Christmas Poem (revamped)
I wrote a poem called ‘Merry Christmas’ back in 2009 and I felt like revisiting it. The original poem was posted on Overland back in the day when there were only a small handful of bloggers and we could post whatever we wanted…ahh, those were the days…The two poems are very different. Enjoy and happy holidays to you all!
Christmas Poem
I’ll gift wrap Christmas for you
tie a tidy bow around it
just to see your eyes glimmer
in commercialisation glitter
I’m not angry about Christmas anymore
because I’ve lost my innocence
but you have not
I want to make life an adventure for you
before you start growing and seeing
and your heart breaks in two
I want you to believe in Santa
as long as you possibly can
write a letter and leave
cookies and milk
tuck you in at night
all excited and bursting
for the morning light
going to shopping centers
makes me feel ill
but I’ll do it for you
again and again
you’ve got a new little cousin too
he arches his back
tries to reach the sky
for his playmat
soon he’ll be big like you
and you can dance to carols
together in the living room
I’ll gift wrap Christmas for you
tie a tidy bow around it
just to see your eyes glimmer
Something real
I am shit-scared of trying, something real
no depression, no suicide or pills
nobody to rescue me from myself
or to tie me to something else
I am terrified of something real
no chasing a guy down the street
texting or emailing so we can meet
only to fuck against floors and walls
to convince myself I’m standing tall
Ha. I’m full of shit.
I am terrified of trying, something real
describing how I feel
someone to take my hand
accept me for who I am
and we just come together
like salt and pepper
and then I hurt him
because it becomes boring
and I wind up snoring
or repeating the same story
that it didn’t work out
because I’m looking for something else
you know, because we drifted apart
and he wasn’t a bastard
loved me so much
it suffocated me
plus I’m looking for something else
I’m not sure, just something else
complete compatibility
personality wise
perfection
something like love
but not simple
like love or lust or something
you know, something in the middle
that you solve like a riddle
not what my parents had
because that was settling
that was family and simple
you go to work, you come home
you accept this is the person
you married and get on with it
raise your children
and appreciate that
LIFE IS JUST SIMPLE
no complication
LIFE IS JUST SIMPLE
No, I don’t want that
or do I? No, I don’t
I want something complicated and uncertain
to drive myself insane, so I can cry
and write lots of poems
or talk to my friends about it
to keep me on my toes
passion, oh, yes, passion
or maybe I do want stable
white picket fence
which begs the question
what the fuck am I doing?
because what I’m searching for
may not even exist
but maybe it does
I’m not sure
and all this
while my little girl
is watching, and growing
looking at me and saying, Mummy,
is this what love is, Mummy
I’m not sure what love is
Is it as complicated as what it seems
will I find the man of my dreams?
is that how you love, Mummy?
Because I found this man
but I’m not sure if I can
because he’s kind of boring
and I think I’m snoring
I want more out of life, Mum
I don’t want a simple life, Mum
I’m looking for something else
I’m not sure what, but something
you know, the same thing
that you are looking for, Mum
not something simple
I’d rather just pick my pimples
Mum, what is it you’re looking for again?
Great sex? Oh, okay, well if that’s what love is
I better start, looking.
Love of my life
Almond eyes, pale, sweet cheeks
you are looking right at me
in the photo they took
a year after the split.
Head between two monkey bars
you have a straight smile
I’m neither happy nor sad, Mum
I’m just somewhere in between.
I kiss your photo glossed cheek,
wipe away another tear…
Mum, I remember when I was three,
and we were a family, Mum
it wasn’t that long ago
but now we talk on the phone
when I’m with Daddy and I need my Mum.
I am a strong girl, Mum
I don’t smile or frown
when I fall down I just say ouch
but I don’t cry, Mum, I’m strong
but, Mum, why aren’t you and Dad together?
and you say never say never?
why can’t we live together?
if you never fight
and talk on the phone every night?
I’m a strong girl, Mummy
I have two bedrooms
and did you see my new shoes?
Yiayia and Papou got them for me
I live there too, sometimes
and I wheel a princess suitcase
every few days, but it would be better
If Mummy and Daddy were together
why, Mummy, why?
Love of my life
There is no other, in my heart
I’m miles away and I want to stay
here, away, forever
but you, love of my life
you’re on the other side
pulling me to you
my heart palpitates at noon
when it’s your bedtime
and I’m not there, to tuck you in
I want to give you everything inside
don’t want to run off and hide
all the scraps left behind
aren’t enough
Mum, hey, Mummy, Mummy
I’m happy, I’m a strong girl, like you
I haven’t cried and there’s 10 days
10 days till you come home
I’m crossing them off the calendar
but when you come home
I want us to be together
Because you know you’ll be
best friends for life,
and you won’t leave each other’s side
So Mum, Dad, loves of my life
please just tell me why, why?
Soul mate
We were sitting in the living room,
lounging and laughing about
when it hit me, and I wanted to
bubble-wrap the moment,
still it like a photograph
Our conversation is catchy confident
a developed understood understanding
When we’re apart we’re together
our touch, only a thought away
She climbs into bed when I’m asleep
her breath, squishy lolly sweet
I joke about buttering up her bot bot
baking it in the oven, eating it like muffins
Even when the clouds are gloomy grey
she tells me everything’s going to be okay
and we run, hand in hand, in the rain
without an unbrella, towards the rainbow
Sure she steps out of line from time to time
demands that she wants everything
complains about my disinterest in footy
she reads the Target catalog on the toilet
asks why I don’t have a penis
and always puts floaties in my drink
She’s hit me a few times
(She goes to the naughty corner for that)
but it’s okay, in love things are never prefect
and I’m her first serious relationship
She’s into all that girly stuff, which I’m so not
but somebody’s got to wear the pants
She likes patting my face, arranging my hair
When I’m frocking up she marvels at
my beauty, showers me with admiration
I mean, what more could a girl want?
And no man would even come close
to looking at me like she does
for I’ve searched far and wide
in all places and spaces
only to find her,
the love of my life
born from my very
own womb
For more of my poetry on motherhood, come along the Brunswick Hotel on the 22nd of November at 8:30pm, where I will be performing my poetry on motherhood with Maxine Clarke, Vicki Thornton and Geoff Fox.
She takes care of me
In a room where sunshine peeps
and butterflies are doona warm
she takes care of me
breath lighter than clouds
my only oxygen, cushioning
nose to button nose, powdery skin
her small hand, brushes away
the hair, from my face
she traces my eyebrows
says they’re her rainbows
you’re Alice in wonder
but i’m not, i’m not
you are, Mummy, you are
you’re Alice in wonder
in pitch-fork nights
she takes my hand
why you sad, Mummy?
why you sad?
Mummy just needs to cry
but why, Mummy, why?
You know when you cry
because you can’t find your dolly?
Mummy just needs to find her dolly
Here, I cuddle you, Mummy, cuddle
when she’s nowhere to be seen
and her toys whisper in hisses
when books are swallowed
then burned at the stake
don’t you worry: she takes care of me
Motherhood: too bad it was your choice
This article has been brewing in me for three years – that’s how long I’ve been a mother for. I’ve thought long and hard about writing this article. Many have advised me against it. But ultimately, the importance of initiating discussion and change for the better outweighs my reluctance and fear. Outspoken mothers these days are too readily labelled as whiny and put in their place with the statement ‘it was your choice to have a baby, so deal with it’. Well frankly, I’m not going to shut up and walk away, not this time anyway.
After I spent forty-two hours in labour and had my abdomen sliced open, I was expecting society to embrace me; instead reality dished me a cold slap in the face. First came breastfeeding. Society was telling me I should, that it was best for my baby. But it was harder than labour. People stared at me. People asked me not to breastfeed in front of them. Someone told me it was child abuse. I stayed home as much as I could while I breastfed – an entire year. If I did go out I was reduced to feeding in tiny rooms, or crouched over my baby, and if you’re not relaxed the milk just doesn’t come.
Outings: I’ve had a waitress shrug my comment off when I explained there was a fish bone in my daughter’s flake even though she said there were no bones in the fish. I’ve had a woman approach me and my daughter at the Dali exhibition – which was set up to encourage children involvement – and remark disgustingly, ‘Why would you bring children here?’ like my daughter was a dog or something. I’ve had single girlfriends complain of mothers and prams and why we walk so slow and why we leave our Christmas shopping to the last minute and take up the shopping centres with our prams.
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Drunk on Sleeping Beauty
Lips that shame the red rose, hair of sunshine-gold. She’ll offer springtime wherever she goes. Arora is stunning, thin, the victim of Maleficent’s cruelty. Arora dances to ‘Once upon a dream’ deep in the forest with cute, furry animals. The prince sneaks up behind her. She’s hesitant – she can’t talk to strangers. But they’ve met before: once upon a dream. She lets her guard down, he takes her in his arms, and right there, and that precise moment, I want to throw myself into the Disney Classic and never return to reality again. The prince is noble, gallant, a little rebellious. It’s love at first sight. He fights the evil dragon, conquers Maleficent and wakes Arora with true-love’s kiss. It ends happily ever after and the prince and princess dance in the clouds to ‘Once upon a dream’.
Love, take me away…
But I know something’s not right when my three-year old daughter is obsessed with Sleeping Beauty. We fight daily – she wants to play the DVD, put on her dress (no pants because Arora doesn’t wear pants!) and twirl with her imaginary prince. When she’s not waltzing, she stares at the screen quietly, absorbing every phrase. I wasn’t any different as a child, fixated on fairytales and Sleeping Beauty. But as I observe my daughter’s perception of love being moulded before my very eyes; when I hear of yet another couple breaking up, another ending in divorce; when I listen to single girlfriends whine that there are no decent guys out there; or girlfriends contemplating ending a relationship because they’re boyfriend isn’t romantic enough, should be more impulsive, has an annoying habit, isn’t more…something (they can’t put their finger on it), or they’re convinced they ‘can do so much better’, I have to wonder:
Did we all watch too much Sleeping Beauty?
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