Smoke

When you light a fire

You create smoke

It’s a mask, a smoke screen

Hiding the real devastation taking place

 

You can’t see that devastation

Until the fire has stopped raging

The smoke all but gone

Then you see the damage she has created

Daddy

Bed time is getting closer

She rubs her little eyes

She is so very tired

But its time to tell the lies

The tears roll down her cheeks

As I hold her close to my breast

I tell her Daddy loves her

As I lay her down for a rest

She asks when daddy's coming home

"I'm not sure" is my standard reply

For daddy has another life

That is why I have to lie

This is the "not so fun" part of being a parent.  It breaks my heart every night when Miss R asks me when her daddy is coming home.  Tonight it made me cry too.  

Lemons

The first thing I thought of when I woke up this morning, Lemons.  

My grandfather has the most magnificent lemon tree in his backyard.  It has been my endless supply of lemons forever.  The tree has been in his backyard since he came to Australia from Italy 60 years ago.

Everytime we visit my kids collect a bag of lemons.  Its tradition,  just the way I did it when I was a kid.  I asked my grandfather once how he got the tree to grow so strong and healthy.  He shrugged his shoulders and said "I do nothing, it grows" I have tried 3 times to grow lemon trees, without success.

My grandfather is 92 and is dying.  When he dies the lemon tree dies too.  

I'm going to miss the lemons.

Power or Control

Does he tell you he gets close

That he wants my lips

 Does he tell you we fucked

While you were in his head

 

I think not

My Profile

I decided today that if I was to move forward in my new life that I had to be honest.  So the first thing I did was change my profile info.  It said that I love life, well that wasn't entirely true.  I am learning to love life.   So I have changed the words.  I feel so much better now.  If I can't be honest and truthful with myself how can I be with anyone else?

Equals

You were my lover

My partner, my husband

You were my plaything

My slave, my excuse 

You were my anger

My discontent, my displeasure

 Equals we were not

 

I looked up the meaning of equal in the dictionary some of the definitions: having identical privileges, status, rights. Evenly balanced or proportioned.  Neither of these definitions figured into my relationship.  Not something I am proud of, but to deny the truth is denying myself the chance to work on improving myself and maybe the relationship.

Rain & Balloons

This morning I woke to hear the sound of rain on my tin roof.  It's not something we have been hearing a lot of lately.  I don't think I will ever get sick of the sound again.  

Balloons....Miss R and I have spent the morning playing balloon tennis.  I haven't played this in ages and it was the best fun ever.  Finding the inner child in me is fun.  I hate that  we loose that sense of fun and spontaneity as we get older.  Something I have tried very hard not to loose but on occasion have.  It's back now and I intend to keep it.  Anyone for balloon tennis?

Mirror Me

I look in the mirror

I see strength, courage, beauty, happiness

All staring back at me

But the mirror lies

It is just a reflection

Of another world I used to live in

Just Rambling

This is not a poem, but just a little ramble about me and life.  Life as I once knew it has changed "just a little bit".  This is my own little part of the world where I can just be me.  Not mum, or worker, or partner, just me.  Where I can write down all the little things that come into my head, good or bad.  I have always thought of poetry as....well I suppose i haven't really thought about it all.  I didn't really understand it.  I could never understand how someone could write such pretty words and yet thousands would read those words and have their own interpretation of what those words meant.  I felt it was an injustice to the writer of those words.  I voiced this opinion to someone not long ago and they "thats what poetry is all about, your interpretation".  I still struggle with this.  Another point is the whole rhyming thing.  Poems I've read always ryhmed.  The two I wrote do rhyme though I didn't do it deliberately.  I just wrote what I felt at the time.  Enough rambling for one night. 

Good night, sleep tight, don't let the bed bugs bite.

Control

Hot/cold

Sweet/sour

Who has the right?

To hold all the power

Farewells

My tears are hot and salty

My eyes are stained and sore

But nothing can prepare me

To see my life walk out the door