Kettle's Boiling. Poem

There's a crackle from the kettle,
boiling for one
A bitterness in the tea, made too strong,
stewed too long
while I thought about you
an unfocused gaze, towards a black window
the garden is lost at this time of year
I think, somewhere, there's a book to write
but ideas are lost, like my thoughts
in the recess of my mind

Missing Family. Great Barrier Reef

My two youngest brothers came by this evening to put up my wooden beam and curtain pole. I'm sure Jones could do a fine job of this if we stocked him up with power tools, but I selfishly prefer to save these odd-jobs for my brothers. I worry if I didn't have something for them to do I'd never see them. Having them here reminds me childhood, and reminds me of a home I don't feel The Tower is yet, a home I've never really had.

I miss my family. I'm only a twenty minute walk away up the hill but working 9-5, usually over time too, cooking dinner, cleaning the house, constructing crafts, trying to write my book, (living a standard life) the little energy I have left over is absorbed into the sofa come 9:30 in front of the T.V. I don't have a family of my own yet and the emptiness of the house can be oppressive, but it's a peace I know I should savour. All too soon I'll look back on these days with a wishful eye, or so that's what my elders tell me.

I still feel alone, alone with my thoughts all too often. Unsure about my life and where I am heading. With every new venture, every good turn of events, there comes an overwhelming amount of questions and worries attached. I wish the week away like everyone else, waiting for my the time that's my own, to do as I like, that's so precious. We wish our lives away that way. The clock keeps ticking and I'm always thinking I'll run out of time to do the things I want to before it's the end- grim, I know.

But Jones put this documentary on the other night which showed just a small result of our global warming. It crammed together as much horror as it could into a two hour slot, the abuse of our planet for profit and the bit that choked me was The Once Great Barrier Reef- half dead and rotted beneath the ocean, what I used to look at in pictures now deteriorating. I don't know when I might have gotten to Australia, I still don't feel confident swimming, but that dream of diving on that reef feels painfully shattered. The little colour and life that's left I don't know if I'll have the time or the funds to ever see before it too disappears beneath our own vile corruption. I worry about how many other dreams will go unfulfilled.

I think if I had voices and joy around me I'd not worry so much about the bigger stuff. Missing my family makes me think about that. I envy the distraction they have in their own little families. If I could fill these walls with enough distraction I wouldn't miss the things I will inevitably miss out on. Does that make sense? Does any of this make sense to anyone but me?

I have to wrap this up. Pie in the oven is almost done. I have to dish up dinner.



A rough example.

Before Humans

After

Miss You. Poem

I miss whispers of the house
you make when you're around
the creaking of the floorboard above
the patter of feet on stairs
I miss the tone of your voice
and the glint in your eyes
The way you catch a look at me
when we simply pass each other by.
When you're not here,
I'm not here
because part of me is always with you
And although the times are few
the thought terrifies me sometimes
if you didn't come back
what of me would be left behind?
What would I suddenly lack?

The Tower

So my Mr Jones has done it again. What he always does, what seems to be his instinct whenever my happiness is at stake. He rode in on his white horse, wearing his shining armour, and he saved the day. Jones is the hero of my story, and while he continues to light up new stars in the sky of my world he’ll never lose that title.

I couldn’t stay in Connie anymore, the little bubble that was my beloved sanctuary had burst, an invasion of my fortress left me bereft and confused. Jones fixed everything. He’s found us a new castle. A place we can set up home in more than one bedroom and a 6 foot by 3 kitchen. Here we have a Keep, with a kitchen big enough to dance in, with windows and stairs and a garden. I have a garden again. I have sunshine flooding my garden, painting it golden.

I have named this place The Tower. My tower. Ours. Just us, no one else. Just us in our new sanctuary. No shouting, no interruptions, no wreckage. Everything is just right, because we are right.

I’ve felt a tug on my heartstrings to leave Connie behind. The place where I got to know Jones, where I felt at home, where I could escape to, where we fell in love. It’s only a room and a 6by3 kitchen but, it was special to me. I will never forget the memories of that place. I look ahead now with an open mind, and a full heart, despite that my Tower is almost empty ha! We have spaces to fill, memories to make, a family to think about-not too far away.

We don’t have internet for a few weeks, I’m off the grid. Writing this up on my laptop to post on my blog at a later date. So Jones and myself are just here together, getting used to this new found home without any interruption from the outside world. We’re at peace.

I’m warm, I’m fed, everything works, and I’m safe.

The Tower: You mean a lot to me, and I will treat you well. Treat us well, and keep us happy and safe.

Connie. Memories Poem

Into the last memories of this place
we travel together, yet apart
for this room has never been
to you, what it is to me
a happy place, a sanctuary
and now we're soon to depart.
This place has swept me up
the first taste of home,
a sort of wonderful simplicity
only I have known,
here is where I found
what I never knew I'd lost
here is where I gave up my heart,
In this room I handed over my innocence
in this place we fell in love.
We've been at peace,
and been at war
everything of us, absorbed in these walls.
Connie has been a silver key
Connie has stolen a part of me
and now we move onto something new
But here in this place I became Me
because in this room I got to know You.

I'm stressed poem.

I'm stressed.
Pulled taut as a hairband ready to split.
The ability to shake this clutter of thoughts
has vanished with the broken promise to keep shut up.
Shut up were these wishes, in a cupboard where the door's now ajar.
Shut up I have been a time too often here
Within these four walls, where the mould and cold creeps in
not another winter, will I put myself through this.
A coiled spring, rusty with grief
pulled taut now
awaiting relief.

Unsettled

I've had something new on my mind all evening. It's sort of like a seed that's taken root but I'm refusing to water it, as if daring the plant to shrivel and die before it grows anything substantial.

I don't want to feel gleeful over something so difficult. But it's hard not to keep thinking about it. You can want something so badly that everything else seems insignificant and that one dream feels achievable. I just want to feel at peace. My peace has been destroyed so rapidly I'm waiting to wake up and feel normal again. Instead of walking across a tight rope of pent up emotions.

Things like this don't really feel achievable. I'm just kidding myself. Too nice an idea to be realistic. For so long these thoughts have been wispy dreams and I don't think they will ever happen overnight, or for quite some time unfortunately.

God, I'm so unsettled.

I've lost all motivation for anything right now.