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

The Waves

Sometimes I feel the ocean

Like seaweed fingers on my back

Sometimes I feel the sand

Brush away the past held in my eyes

Sometimes I feel the breeze

Encouraging my life to exhale

Sometimes I feel the sun

Melt the darkness set in my heart

Sometimes I feel the rip

Pull me back once again

THE HAPPINESS QUEST

the happiness quest is like

strawberries dripping with

sunshine and dew

being drawn to your scent

the brown chair next to the fading print

sunlight breaking the dream

car rides and loud music with your glancing eye

lattes in takeaway cardboard cups

birds on a wire on winter mornings

my heart in the nape of your neck

it is his cheeky grin and cars made of dough

purple scarves draped like lavender fields

when you won’t let me go

the freedom of having a heart broken like

waterfalls crashing on rocks

summer evenings walking on warm cement

the photos that line the archways like

carefully paved cities

movie nights and homemade ice-cream

the shadows drawn on your back

honeysuckle vines choking red brick alleyways

the bike tyres dodging the gaps in the bridge

the rattling bones in my ear

pressed leaves in old phone books

long grass and white butterflies

your hands dancing like ribbons twirling in the wind

hot chips on the beach

when you spoke the words of your people

my shadowed eyes searching for visions

like forgotten flowers

scattered upon the aging stone

dressing the spirit in light

like a dress made of autumn silk

the happiness quest

UNTITLTED

                     soul

throw your heart through every open window

                   spirit

THE GETAWAY

Your number etched

In the stone of my soul

421 for all that I am

You can't even see what I am

Built upon your heart speak

Your potion flows through me

The spirit no longer cold

As your drug fills me

Your love enslaving me

Dripping with desire

My heart fickle

Its shell weak

My soul just hums for you

Waiting

Longing

This is all that I am

EVA

My weakness shown

As my heart sits on the

Window ledge

Overlooking the morning break

The dawn birds sing their glory

Floating sprinkles of dust

Caught amongst cobwebs

I ache for your love

Like the cool breeze

That faintly wraps around me

I watch the sky turn orange

Melting into yellow

As droplets and tinges of pink

Fall through the cracks

You have my heart

THE MORNING TRAIN

The last few days I have been writing a series of different poems, that funnily enough have somehow become connected in some way, they are three separate poems, yet they are one.....my dreams have been vivid and  they have traveled in my thoughts this week

Dawn amongst the

Silent breeze

Broken light

Decorates the blank pages

Colouring the unspoken

Words

Clawing at

Denied thoughts

The heart listening

As silent patience

Stays trapped in a knowing

Place

The asking heart

Sheds its sadness

Sitting lonely

Stitched up from isolated

Pieces of thread woven

Amongst the

                      

              flesh

6:34 the dream felt

Screeching sounds

Like rusty gates

Low hung clouds

Under my foot

As spicy salami lingers

Amongst the sleepers

And the grease shines

On her chin

 Nauseating my heart

My words true

Street lights

Train lights

The light in your heart

Turn off

Archways twitch

Music is played

Held tightly

In a coffee mug

Green flowery dreams

Warm the hands

One more chance

At happiness

His tie of blue

Watching

My love is yours

Caught in the nightmare

Oriental lions protect the

Entrance

Morning light broken

By a thumping soul

The rush of looking for

                        Love

That treks the hills

Looking for comfort

As her cracked lips

Call for the sky to come

Toward you.

Bending on the turn

Slowly pulling away

The book I carry

Bent from the hungry desire

Of being held

Hurts in my hands

Lost amongst searching

Following the ribbon

Draped from the window

The memories wait

Amongst the pages

Of cool water

And sweet lingering perfume

Surrounding the weightless

Stones that sink

As the floatless heart

Is embroidered

With silky wet moss

Seeking approval

That can't be controlled

MISSING JULIANNE

Craving
Knowing
Fretting
Forgetting
Heart withheld
Tune
Scratching
Breathing
Simply
Listening
Gnawing
Empty sadness
Longing
For you
Thoughts
Memories
Forever captured
In my heart

THE SMALL CUPBOARD

There is a dusty path

That leads to a small door

The door to a small space

And in that small space

A light will appear

A light from my heart

I allowed you to come near

You saw my light

The beautiful light came from me

You reached through the small doorway

My heart was set free

You took hold of my torch

You took hold of me

Now where is my flame?

The flame that once warmed me

How do I illuminate a dark heart?

Which now is a bottomless hole?

How do I fill my heart with promise?

And empty the dark from my soul?

Where can I find the light?

The light just for me

And how can I fill the small space

The place, the space

My heart

Me?

THE GIFT

My heart is open
And all I was, is shown
The ripple of doubt
Flows in and out of my shore
Dampening the sands of self
The dreams seep into my mind
As the sun and moon cross paths
The notes of my tune
Empty from my mouth
Like a hollow strumming noise
My offering
Is given up
Is it a gift
Or a curse?

From the Wardrobe

The earth was dark

The shadowed heart hung

In the window beside the wooden bird

Words stored in a small box by the cushioned dream

Overlooking the deep valley

Life

Remained speckled with colour

Floating amongst the trees

As dawn danced on the horizon

In a gold pleated dress

Shedding dark imperfections and failings

Fragments of dreams drift

Upward

Forgotten

You hum a tune to the blowing wind

The moon shadow moves across your heart

As the ceiling is painted blue

Love

Becomes frightened

Hiding behind the rising earth

Light is uncovered

From below the silent heartbeat

Boxed words sit

As I hear the winds tune

Like you are still humming

The passage of time

Wrapped around the stones that fall

As time does pass

The past leads the future

And the wind turns around

Looking

The box where the words have been kept

Is now

Open

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.

HAPPINESS....

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

AS I BEGIN

When I was beginning this blog, I made it quite clear in my head that my lack of vision, RP, blindness, was not going to be the force that makes me write, but I guess it’s time to start addressing the reasons that have brought me here. There are a few. There are a lot of blogs out there and some really fantastic people writing them, inspiring me to write what I know!!! Secondly, I guess it’s the beginning of forging some sort of history of my writing and track its development, and possibly hope that someone reads it and it moves them, inspires or tugs at a chord. Thirdly I share this remarkable relationship especially through writing with a beautiful person, who teaches me so much and she has encouraged me to stop fearing my words. And I guess the ultimate reason that makes me write and brings me here is the failing eyesight, the pending darkness and me FINALLY through my words and others words deal with it and ACCEPT it. I guess you would expect that after almost 15 years there would be a level of acceptance, but if I be totally honest there hasn’t been. I have been fumbling my way through, having two conversations with myself:




“Good morning, remember be safe, say sorry, take your time, look twice, remember to say sorry, look at as much as you can, shit its dark, pre plan every move, make eye contact, look down, don’t hurry, be grateful, don’t panic, can’t go there, can’t drive, say sorry, smile.”

Or this one:

“if you don’t think about it, it will go away”



Those two conversations have varied and intertwined for the last fifteen years. In that time my hearing has become more acute, my steps slower, my patience with myself has at times worn really thin, I have fallen, hurt myself, become extremely angry and frustrated but mostly I go to sleep every night hoping that it will all just disappear.


Until recently.


It ‘s funny people always ask me when they find out about me having RP are always interested in where the vision stops and the blackness starts because of the loss of peripheral vision. You know there is no point where blackness begins and no place where vision ends, I see what I see, I don’t see the blackness. I just don’t see that step, the small child, the pole to my left, the chair, the man crossing the Elizabeth St at dusk. I just don’t see what I don’t see.

BUT I am beginning to realise that things are changing, that things I used to see I am not anymore. Different forms of light are harder to see in now, wet ground, the city, the time between dusk and dark, very early mornings, crowds, people all in black, noisy environments, all things that this time last year weren’t a problem, now are. I also sense that those closest to me are seeing more of what I don’t see. Comments I haven’t heard in the past, I am now hearing “like you walk like a blind person”. How does a blind person walk?? Its frustrating and angers me to no end. I am at a point where I am in between sight and no sight, and to most I am a normal sighted person who is “clumsy” and “stupid”....hahahah when in fact I am far from either of those things....I am blind......

How do blind people write??

There is a part of me that believes writing is part of what gets me through life. It speaks on behalf of me; it is my companion, and desire and belief. BUT I do fear that without my eye sight how can that be??? How can I put pen to paper, when I can’t see the tools. Do the visions that forge the words fade and there is no inspiration? Do you forget when you can’t see?

I hate not being able to have the freedom to just get in a car and take off,


I hate pre planning,


I hate that every place I go causes anxiety because “will I be able to see”


I hate how my independence is slowly turning to dependence.


I hate running into people because they get pissed off because I have an invisible condition,


I hate how I think about it all the time,


I hate that it upsets me,


I hate that is immobilising and controlling



BUT I love that it has made me more aware,


I love how I try to take everything in visually


I love that it has made my heart warmer



I guess its time to start giving in a little bit, because the “its going to go away” conversation is only holding me back I think. I haven’t got a lifetime of vision ahead of me to just muck around, and it would be nice to get to a place of acceptance when the life of blackness is.