Life’s Victim

Life's-VictimThe following is a poem I wrote nearly 20 years ago about an aspect of life I observed around me.

Life’s Victim

Do I choose to be sad?
Do I choose to be bad?
No not I,
Why do you think I cry?

“It is the world out there
That is making me go spare.
It wont leave me alone
Until my spirit has flown
And I am left all alone
Just another clone.”

You wonder why I despair,
It really isn’t fair,
The world is a frightening place,
Just leave me alone to save face.

Why can’t I have a break
So I can stop being fake.
To stand on my own two feet
Is something I secretly seek
If only I had a choice . . . . . .
If only I could find my true voice . . . .

Do I really choose to be Life’s victim?




Dancing Fire


Himalayan Salt Light

Dancing Fire

Dancing like the moon Light
Let me dance with you tonight

Twirling, swirling, dancing Light
Lifted up in fancy flight

Taking us to heights unknown
We are grateful to be shown

Awakening us to our inner soul
Purifying, energizing is the goal

Showing us our inner Light
Opening to a beautiful sight

Like a radiant star Light
Transforming with all its might

Dancing, dancing fire Light


Claude meets Esmeralda

Beach-copyA chance meeting by two strangers, on Hervey Bay Beach, happened something like this . . . . . so I’m told.

Esmeralda was small, almost fragile in appearance. She had the daintiest hands, that looked like they had never seen a days work. She was a vision of loveliness with her gorgeous auburn hair gently framing her exquisite face.

The fight had been particularly cruel and vicious this time. They had been escalating in frequency and intensity over the past few months. Ever since Antonio started going to those ‘improve your English’ classes, Esmeralda recalled. Lately, he had been trying out his new found English with her, more and more. Their relationship had not been based on much dialogue until then. He had seemed happy just to be with her, as long as she smiled a lot.

Antonio was an excellent provider. She had a zippy little silver sports car, and an extensive wardrobe that was the envy of all the girls at the bridge club. Antonio liked to take her to swanky places to eat, dance and be seen.

Now here she was, unceremoniously dumped on Hervey Bay Beach, in her newest cocktail outfit. They had been on their way to a much sort after gathering of the elite, when Antonio had just exploded, demanding she get out of the car and just go away. He had never treated her like that before, but he was so forceful she had done as he asked.

‘What did I say?’ she wondered.

Try as she did, she just couldn’t walk on the sand in her elegant high heel shoes. She wobbled and tottered, until in defeat, carried them in her hand. Sand underfoot was a new experience for Esmeralda. It felt so good. Her toes wiggled in glee. Then her feet started moving in a dance like motion, as if they had a mind of their own. Next thing her body was following her feet.

Esmeralda found herself dancing on the sand, in the late afternoon sun and in full view of anyone who might be on the beach. She twirled and swayed as if to some captivating inner rhythm.


Claude had been a business man and lawyer all his adult life. Coming from a long line of gentile business families, he had a natural grace and cultured air of authority about him. His tall, muscular frame added to his natural good looks.

Claude was down at the beach for his usual late afternoon swim. He looked forward to these welcome glimpses of freedom in his busy life, to recharge his body and mind.

Claude cut a striking figure in his red speedo’s, his wet body glistening as he walked back towards the beach and his waiting towel. As he neared the waters edge his eyes rested upon an apparition of free spirited loveliness, gracefully dancing on the sand. Blinking his eyes, Claude stared, awe struck. He felt too powerless to avert his gaze.

Claude felt himself drawn towards this free spirited apparition as if in some kind of trance. As he neared her, this vision of loveliness looked over toward him and their eyes met.

Not being a person who ever got tongue tied or short for words, all he could manage in this instance was a simple, Hello. He saw her, his vision of loveliness, move her mouth, forming words in response. He heard the sounds . . . . and recoiled as if he had been physically struck.

Had he heard right? Was she just teasing him? He waited for her to smile cheekily at him and in a sweet purring voice, tell him she was only being silly and teasing him.

But no, his vision of loveliness continued with
“Bugga me luv, ain’t ya the most beautiful piece of stud flesh I eva saw”

Claude’s jaw visibly tightened. With his wits suddenly returned to him, he turned on his heel, and strode off without another word.

Does this story have a moral to it? 



Roads to Travel

roademailA short story:

Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought I would be in the situation I am in right now. Not at my age, and with all the ideas and opinions I have about life, and the way to live it. I have mostly been what is known as an independent fringe dweller of society, that is, until the last 5 years. Although no longer considered young, I still had such unique and exciting goals and ideas about what my fulfilling life would look like. Traveling round Australia for one or living in a quaint country cabin I would build myself, where I would live completely independent of our modern way of life, for another. This seemed like a wonderful way to retire to me, when the time came.

My mind wandered back over my life, and silently reminisced about earlier years. I call them past lives because they seem like life times ago now and the memories are getting fainter and sketchier with each passing year. There was the childhood as an unloved abused child that had given me the very useful skill to keep getting on with things no matter what. Then I learnt about not hording in the caravan that was my first home as an adult. I liked the feeling of simplicity, freedom and not being tied down, that came with it, and became a hallmark for my adult life. From there my mind wandered to the years or life time where my husband and I moved from the land to the sea. We built a yacht and spent many years sailing round the south pacific, as was quite popular in the sixties and seventies. . . .

My thoughts continued idly to the Buddhist belief of impermanence, of change being the only constant in Life. Well it certainly had been a constant in my life, I reflected. And I was very happy it had been. There had been many changes and lifetimes, in the unique tapestry that had been my life.

I look around the little room I call home now and feel I should be grateful, but there is always that nagging feeling of . . . what is it . . . a fanciful mind reminiscing about past lifetimes of freedom, excitement and the dignity of independence. There is little excitement or change for me here. One day molds into the next. If I was where I imagined I would be in my life right now, it certainly wouldn’t be the mundane and emotionally challenging existence I am in now.

While some of the other residents seem quite happy and content to be ‘living’ here, I just lay hungering after past independence and the natural delight of living outside our modern way of life.

But there isn’t much I am able to do for myself after the stroke that so unexpectedly disabled my life mid sentence. This is one change I hadn’t considered in the story of my life. I thought I still had plenty of time to realize those remaining unfulfilled dreams. But that is what they will remain now, wonderful, but unfulfilled dreams playing out in my mind.

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Do You Choose to be Happy?

This is a poem I wrote about 18 years ago. I hope you enjoy it.

Do You Choose to be Happy?

Oh, you the great chooser
Why do you choose to be a looser?
Making the choices of your life
Why do you feel the need for strife?

Making choices is your birthright
There’s no need to take flight
How you live your life is your choice
So stand up and find your true voice

Every word you choose to speak
Says whether you choose strong or weak
Every action or part you choose to play
Carries the choice of a happy or sad day

And every thought you choose to think
Will determine whether you swim or sink
You, the ultimate choice maker
Choosing to be free or a faker

The choices are up to you
What do you choose to do?
Who do you choose to be?
What do you choose to see?

Are your choices making you happy?

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