerate

Safekeeping

I don't mind
If the cold makes
My back sore
So long as I see
My cityscape
Lit by stars and
Promises
Whizzing through
The indigo night
I don't mind
If the drunk boys
Are laughing at
Tired puns
So long as I hear
My cityscape
Notated by sighs and
Soft bluesy strains
Gliding from
The hazy bars
I don't mind at all
So long as I call
My cityscape
Home
I am warm
Reassured and
Lulled into
Welcome slumber

Next Caller, Please

I am not unaware
Of my apparent
Repulsiveness
To you and your
Shallow fellows
There's really no need
To continue belligerently
Bringing it to my attention
I am frightfully busy
Discovering myself
And new delights
In the unparalleled
And exquisite company
Of my exceedingly scrumptious
And toothsome lover
So if you will excuse me
I've a body to nourish
A soul to serenade
A heart to heal
And a mind to advance

Saltwater

You have my nose
And my grandmother's eyes
And you come to me in
Dreams of death by drowning
Gasping for life and
Desperate to pass on
A message to those
You left behind
But I can't hear you
For the squealing
Of your ship
Succumbing to its fate
I can't read your lips
For the saltwater
That stings my vision
And yet you persist
You will return and return again
Night after night
Until I crack the code
Of this I am certain
Because I have your
Stubbornness
And your legacy
To tell the stories
You have my word
You have my duty
You have my devotion

Blackness

Muddy darkness
Trapped by ghosts
Forcing myself
To breathe
Just breathe
Light will return
Be patient
Breathe
Just breathe
Even though
The stillness
Is agony
And the silence
Screams inky
Blackness through
Your veins
And your heart
Is heavier than
Grief
Just breathe
And pray
For morning's
Birdsong
And fresh air