MY FATHER

'Harold Nicholas'  by  Trish

My father was an angry man.

From a very young age his anger,

imprinted itself upon my mind. 

But in spite of that fear filled imprint,

there are impressions in me,

that portray a better side of my father.

Perhaps the negative image of him was exaggerated by,
the ever present death imprint my mother had bestowed upon herself, and also from a very early age, upon me.

For as long as I could remember, and until she died at eighty six,
she would regularly take to lying on the lounge room couch,
or in the bedroom, with the blind down and her eyes closed,

in an ongoing state of fatigue and illness.

The illusive illnesses were a mystery to doctors, friends and family.

Only my mother could keep up with her endless symptoms,

and she announced them daily, ' I can't breathe, I'm choking,

for god's sake give me air, my skin is burning, I can't see a thing,
my back! my back!' As I got older, I puzzled on,
how she'd managed , with so many health problems,
and especially such a bad back, to have five children.

My father loved to walk in the Exhibition Gardens.
'There are ducks on the pond'  he would tell me,
as he placed stale  bread  in a paper bag.

He always had a thriving vegetable patch,

and grew fat luscious strawberries as well.

The garden was very important to him, as were his chooks.

I loved to go into their pen and gather the warm smooth eggs,

and hear the gentle sounds the hens made in the dimness.

On sunny days, they were allowed to walk around the back yard for a while.

I noticed that although the hens were locked inside most of the time,

they didn't seem to mind it. After they'd strutted, pecked and stared sharply

around the back yard, and the time came to return to their home,

they all, quite happily  filed into the dim pen, and continued their

strut amongst the fresh straw my father had placed there for them. 

There must be other nice things, to recall about my father that would bring a smile to my heart,

As I dig and unearth more, out of the garden of memories, I'll write about them.

                          (To be continued)

Tushie

ABSALOM

'Within'  by  Trish

Absalom is grieving, he grieves because
his mind is full of a dark thought. Day and night, like a phantom drummer, the dark thought beats inside  his head.

Sometimes he's sure he sees a Stone God resting in a Garden of Lillies The garden stands beside an Emerald Green River. He'd often wanted to stand close to the Stone God, touch it, but he was afraid, wanted to look into the Emerald Green River, but he was afraid of what he might see.

He'd watched snow like leaves, fall in ballets of greens, soft sunsets, with veils of blue and pinks sweep across the sky, sights so beautiful, he almost forgot his grief, but always the dark thought drummed in his head, the thought  'I do not fear God'.

Wild storms came and went, flashes of blinding blue, green lightening opened yawning black holes in the earth, each black hole larger and  closer to where he crouched, the next flashes closed them, only to repeat the violent images. 

He dreaded the  fading light, it was then these things came about.
If he could stop the thought, he was sure it would end his torment.
Hie called out wild words and fierce forces greedily swept them up and away. He had no idea what it was his wild words spoke, only the phantom drummer remained constant, and pounded,

'Within The Emerald Lake'  by  Trish

'I do not fear God.'

This evening, the light was almost gone, when Absalom groaned and raised his clenched fist, raised it and called out, 'Why am I cursed with this darkness of mind? Why do I not fear God! What must I do to free myself of this hideous torment?

The scene before Absalom's eyes as he said these words, was one of a dead city. Out of this city bereft of all life, the Garden of Lillies, the Stone God, and the Emerald River emerged. Absalom had seen this many times, and it had changed nothing.

The heaviness in Absalom's heart felt too much to bear a moment longer, he rushed towards the Stone God, with his  fist still raised, shaking it as if he would smash the image into pieces, but he could not do it. He lowered his fist and bowed his head, his body shook with  bitter sobs.

The weary Absalom sat and dozed, by the Emerald Green River.
Whether he dreamed or was awake, he could not say, but words came upon his breath,  'Absalom, why do you torture yourself so, who taught you that God was to be feared? Don't you know your very name tolls out the message, God is peace.
Believe in your name, hold it dear, and instead of a heavy heart, you will have a fulfilled heart.
Listen deeply to yourself and you will hear, Hear yourself and you will see all.

This time the river  began to sing  waves of sound. From out of the river, rose a pale green lithe form. The  form moved towards the Stone God, once there, it rose up, and cascaded in a rainbow of colors over the  Stone God image. A new form took shape, it was that of a child, the child shape transformed itself into that of a young woman, at the third transformation, the form was of an old woman. Her eyes were closed and her hands folded in peace.

Absalom went to approach the new shape, but saw the three transformations continued over and over, he turned and went to the Emerald River and knelt down. He looked into the water that he'd heard  flow so rapidly and to his suprise the river, was calm.  He stared into the face reflected in the still mirror and saw he was not the same; he moved his gaze a little and  in this image he was still the same. Then Absalom understood, he was both images, and he felt content with that. He felt complete. He knew, at last he  honoured His name, and that at last he had a fulfilled heart.

Tushie

A NOTICE ABOUT THE THEATRE

'Mystical Misery'  by  Trish

There is a notice on the door of  'The Theatre of Charades' It reads

'THIS THEATRE IS NO LONGER FUNCTIONING'

Of course, there's a story behind the scenes as to why the theatre has closed, but it's too early to present a clear picture of events, to those who may be interested, in what transpired. (Especially as wounds are still red raw, in fact, blood is, not exactly flowing, but still trickling, so to speak.)

This much can be said, there was grave, fed-up-ness, (by one long term member) as he put it, at the morbidity of the characters, and masks,  portrayed in the theatre's repertoire and a thorough fed-up-ness with the scripts, which, ( so the long term member claimed) all indulged in a relentless infatuation with insanity! This he said, was well demonstrated by the title of the new play, in rehearsal,  'Hear How Chains Rattle In the Chamber of Miseries'.

I'll fill in the details and pass them on when I can.

Sorry for any inconvenience.

'Trauma'  by  Trish

If anyone bought tickets for the already announced  show,

Your money will be fully refunded (in time).

(More information to come)

Tushie     PS. This is the mask that really was the last straw for the
long term member.

THE VALLEY OF SHADOWS

'White Lady'  by  Trish

(A man is having an imaginary conversation with his mother) 'Yes it is a fine day, you've always loved spring, dear mother.
On a day like this I often see the Indian Sisters,
moving along the busy streets of Fitzroy.
Their blue and white saris, soft and flowing.
Smiles for all who cross their path.

Someone was bashed in this lane last night.
They had come for me, but as I was in the darkest place of all.
They could not see  me, so they chose another

Do you recall, yesterday, when the Indian sisters passed, 

how I pleaded with them?

'Help me sisters, I've got devils in my head and in my heart.'

How I cried out, 'Sisters would one of you, swap souls with me, for just one second? Sisters?'

I love  to see the sweet breeze catch, their swathes of blue and white cotton, wave them like playful hands, 'God loves you' they sing as they pass, 'God loves you.'

And who do I love? I yield fully, completely to only one,  my 'White Lady.'

It is she who sleeps upon my breast,

it is she who fills the breach. It is she who wets my lips,

singes, sears and numbs my tongue, my gut,

breathes  fully  her vapour of whiteness into my shivering body.

She is like burning metal, she is fickle, she is a jealous lover,

But she will embrace me forever, against all forces, even yours dear mother,

She and I sleep as one, as soul mates,

in the nightmares, of the darkest place.

Tushie

TWO NEW ACTORS

'Something Different'  by  Trish

The Theatre of Charade is preparing a new play

Two actors came to audition, earlier  today.

The little kid looks alright, in fact,  rather cute

Better than the spooky bloke in his brown hooded suit

But it's not for me to say, who can take the lead,

Who plays this or that part, all I do is breathe,

In rhythm with each performer, mostly it's in fright,

Especially on the first performance, 'The Grand Opening Night'

I noted the newest thing of all,  a lovely butterfly,
It's flitter- fluttering in the background, I wonder why?
But it's not for me to say, what it's all about,
As I said before, all I do is breath, and oh yes, SHOUT!!

Tushie

AT ODDS WITH IT ALL

'Growing'  by  Trish

They say I'm a little cutie

With a degree of beauty.

But something isn't right
I can't sleep at night.

My family say I'm crazy,
So does my best friend,

When I turn up at her door,

She says 'not you again.'

How to explain this distress?

That's making, my head a mess!

My friend gave me a book today,

It's titled, 'Smile Your Worries Away'.

I thanked her for her kindness to me,

Said, I hoped we'd remain, close as can be.

The books cover matches the color of my bedspread,

But has done absolutely nothing, for my  head.

Tushie

BARELY COVERING THE DISTANCE

!Made It!'  by  Trish

I've found a certain vocabulary, it was locked in a cupboard

I couldn't find the key, so the words were not discovered,

Until I searched one more time, searched far and wide

I mean, how many places can one small key, find to hide?

The answer to that it seems, is a million places or more!
So often, I've been lucky, to get in my own front door!

Again, trouble has struck, I've been caught out, in underwear
I feel so silly I've tried to cover, my face, with my long green hair.
I have to take a risk, just standing here makes no sense,
With one big breath, see me  go, jumping  my own back fence

Tushie