Monthly Archives: February 2012



Valentines Day
Was never on their radar
Love was for life
Not once a year
She knew she would never
Have what once was
Life and time
Changed and moved
And she would never again
Be the same
But the knowing could not stop
The longing
To be held once more
In the arms of the long dead
To see again the sparkle
In the eyes of love
To touch the cheek
With its hint of stubble
And the laughter
Oh how she missed their playtimes
She wondered when
If ever
The knowing would become

Tricia 14/02/2012

Luscious Life

Luscious Life
Rain falling
Nature calling
Grass succulently sweet
Caressing weary aching feet
Sagging breasts once soft white petals
Glistening where rain drops settle
Neither Botox nor fancy creams
Can fulfil ethereal dreams
Open heart
Weeping sky
Dance naked
Learn to fly

Tricia 22/11/09


Today was my 42nd wedding anniversary, my 3rd without my Rod. I tried to make it a day of celebration but sorrow had its way with me.


I lunched alone
In a restaurant that was not “ours”
Because “ours” would have been
Too painful to contemplate.
As I celebrated our love
And our life together
Your absence was a thirst
That today
I tried to quench with alcohol
Cosmopolitan to begin
Followed by 3 bloody mary oysters
Soused in vodka
Then white wine from Western Australia
And finally Butterscotch Schnapps with coffee
The food looked delicious
But my tastebuds were deadened
By grief
Sobriety stayed
No amount of alcohol
Could ease the missing of you
On this our 42nd wedding anniversary.
Lunch is over
I am left with a headache
Nauseous at the thought of alcohol
Knowing there is no answer for absence
Tricia 7/2/2012


File:Rhipidura leucophrys -Canberra, Australia-8.jpg


The Willy Wagtail
Some years ago I was staying in the city for a conference. My accommodation was at the edge of the Melbourne CBD in Victoria, Australia, opposite the beautiful Fitzroy Gardens. The following prose poem is the story of a wonderful early morning experience I had in these gardens. And yes it’s true, I talk to ducks, birds, dogs, even teddy bears. The above photo is courtesy of Wikipedia. I couldn’t find a foggy photo.
I roll up the blind, see the fog, it calls to me “Come out and play”. I experience a sense of excitement as I hurry through my shower and pull my clothes on. Blow waved hair, makeup, these things no longer important.  The fog! I want to be part of the fog. I hurry downstairs, cross the road and run into the park. Drops of moisture caress me as I break through the fog’s mysterious, seemingly ever moving blanket. I can see it before I reach it but when I arrive at the place it appeared to be it is no longer visible to me.  This fills me with a sense of wonder; I giggle with glee at the fog’s game of hide and seek. As I move deeper into this wintery world I turn to find a high fence of fog surrounding the park. I hear the muted hum of the peak hour traffic, but it has disappeared from view.  It is as if the park and I have been magically transported up into the clouds. I walk towards the pond where a duck swims in the icy cold water. He looks black, but as I get closer I see the subtle rich green of his back. I speak to him “Good morning Mr Duck, you are very beautiful. Aren’t you cold swimming in that water?” He opens his beak and honks his reply. I can’t speak Duck but I sense on the deep important level we understand each other. I tell him “I’m sorry I didn’t bring you any food. I was in such a hurry to get out and play in the fog, I forgot. I’ll bring you some tomorrow.” He again opens his beak and honks.  “So long Mr Duck” I say. He honks, swims in a circle, then glides off. I return to my game of trying to catch the fog. I chase it but it outruns me, I try creeping up on it but still it eludes me. I sit on a seat to rest; go inward to that place of synthesis where I sense an analogy between the mystery of fog and the quest for total understanding. We may never be able to grasp either fully, but what joy filled, enlightening experiences we have if we try. As if to consolidate this insight, a little Willy Wagtail lands on the seat beside me. He entertains me with his dance, which is a combination of little hops and great flourishes of his beautiful tail. As his performance ends I experience an enormous sense of gratitude for the mysterious beauty of the fog, the duck, the little Willy Wagtail and me.
Tricia 24/7/98


I follow a form of writing called Freefall (writing without a parachute) A Canadian woman, Barbara Turner Vesselago, travels around the world facilitating the Freefall Writer’s Workshops she nurtured into being. Barbara comes to Australia each year, and I look forward to this special week spent immersed in writing, learning and listening to the stories of other participants.
Our small writer’s group of four grew out of one of these workshops and we have been meeting monthly for over 4 years. This month we decided to revisit part 1 of a subscription series Barbara offers after completion of the first workshop. This morning I re-read the 19 page tutorial and was drawn by one of the writing prompts Barbara offered “Talk to me like the rain, and let me listen.” The following poem flowed almost faster than my fingers could find the keys. Hope you enjoy. (The only changes I have made are correcting a few spelling mistakes, spacing the poem, and giving it a title.)
Talk to me like the rain
And let me listen
As your words drip
Into the parchedness of my being
Nourishing me with the waters
Of your caring compassion
Opening myself to your life giving love
I feel the moisture
Of your breath as you speak
See buds opening
Petals expanding
Honey bees bringing pollen
Your sparkling eyes
Dewdrops on roses at break of day
Your love glistening on the rain speckled tarmac
Of my heart
Sweeping me up
In the flood waters of your love
When the waters
Drag your hands from mine
I continue to be nourished
By the knowing of you
And treasure the rain
That brought us together
Tricia 01/02/2012