en medias res

in the middle of
things

is where we are

our mood
is lethargic
our awareness
blunt

if we don’t get
off our asses
we’ll be point
of the hunt

wasted days
wasted nights
running for stuff
how much can
we carry

some have so much
it’s pretty damn
scary

my wants are small
my needs are few

enforced insanity

never followed
that cue

en medias res
in the middle of things

Should your eyes behold another
 my heart would break
Into infinitesimal fractions.  

Shards of emotion would scar
 my inner turmoil,  pulling
me apart  

Lacerated physicality, contorting.   
Descent into the abyss, 
the very root of my mentality.

A maelstrom of insanity.
Your love has devoured me,
left me flailing , out of control.

I grew up a poor country girl living on the out skirts of town. We would move every year like the military form place to place and house to house within in the same little town of Turbeville.

There weren’t many neighbors, so me and my siblings, two boys and five girls, spent most of our time roaming the woods for fruits and berries. We played all the outdoors games we knew and created some of our own. Those were the days of innocence and youthfulness.

wind through wattle's perfume to me whispers
pure essence enticing taste-buds to spread
visions of old gods and ambrosias

emulating honeyed-nests of lovers
as eighty angels dance in each flower-head
wind through wattle's perfume to me whispers

independent yellow-haired Septembers
down in the land of the Waratah bred
visions of old gods and ambrosias

with the Wattle Australia remembers
endurance, by its floral emblem led
wind through wattle's perfume to me whispers

At my journey's end,
When dark and warping cold
At last could wend
Their strangling hold
Around the vacuum space
Where my poor heart
Would always race
To speeding start
Of empty faith's embrace,
I found instead
A new and different place
That inexorably led
Into belief bereft of wrath
And without sin,
Leading to another path
I could begin to tread again.

"I'M LIKE THAT LITTLE STONE"
Margaret Ann Waddicor October 2010.

I'm like that-little stone in your garden,
that keeps being seen,
but you don't always see it,
sometimes you do,
as you stub your toe against it,
and wonder at the little stone,
that gets in your way,
sometimes if you look carefully she is me,
that also gets in your way now and then,
in ways you do not approve of,
too close by far,
but
she is only there to love you.

Fear works;
has since the earliest tribe,
the first strong voice of unreason

... but reason;
hides in secret corners,
baring greedy teeth,
slobbering success in numbers

... and the following grows.

Afraid;
we congregate,
allured to the heat of the crowd,
and find ourselves growling,
armed ... with mob intention.

Repetition of History
Kill the Enemy
Motivated Murder

... when will we learn?

water

this is the water that wore
granite down
in the merry month of may

this is the water that wore
granite down
as flowers bloomed
in merry month of may

this is water that wore
granite down
as flowers bloomed
picked by an angel in
merry month of may

this is water that wore granite
down smooth
as flowers bloomed
picked by an angel of a throng
in merry
month of may

when you need somebody to talk with,

i’ll be always here,

just as when you need someone to hold you back,

i’ll carry you with care,

when you see confusions on the road,

i’ll show you the way,

when you feel down and blue,

i’ll do brighten your day,

when you get lost in the dark,

i’ll be your light,

when you met your restlessness,

i’ll be your night,

when you met puzzles in your life,

i’ll help to play,

when you need someone to love you the most,

i am here to stay.

it's better if she doesn't know,
better keep it from than to say it all,
i felt stronger yet i always show
a big desire for an impossible....

if she knew my feelings, she might build a wall
and eventually she might hide her glow,
when on is a sight of an untimely fall,
it's always better if she doesn't know...