As my light becomes dark

I intertwine my words and vision into woven light

Friday, September 24, 2010

Golden Kisses

       As the sun rose, the Native American Navajo tribe members would rejoice to the sun
Bluebird said  “Get up my grandchild,
 its dawn” it said to me.

I was born in Spring.  Gold shades mixed with orange of the sun, as it began to fade as I came into the world, the late afternoon breeze caught in the oak trees that lined the street. You died when I was one year old.  You left behind a bluebird necklace for me.  A little bird of cobalt blue stone, with twinkling silver backing.  So small, and delicate.  You gave me the necklace when I was born.  It was just for me.  Is it because of you that I love Spring?  Did you rejoice when I was born?  Just like the Native Americans did for the new dawn?   We had just met and then I lost you, you died.  You died having known me, having loved me.
But I don’t remember you?
As I grew I saw photos of you, and when I look at them I think I know you, your warm face, smiling, a crooked upturning smile, deep coloured eyes and a long slender neck.  I see photos in black and white of you holding my father when he was also one year old, I look like him, smiling with complete freedom, sparkling eyes, full of wonder and excitement, sun hitting his face,  filling me with warmth, colour felt amongst the black and white.  I hear you were my father’s favourite grandmother, he called you Nanna, and I call his mother Nanna.  Stories tell me he used to ride his bike for miles to see you.  Nanna now lives in your house and she drinks from your tea cups, rimmed in gold.  I loved watching her drink from those when I was a young girl.  I imagined what gold would feel like on my lips.  I have photos of her holding me and she is wearing a bright red jumper, and I am smiling, full of wonder.  I am only one year old. 
I wonder if you loved me like he loved you. 
I secretly would play with the necklace.  Mum said she was saving it for me for when I was grown up.  She said it was special.  I knew how special it was because it was hidden away in a draw, a draw of wonder where Mum kept all the special things.  The necklace was special because it came from you. I remember when I took the necklace. I opened the draw and all these beautiful things came flooding out, the smell of incense filled my nose, catching my breathe, small beautiful images of the things Mum kept in there, there were little bowls and pieces of smooth coloured glass, letters written from her mother, her distinct curvature writing, a statue of St Christophe, protect the travellers, and there was the necklace, in a little leather covered box.  Holding it in my small hands, I slowly opened the lid; the bird lay flat on the silk backing.  The iridescent colour of blue shining, it was so beautiful.  Why did I take it?  I held the bird in my hand, tight, drawing breathe and then running from Mums room to mine, I remember just holding it and looking at it.  It was my bluebird.  The bird released from the cage.  It was the bluebird you gave me and I was ready to have it. 

I wonder where you are now little bluebird?  
What are you telling me lost little bluebird? 
Are you telling me much more than the lack of your presence?  Can my renewal exist without you in my life?  Will Springtime come again?  Is this showing me much more about my broken spirit, my broken happiness?  Did your grandmother know that when she gave me symbol of happiness that it would slip through my grasp?  Why can’t I remember how I lost you?
One day I hope you fly home to me

Tuesday, September 21, 2010


The silence was loud
The air blowing around
The shuffle of feet
The clutching at words
The moments forgotten
The blessing that’s given
The inner rush
The belief
The awkward presence
The eye shifting gaze
The cloud covering the sun
The darkness in the corner
The hate the builds
The green of winters grass
The trust broken in pieces
Love is given
Love can grow
Live in love


I boarded the train, and sat, and glanced out the window as the passing trees blew in the wind.  The emptiness of the streets at first light made me take note that moments are so fleeting, before long the world would be awake

A life made of seconds
A muddle of moments
Intertwined into places
Leaves drift
Feelings move
The wind gets caught in gaps
While sunlight breaks the mist
Money is fought over
Trains run late
Time becomes like floating dust
As a treasured life ends
The dust settles on the earth
Silence closes in
Stars scatter across the sky
The moving traffic stands still
We fail
Music draws conclusion
Buildings stand like steal
The shore waits for the crash of waves
Children dream big
As loss becomes comforting
The unexpected drifts between space
Words become lost
People remain lost in directions
A noisy mind craves the silent second
Crumbled spirits are gathered
As the second changes into a lifetime

Sunday, September 19, 2010


Today I saw Mary word AMAZING......second feeling......AMAZING. That the grown up can revert to the child self. I felt like I was going to lift onto the stage and be engulfed in sight and sound and fly with Mary. All the feelings I had as a child watching the movie over an over again came back to me, but so much more intensified and all levels of imagination, innocence and freedom. So I have written something, first draft, but the initial feelings....amazing feelings

The lark
Singing with the golden voice
Bringing in the morning light
Shinning hope
A happiness sounding true
But caged broken voices
Scream freedom
Through the east wind
The change blows in
The language of the lark
Where wind is like breath
A natural wisdom
Dipped in spiritual purity
Dreams of bright sun
Warm wings flutter
Filling the heart with light
The caged bird flies around
Injected with playfulness
Free from rational thought
Where the diet of logic
Is full of reason
But thirsty for the freedom of change
Disrupted spirit
As the winds turn to the west
And the cage breaks free
The lark now flies
Like the falling star wished upon

Thursday, September 16, 2010


sometimes the heart is so tender
a nudge will crack it open
and light will shine
a beautiful light

Tuesday, September 14, 2010


Inspired by the three words

For my friend who I believe in very much, she brings light to my life, creates beauty, defines know it when you have it, it defines you, shelters you, nurtures and makes you the friend all people need.

His feathers were at rest
Weary the body begins to fade
Yet the spirit prepares to take flight
Unable to remain with the body
As distant places call him
No longer anything the spirit can give
Taking to the sky
The spirit looks downward
At its empty shell
Shrivelled amongst the sand
Solitary and empty
Feeling his heart pulsating
Wondering can his spirit ever leave
I still love you he whispers
But you are my curse
Goodbye, goodbye my love
Let me leave with grace
Warmth radiates from the remains
He clutches at the charm
That drapes round his neck
The coolness of the stone
Held tight to his chest
Like the memory
Which lingers in the air
The past floating
And layers begin to fall
Salty tears flow from his eyes
As the waves crash against the shore
Remaining the rock and the heart
While the sky above catches on fire
A yellow glow covering his back
Feeling his skin covered in a new warmth
Daylight has returned
No longer held captive by night
He drops the stone
Releasing the past
The last lone feather drops
Spiralling toward the earth
The light caught on the water’s edge
Reflecting the deep green stone
Sparkling inward light
I won’t forget you

Saturday, September 11, 2010



She scrubs at the invisible stain
Before first light grows old
Shadows cover the tender touch
Love waits behind closed doors

Before first light grows old
Watching the weeping soul fade
Love waits behind closed doors
Trapped between the feelings within

Watching the weeping soul fade
Disguised by unexpected light
Trapped between the feelings within
Why can’t love be set free?

Disguised by unexpected light
Shadows cover the tender touch
Why can’t love be set free?
She scrubs at the invisible stain

AND THE BOYS (A night with Angus and Julia)

The lights were dim and the sweet sounds of Luluc were playing over the hum of voices that filled the Palais Theater. I clutched to Samantha's hand (it was dark!!) and I was excited!! The usher guided us to our seats, walking down the isle I whispered to Samantha "my god we are at the front" she squeezed my hand so tight.

To be three rows and centre for Angus and Julia Stone, was like a dream. We looked at each other as Luluc sung about a suitcase big enough for suits and one small enough for books. How nice. My gaze drifted around the theater. I had been to many shows at the Palais and every one of them were intimate, engaging and always entertaining. The pillars plated in gold, the old musty theater smell, vinyl covered chairs, carpeted floors, I loved it. Warm and inviting.

Luluc waved goodbye and within minutes out stepped Angus and Julia. Julia dressed in a gorgeous red dress, no shoes and a red flower in her hair, Angus all long hair and scruffy, I wanted to touch him, hahahah. Then the sweet sounds began. My ears drawn in so close to the tune of "Hold On", just an acoustic guitar and these two voices. Amazing. "And I am waiting for the day, and I know you will have the heart" Simply they could have played like this the whole night and I would have been so happy.

Before I knew it, the curtain was raised and here we were in an outdoor setting at night, the roof covered in darkened blue, with flickering lights (stars), and this almighty tree. I was mesmerised. Song after song followed, Julia made magic with harmonicas and trumpets, and Angus with the mandolin and these beautiful voices. Then something happened to me.

I felt my eyes close and I sucked in all the sound without watching. So overwhelming without vision to make sense of things, all these sounds mixed with my thoughts. The song "And the Boys" began, Julia's voice filled my mind, the piano, the low drum sound, acoustic guitar and all these images came to me and as I opened my eyes all these pieces of gold (paper) were released from the roof. Not just a few, thousands and thousands of pieces. And because we were so close we were covered in the gold. I was overcome and could feel the tears coming, the music, the gold, the feeling, the future, the thoughts, all in one moment. How can one enjoy experiences with out seeing and being part of a visual world.....breaks my heart.

I put this thought in the dark place of my mind. The show soon finished and I had the best night. Samantha Jane I love you lots and thanks for sharing the night with me.......

I began writing yesterday when I re-heard "And the Boys", this below is inspired by that song......

The moth whispered
Fluttering beneath my eyes
Once caught in the cracks
Wings covered in loves dust
Landing amongst the clutter
Of forgotten dreams
Words in bottles never thrown
Flecks of gold blow in the wind
I've got nothing to give
It flutters in my ear
You have your love I answer
Kissing the moth with my breathe
The cracks open
The gold falls

Tuesday, September 7, 2010


Today I felt as though I was touched by the light I was born in....Springs light.....

Springs first tears
Fall from the blossoming trees
Winters mist ligers gently
Between the cracks
Soon to fade
As the emerging Spring child
Dances in the warm light
The scent of honeysuckle and mint
Dress the morning air
Afraid to let go of this moment
Hangs between the sky and the heart
Reflecting the pure images
Kept in silver lined memory boxes
Tinges of glistening light
Move shadows
As Spring is reborn


I woke in the dark, my dream filled with mud and water....I wrote.......

Doubt rising
Feeling her arms around me
Silent memories
Fold amongst us
Tears create comfort
Capturing them in the
Hands of madness
Moments where angles land
The past forgotten
Faliures hidden
Weakness is trapped
Inside the broken heart
You can't even see me
Can you feel me?
A sinking feeling
Will the ground finally
Take hold and swallow me
I cannot take flight
Toward the crimson kissed sky
My left wing broken
I keep walking
Swallow me ground
Take my heart
My broken wing
The crimson sky
The madness amongst my
Damaged heart
Look at me drowning
From the rising doubt
How long should I wait
How many moons must fall
Before the rising sun catches
My Heart

Sunday, September 5, 2010


The spirit free from falling
The spirit tested to remain
The spirit allowed to be crushed
The spirit jumps taking flight
The spirit amongst chaos finds time
The spirit openly loves
The spirit waters the earth
The spirit dipped in colour
The spirit is always amazed
The spirit fills with warmth
The spirit looks to be inspired
The spirit keeps hold of dreams
The spirit longs for desires
The spirit pains and hurts
The spirit uses nails and screws
The spirit elevates to rise above
The spirit clings to what it can’t hold
The spirit


Given the gift of nature, the gift of the past, the place between the silence and the storm

like the black range covering my back
the hate like dirt, it sealed my fate
hands full of movement
covering my face
colour fades
physical compulsions
fists clenched
crashed into my pockets
buried deep are flesh pieces
suffering through his words
hatred like wet mud
drying and setting the path
of unknown moments
that are presented on doorsteps
hollow creatures
moving through the bushland
that covers my back.

BOOK CLUB DAY (and my values)

Today I title BOOK CLUB DAY.....well I had all the books and he (Troy) watched, hahahahha.  I was thumbing through "The Happiness Project", you know sleep deprived people would take one extra hours sleep over a $60,000 pay rise.  How I have been feeling of late with complete sleep deprivation I would take that one hour over the money as well. 

Point one in the journey to happiness.  Restful sleep.....

So book club day continued......

I stopped flicking through the books and we talked.  Or should I say I talked and he listened.  I usually find myself being the listener in most situations, I like that role, I find comfort in the times I don't focus on the voice in my head.  But today for some reason I had to speak.

Whether its exhaustion, whether its my sensitive heart, whether its the writing itself, whether its the new elements of being forced to look deep within, but I suddenly have reached a cross roads and I hate how it is making me feel.

What am I meant to be doing with my life?
What are my goals?
What are my dreams?
What are my desires?

Am I meant to strive harder (because of my failing eyesight, or just because??).  Because I feel there are all these expectations placed upon me to BE, to BECOME, to WANT and to then ACHIEVE.  Do I want any of that, can I be any of that. 

I want to write, and I want to write well.

Isn't this enough??  I don't know if it is good enough to want more from it and do I even believe in it.  I keep using the words "flippant" and "fluffing around".  But today I realise these words are protection.  I fear. 

I notice the media and society show us all the above achievers, people especially with impairments, diseases, deformities etc overcome these hurdles and go on to achieve HUGE things.  I am not one of those people.  I am average Sarah, who has never wanted to be number one, or the best or recognised.  So why would I want that now??

So my discussion with Troy.  We decided firstly that happiness is sometimes not a happy place.  I do believe that.  Happiness is a place we strive for, when really it is a feeling, it is fleeting, it hangs around, it covers you with warmth, its inviting and resilient.  But sometimes is daunting and hard work, extremely time consuming and frustrating.


I am fortunate, I have a good heart.  I see things with goodness, and I always want good things for people.  People I care about DESERVE to be in a place of comfort and joy and have hearts that experience freedom.

That's all I want for myself.

Is that enough?  Or am I trying to convince myself that is enough so I don't want more.  Am I scared to jump off the ledge into the world.  Is it the darkness that holds me back in more ways than I have ever known and is it my confrontation with that that makes me realise that there is more to this personal puzzle than I realise??  Troy, somewhat reflected back to me that I do have fear and it does stop me, and that I do struggle to identify what I want from my life because I am scared.  Enter Melanie.  She is the light that has sparked my connection with the written word and I have lit the internal flame that has driven me to write and believe in my words. I am so lucky to have her in this special place. She believes in me and she has encouraged me in so many ways. For that I am blessed, for that I am fortunate, for that I am able to grow....

She sees me for what I am, nothing less nothing more.  She wants happiness for me, she wants me to WANT it for MYSELF.  She writes, she dreams she desires and she works bloody hard to have it all.  I admire her so very much.  She gets it, she gets me....

I am scared.

I don't want to be the BEST.  I just want to BE and that means find comfort for myself in myself.  I don't want doubt words scaring me into hiding, the shadows of life frightening me. 

I value you Troy.

I value you Melanie.

an orange covered book
crumpled pages
like clouds weaved amongst
the sun of Springs first morning
uplifting the spirit
the guilt of time passed
through the night
the soul was released in the dark
like the blind feeling moth
Thanks for Book Club Day, thanks for two beautiful friends and thanks for the heart to grow

Friday, September 3, 2010


In the dark of the night, while the house stood still and quiet, something floated under the door and into my room. It knew to come in the darkness as to not frighten me. It knew to be silent to not wake and drag me from the land of dreams. It was big and black in colour, it was ugly and dark.  When it entered my room it waited in the corner, huddled, filling with my warmth, as I slept.

As the new day dawned, I knew something wasn’t right, I felt there was something new, something I had not seen before.

Aimlessly, it was floating in my field of vision, trying to catch my attention. Darting back and forth.  Every time I moved my eye it moved, too quick for me to catch it. I blinked, was I seeing right, what was this I saw? What was this that had broken loose and was now in my life? I looked into the light of day, trying to clear my eyes, but as I looked back it was still there. Did this ugly thing escape from somewhere and was looking for a place to hide? Why did it choose me? Was it alone, or where there more things floating around that I had not yet noticed?

I concentrated, staring straight ahead. I could see it in the corner of my eye, its shadow cast on my eye, and as the light of day grew, it grew, darker and larger. Was this an optical illusion? Shifting my gaze to look directly at it, it quickly moved with the motion of my eye. Why was it floating? Like a black ghost covering my vision, but hiding when I try to focus on it.

I close my eyes. I can still seeit floating before me. Why is it hanging around? Will it ever go away? Why won’t it stay still so I can warm to it, embrace it. Maybe I can ignore it and it will go away. Why won’t it leave me alone? I can’t concentrate. Why had it come to me? Maybe where it had come from was diseased and dying and it released itself, but why did it have to plague me?

Thursday, September 2, 2010


Sometimes things are built to fall.
Sometimes things are given voice to sing.
Sometimes things have hands to make.
Sometimes things are blessed with spirits to dream.
Sometimes things love, feel, desire, care.
Sometimes things were given darkness fueling hate anger and fear.

Can spirits be caught amongst this existence, maybe the destiny can drag us in, clutching and smothering the spirit???

Wednesday, September 1, 2010


Anyone who has caught public transport will know it can be quite an experience.  Catching the number 86 tram, bound for Bundoora, I am always ready to be entertained, scared out of my wits and sometimes pleasantly surprised.  The rain was bucketing down as I huddled under the cover at Bourke St, where oh where is my umbrella I wonder, and as the tram pulled up everyone made a mad dash for the door, I hate that.  For goodness sakes people....LET DIS-EMBARKING PASSENGERS OFF BEFORE YOU GET ON.  Infuriated, I waited, getting wet, but non the less patient, I board, I sit and I wait. 

Sitting in between a group of three girls, all aged, seemingly in their late 20's they talk around me, like I am  not present.  Well I guess I am not really, hahahah, I am drawn to one girl, dark eyes, beautiful orange scarf, dark hair with white chunks through it.  But it was her attitude that struck me, dominating the conversation

"Yeah I told her, over facebook, just like she did to me, I thought nope not stoopin to her level, but I whacked it on there, that our friendship was over, I was walking.  Mick would have seen it as well, and guess who didn't comment....... " 

I hate Facebook

The other two girls chime in, agreeing with her, clearly she decides who's in the group and who is out....mmmmm...I have known girls like this, I wanted to tell her. hahahah, she was not going to give me a chance because she continued on:

"Psychic told me this would happen, saw her for six hours and she told me and Nat (wonder who Nat is???) that this would happen....."

blah blah blah blah.....this is where I tuned out but her voice droned on for the whole 45 minutes of my trip, even over the music, and the commotion of kids crying who are being told off, the man sniffling across the isle, the opening and closing of the doors and every now and then the sound of rain.

So I turned to a poem I have been working on for the last few days called

The platform is a ledge
Balancing the cup
Breathe being drawn
Like night sucking in
The life of the falling sun
Landing on the gold plated edge
Fluttering, the soul takes notice
Like the summers first dawn
Covering the sky with
Amber shades
The sound of wings breaking
Against the still air
The heart is let free
Toward the break of colour
The blue winged bird
Her colour fading
But silence broken by her song
The following day will be warmer
As she has arrived
Goodbye little one
Her wings here to carry you away
For my future is now to grow
Darkness will soon fade
As the gold plated cup
Falls over the ledge
The platform no longer strong