a little faith

When one asks me about religion, I, like many others, devoid the conversation any further.

It is, after all, one of those taboo topics, the ones not to have with other people in fear of offending them.

In recent times when I have wanted something so badly, but had no control over it, I've had to think about this.

Whether it's an opportunity or audition I want,

or a message about someone I may care about, these things are out of my hands...

I can't make them happen, despite how badly I may want to try.

So it's bought me to the question... faith.

I believe there is something. But what I'm not sure.

I want some things so badly. But yet have no one to ask for it.

I guess the reality is, I must have faith in myself, that it will happen for me in it's own sweet time.

If not this audition, then there will eventually be another.

If not this intriguing man, then I will eventually stumble upon another one.

I must have faith, that it will happen for me.

That despite the mystery of religion in my life, I must have faith in me.

That I will take care of it....consciously or not.

It will happen for me.

annoyances

We are so different in so many ways.

When coming home, the energy and drive to converse with someone to share my day...

overcomes the annoyance I have for the dishes piled 10 ft high.

I want to share everything; elaborating on what I saw, felt or thought throughout the day...

so I ignore your small answers and responses to what I am saying.

I like order and cleanliness in my house, respect for each person's company.

So I ignore the dripping bath mat on the floor and the remnants of baked beans you had for lunch in the living room.

You are not malicious, or a drug addict, so I ignore the lights left on when no-one is in the room, or the windows shut up.

Despite this, I get so hurt with your cold attitude towards me when I slip up...

when I am not my usual perky self.

It's not me normally, just when I am finding it hard to ignore the annoyances just because I like you and think you're great.

It should work both ways... shouldn't it?

haunting of age

He approaches each step with trepidation, his cane not providing enough support.

His wiry hair, upright in statue, the only thing that has not stunted with his age.

His worn face, exhausted and spent - yet his eyes still sparkle as he moves towards the theatre door.

It takes some time to find his seat, squinting at the little letters on the side rows.

He moves gingerly down the isle, smiling cautiously at the other patrons.

He watches in awe, remembering his younger days of performing.

The act of ageing gracefully hard enough, but losing the ability to be on stage devastating.

During intermission, someone offers him a chair and holds the door.

'I don't deserve it' he shrugs off.

I watch him with fondness and immense sadness,

the decrepitness of age haunting.

I feel terrified, no doubt it happens too quickly to even realise before the glory of life...

the options for potential is effortless blown away.

protection problems

The need to protect the people we love creates complications...

it makes our intentions unclear.

We are so busy, putting ourselves in front of them to cop the brutal force,

that we forget that they are standing behind us.

We learn the lessons, make the mistakes

and grow another layer of skin;

whilst they become vulnerable and sensitive to the world.

Having been the protector for so long,

I never realised how frustrating it must have been to those around me.

Until now.

Now I am a million miles away and life is going on without me,

and they have chosen to not 'bother me'.

Now I feel the annoying sensation.

I want to teleport myself over there to know what is going on.

I want to be there to winge about it, or to try and solve the problem.

I want to be there to protect them.

I want to scream down the phone 'stop fucking not telling me stuff'

or write them an email demanding an explanation.

Instead, I simply agree and move along.

I hang up the phone and play an angry song.

I stew about it whilst I walk down the road,

now negatively distracted from my op shopping.

I sit in a coffee shop, alone, and write and think about it.

Feeling extremely protected and pissed off.

it weeps

the house groans with age,

weeping at the peeling walls.

it's high ceilings, once dawned with pristine chandeliers and decor,

are now cluttered with dust and mildew.

the bay window, once a resting place for a lady in waiting,

now bare and deserted.

the gardens expand for miles,

still well kept and manicured.

yet the house remains a ghostly figure.

the hidden bedrooms and ballrooms tell a story of British history,

yet foretell it's modern future.

stately houses 'found everywhere' are transformed into modern slabs of brick,

fulfilling the high brow market.

a precious gem dating back to the second world war,

I find myself in awe of it's grace and elegance.

three days spent exploring this ageing beauty,

and i feel sad leaving its beaconing doors.

it cries out to it's visitors,

hoping one may try and stop its quietus.

hope fades like the paint on it's walls,

and it rests regrettably.

moments shared by fruit

I stand over the sink and peel the skin off the fruit.

Despite the sweet flavour, and the juice that dribbles down my chin;

I can't help but feel a little glum.

I am forced to remember the last time I ate this delectable fruit -

oh so long ago on the shores of Byron Bay.

The sun was glinting down, the sand between my toes;

the crystal water just meters away and mine if I wanted it.

The young lady beside me was shaded by an umbrella and chatting about anything to keep our minds off the fact that I was leaving just days away.

We laughed about ridiculous topics and flicked fruit skin at each other.

She so flippantly said

'I don't really know if I like lychees' whilst continuing to devour the slimy fruit.

After encouraging her to go for a swim, my persuasion was quickly cut short by a visit from a jelly fish -

apparently it was out to get her, particularly on her newly formed scar!

After fresh seafood and loads of laughter, we climbed back into the car.

The drive back to Papa's, only short, but seemed to take forever.

Silence filled the car as we were lost for what to say.

How could something so easy, so taken for granted be swept away and gone for a while.

We were more then sisters, we were friends who enjoyed each others company.

So I stand here now, in my little London kitchen, and miss her incredibly.

The fruit a simple reminder of the good times we had,

the laughter and ease at which friendship brings.

Thank you lychee, for taking me back to this moment.

prattling thoughts

Dusk falls and the clouds part,

light rain falls down in the garden.

The music drifts softly out the door,

and I close my eyes in a wine comforted sensation.

The smoke wafts from their cigarettes,

their soft Swiss-German murmurs barely audible as we sit.

Trees rustle in the breeze and the smell of fresh cut grass tickles my nose.

We break the moment by a shared joke,

my uncontainable laughter echoing through the complex.

The prattling of our thoughts is endless and lasts several hours;

only broken by fine wine and food.

A taste of friendship built on a volcanic delayed few days,

is now something sustainable for years.

Blessed I am to know these wonderful women,

such a great feeling to see them again.