MISSING THE POINT

'Getting The Knack'  by  Trish

I'm trying to put mascara on, I just can't do it!

Lilly said 'Oh it's easy' it isn't! I knew, it, knew it! knew it!

My eyes are burning-stinging, one is watering all black,

I always have these problems, and they won't give my money back.

I asked the lovely lady, with 'cosmetics' printed on her pocket,

If it didn't work for me, could I return it as long as I had the docket?

"Well of course it'll work, why wouldn't it work?' she ever so quickly said,

I knew she hadn't really answered the question and my face went very red.

By the time I got my breath back, that is, at least enough to speak.

All that came out, as the word cosmetics bobbed about, was less than even a squeak.

Now to save enough money took for ever, until I could purchase my dream,

And all of  it was for nothing, honestly, sometimes life is so mean.

Tushie

DISORDER AT WORK

'Skirting  Along'  by  Trish

Look, legs, hands and feet,
how absolutely neat!
But, there seems to be some struggle,
Almost a  right royal muddle.

What on earth, are all those black squiggles?
Am I right, they're chains in the middle?
Sometimes people go too far,
In an effort to prove who they are.


well, if if they wish to, waddle, look like a duck,
All chained up, to maybe, get hit by a truck!
Why, who am I to say, they're mad to do it?
After all, it's their, legs, hands and feet! 'so screw it!'

(Sorry to end on such a vulgar tone,
 but I needed a word to rhyme with 'do it!')
Tushie

A VIEW OF MY OWN
--------------------------
I've got a few ideas on how to gain attention,

'Changing The Tide'  by  Trish

And it's nothing like, what I've just mentioned!
It's about turning things, inside out, up, on their head,
The way I often do, some nights in my bed.

I look hard into thin air, and wait for what comes,
There's no music of coarse, but I swear I hear drums,
As the night begins to tell me, to get up -get up and go!
And to find the brand new day, it'll hold all I need to know.

Tushie

ALL IN ONE LIFE

 The hospital sheets feel smooth and cool


'Feathered flowers'  by  Trish

under my restless hands.

In front of me are five objects.

These five objects represent my life.

What are the objects?

One is a ticking clock, another is a painting,

and then there are two small photos.



One of the photos is of me at nine years old,

another is of me, with my arm wrapped,

protectively around the shoulders,

of my now frail mother.

One more thing is needed to,

make up the number five.

And it is a silver and red tambourine!

But these things, although they do exist,

are, for now, purely in my mind's eye.

Only the hospital bed is real.

These things have made deep, overwhelming, 

impressions upon me, perhaps,some good,
although I fail to recognize any good, some, so bad,
I cannot fail, to recognize them.
They have pride of place, in a fashion,
in fact, they are the reason I rest,
in this immaculate hospital bed.

And the clock, what does that represent?
I must not rush ahead.
First, I want to explain the value for me,
of the tambourine.
It represents my love of singing, music,
art, all that is rich and wonderful.
The clock? it represents the droplets of ticking,  drops that  tremble,
their way and dissolves all in its wake, all,
as it did with my journey towards myself.
The clock breathes and, tick tocks, itself ,
into endless space, soars, spreads, never settles.

I travel with my thoughts and images,
faithful as the most faithful.
Time and space have become one for me.
And the painting, I must not forget the painting.
It is of blue  flowers.
Flowers, that float across, a mirror like? background.
If it is so, the  petals are dark,
their centers deep blue. How effortless is their drift'
over the electric surface.

But, let me anchor myself, back down to the earth,
back in rhyme, within the frame set, by the time's ticking clock,

back into the immaculate bed, 

and out of the  three framed lives, that lived ,

their  lives, for far too long in my head.
Back into singing, into poetry, music, laughter, live-life!!

Back into society, back into community,  

Back, back I came......and here, yes here...I am.

Tushie

THE DEMON'S SHARE



'The Weaver Of  Darkness'  by Trish (1995)

Yes, it's  him, alright, the son of a bitch,
Soulless son, of a heartless witch

See how they play their monstrous game?
How different they are, at being the same?

Ah well, Time has its way of sorting things out,

No matter how long or what it's about.

Time is the Chime that tolls for all,

Whether the resonance be great or small.

Time can bestow treasures. On whom? who can tell?

But for sure, on evil, Time unleashes, the 'Hounds of Hell'.

Tushie  (Written  1995)

THE CREATIVE GOD

'My Creation'  by  Trish

It is his way of creating that concerns me.

His insistence of spinning, with a permanently,

invisible thread.

'The thread is drawn from thin air, by the God' he tells me.'Then the disciple threads it through the eye of the needle,And begins'. 'Begins what?' I ask.

I have come to a place within myself,

That will no longer let me to follow the conjurers of creativity.

Not one more step will I take. With my own eyes, let me see.

Yes, let me see the building  the creator has built with his own mind, and hands. Let me feel the texture of the Thread, thrown by the God, to only, he knows where, and that only he can see.

Let him weave his thread into a tangible thing,

Before he asks me, to step out with the yarn he has spun.

Perhaps, as I now suspect, spun only, for me.

Tushie

THE WAITING CHILD



'Bondage'  by  Trish

Tick, tick, tick. The tick whispers inside of me. Whispers endless time into my body
Curls itself around my heart and sleeps.
Then wakes and waits for me to notice.
But I'm not interested in time.

Light tells me the night is almost over.
The tick, tick, snatches the silence to itself,
Hits hard against the shafts of morning.
Far away, a bird sings its golden song, and I wait.
I am always here, I wish I could remember why?

I must stay here, until they return.

It's what I was told to do. 'Just sit there and don't move!'

When they return, we'll have good times together,
In friendly streets, and lane ways, in sun and sand.
Together, on grassy, hillsides, we'll play and play.

We'll cross rocky streams, of running water.
Step from stone to stone, and I won't be alone.

'Turning To Gold'  by  Trish


It seems, I can't help, but wonder, who it is I wait for?
Is it a friend? a sister? a brother? Or? maybe my mother?
I just sit here, and I dare not move, and I try hard not to wonder,
Who it is I wait for. Because I fear, I fear, they will never,
come back for me, and I will be left alone here forever.

Tushie












Below, is a picture, of a hard working-hugging-loving-chubby muvu!

Tushie





\

'A Kind Mother'  by  Trish

WALKING THE WAY

'Strange Little Thing'  by  Trish

I watch feet pass by, they tell me stories,

My bowed head tells them mine,

Yet part of me cannot deny, the holiday mood,

Carried by the breeze.

The stone seat, numbs my buttocks,

I've tipped my head back hard, and through,
My tears, I see him. A cheeky cherub.

He's been perched in place, over David Jones,

Ready to thumb his nose, shout obscenities,

at the crowd below, ready to jump onto my shoulders,

Tweak my nose, pull my hair, and he does!!

And he wakes me UP!

Tushie  (around 1976)

"My Best Friend'  by  Trish

FROSTED FLOWERS

'Energy In Bloom'  by  Trish

See the pretty flowers falling, falling in the dark,
They are so vibrant, they can just laugh,
At colors that may jar, interrupt  their happy mood,
They never tremble, one sign of minding, what may intrude.

Their color is the interest that spurs them day and night,
Energy is the important thing, to these keepers of the light,
If color is overjoyed, it flashes, forth like thunder,
Transforms itself before one's eyes, into colors of every wonder.

Tushie

WISHING

'The Flying Cot'  by  Trish 

If I could be born again,

I'd ask for a special friend.

Who'd hug and kiss me  each night,

One who'd  never give me a fright.

I know there'd be a long  wait,

To have such a perfect state,

But I wouldn't mind one little bit,

I'd pretend I was in a very slow lift.

And while I waited, to be born again,

and kept thinking of my special friend,
I'd be safely tucked up, in my flying bed,
With a big pilot helmet on my big baby head.

Tushie




ESPECIALLY DESIGNED
----------------------------
Here's another, grown up, special sort of suit
For when I need to give, the other one the boot.
It's  lined with wool, that's kind ,in all sorts of weather,
And the trimmings are made of genuine leather.
There's a frosted glass to cover my face,
It'll keep all the air in, as I float around space.

I don't know when I'll need it, or how old I'll be,
Before my present flying cot, is too small for me.
But 'better to be sure than sorry', I've heard grown ups say,
'It never hurts to be prepared  for the next rainy day'.

So have a good look at my space suit, at my cot, and me as well,
Because when I do make the change, it's clear,  you won't be able to tell,
If it's me, or a person from another place, or maybe even  from mars!
If you look closely, where my ribs would be, you'll see some iron bars,

'Spacing Out'  by  Trish

Protection is  my mission, and when that day should arrive,

In my new suit with the frosted glass head , I'll take to the sky.

Of course ,you'll think all this silly nonsense, from a silly little kid

But what if one day, you hear a grown up say,'can you believe what that kid did!'

Tushie

MY ANGER HOUSE

'Rage'  by  Trish

MY ANGER HOUSE
--------------------------------

Today's the day I'll tell her 'you old witch,

I don't care if all those crazy operations,

have taken all your insides away, and

left you looking like a skeleton  forever!'

I'll say, 'do you hear me you horrible mother!

I don't love you any more! I don't even like you any more!'

And I'll say as well, 'I hate how you and that
potato headed father of mine, spy on me
when I say my prayers at night.
I know you both tip-toe away and laugh about me.
If you were good and kind, like some other kids mums and dads are,
you'd help me when I'm frightened, and you'd know about
the old man who lives in the back room, and send him away'.

And another thing I'll say is 'I'm too little to be left on my own 

in the house, until its dark, and late as late,

and I have to run as fast as I can down the longest darkest hallway,

and jump into the big double bed, between, my two, sound asleep,

little brothers. Even though they feel warm, I still

listen and wait for the old man to come and get me.

You see! it's all your fault! You hard hearted, selfish ignorant,

wicked!...... poor silly souls!!' But I can't say all the things I think,

because, I'm still too young, and still, frightened of my witch mother,

and of my potato head father, and worst of all,

even if I was brave enough, I can't speak the words,

because,     because    I have     hardly    any     breath   left, to breathe    with........

Tushie   7/8/94

A FIERY CROSS

'And So It Was'  by  Trish

See me turn my head, my eyes, away.

See me, slowly, let slip through mine,

The finger tips of those I love.

Let silence mock the vast emptiness within me.

And let me rise again.

See me raise my arms against the wild winds, that tear at me, and mine. See black storms, rage before my blindness, break over my bowed head and broken heart, and let me rise again.

Loneliness, rage and restlessness, had their way,
Were welcomed, invited to feast at the banquet table, until  they were sated. And then....... we rose again.

Tushie   (30/5/01)

THE BIRTH OF Love

Dearest Mother,

'A Burning Warmth'  by  Trish

Tonight, the wind howls an icy blast.

Crumpled paper bags scatter and scamper along gutters,

newspapers rip and tear across memories, as pages of print,

flutter this way and that; some cling to bushes, catch like crafty hands at the legs of a passer by, or plaster their rampage of words, across closed and shuttered windows, across the windscreen of a passing car, while other pages tear and race on with empty urgency, into darkness. 

  

This bitter winter wind, threatens all with its violence, as it greedily, snatches and sucks, then blasts forth the flames of  the fire,

we burn in the drums, to keep our shivering bodies warm.
But, even though the wind, can still cut me, as the sharpest knife, there is now,

a warmth within me, that neither, wind, nor anything, nor anyone, can touch or take from me. How has this come about? Let me tell you.

At The Market Place
------------------------
Early one morning, I wandered, as is my way, through the small,
but vibrant market place, that spills its wares onto the street,
and into every possible corner, until I reached the isle,
that brims, and overflows, with blooms, in a blessed hail of colors and perfumes.

As I strolled on, I saw a large shining silver bucket, filled with  burning red  beauty.
Before I could know what I was doing, I thrust one bare foot, and then the other,
into the burning vision. Cooling water instantly soothed,
the torn, filthy skin of my feet, and as well,
placed a healing balm over my tired, unto death, heart.

How could I defile, such loveliness?
But, you see,  it was my hunger of loveliness,
that drove me to this crazy act.
Of course, my behavior was seen as that of a madman.
And so, I was kicked and cursed, and hunted away.

But, even as I ran from the curses, the raised boot, and fists, I felt rapture.
Yes, rapture. You see mother, for the first time........ I felt,
the spark of life, and for the first time, in what seems like forever,
I felt a warmth, or perhaps it was more a love, that I can at last trust.
                               (To be continued)

Tushie (1994)



FROM THE DUSTY CUPBOARD

'Let The Sunshine'  by  Trish 

Let the stories come, they'll do more good than harm.
There's one about, a little tree, and things that used to be.
Memories told by the child,  nurtures all, once wild.
If the sunshine is to shine, and mine is to be mine,
The  little 'Brown-Green Tree' has to be,a part of me.

Tushie

MORE OF THE INSIDE STORY

''Breathless'  by  Trish

These stories ,are not nice, and neither are the pictures,

I'd rather have them filled with fairies and kind witches.

But perhaps things can't always be, happy forever and after,

Or, all nights filled with stars and days with fun and laughter.

But surely, one day, my wish will at long last be heard,

Maybe I could attatch a note, to the leg of a little bird,

I'd write, 'whoever finds my note, and reads my printed plea,

Don't screw it up and throw it away, please find my breath for me. 

Tushie

   

THE INSIDE STORY



'Fractured'  by  Trish



Life is pictures,

Hot and cold, 

Wet and dry, young and old.
People everywhere, want to be,
The one and only boss of me!

I hate it I hate it and hate it some more!

If I wasn't scared, I'd smash our front door.

I'd open our lounge room window and scream,

Once I thought I had, but it was only a dream.

There are little pockets in my heart and head,

I empty them out each night in my bed.

I'm trying to learn my two times table,

But something stops me, from being able.

I just can't manage to get things together,

Maybe it's to do with all the bad weather?

Whatever it is,I've had enough of all the trouble,

And I'm preparing to live, in a beautiful bubble.

Tushie



SOMEWHERE FAMILIAR

'Another Place?'  by  Trish

I can't help, but feel, I've known this place before,

Not now and again, or once or twice, many times I'm sure.

The place just stays like this, nothing, must ever, Change.

And I suppose that's why, there's an? an air about It, that's weird and strange.

The leaves are always green, as are the trees.

Nothing ever moves, because there's never a Breeze.

The path that seems as if it's there, is always White,

It shines, brighter than the moon, even on the Darkest night.

I can recall, I think? a mighty green-grassy hill,

It may be there, but might have moved,

It's rarely ever still.

It's the only thing in this place, allowed to move about,

Its a sort of green jailer, whose job is, to keep some folk

In and other folk out.

Again, I must ponder, on how I know these things

One minute it's angels, with torn and tatty wings,

The next is? now here's where I get completely stuck,

Whatever the next minute,brings, seems to be 

Up to, bad or good luck?



Tushie 









THE LITTLE ANGEL

'Heading Home'  by  Trish

I've had a difficult day today,

And lost a few feathers along my way.

I've delivered helpful thoughts, left, right and center,

Of course, only, in places, I'd been invited to enter.

It seems folk these days, don't believe in us,

Well so what? Why make  a big deal of it, or a fuss?

If prayers are not in fashion anymore,

It makes no difference, to rich or poor,

Or to us angels either, come what may.

It'll be flying visits always, should we hear some one pray.

Tushie Too

ONE DAY IN WINTER



'At The Heart of it All'   by   Trish



There were starless nights,

 storms and dark, dark days.

That led into endless winters,

but even so, there was the seed.
One night as I walked in the endless winter land,
I pleaded 'Where are you Lord? Don't let me leave you.'
And then I said ' help me to stay with you Lord, for I am so in need.'

There was no answer and the winter wrapped ,tight around me.
It was then I asked myself 'Is it possible that I am mad?'
Again I questioned myself  'Is it possible, that my faith is indeed madness?'
But even as I questioned myself, the knowing would not leave me.

Then came the time, the time, when there was no more I could do. Such a bareness came upon me.
One dark morning, I stood and stared into the very heart of winter,
And from within the dark, came a soundless voice, it said,
'I hear you, I see you, I am you.'

Tears burned their way over my frozen face.
Silence filled to the brim, and the seed within my heart, opened and opened.
And ever since that time, no winter has ever been so cold, so dark, or so long.
Nor, have I ever been so sane.

Tushie       (1993)

LOWER DEPTHS IMPRINT

'As I lay Me Down To Sleep'  by  Trish 1993

A baby knows so much,

And if no one says shut up!

They'll take to the sky right away,

See  stars and moons, as they lay,

Safe and warm in their little cot.

But if baby, hears 'shut up!!'
A lot, then what? 

Tushie Too