Neighborhood Heartache

West Footscray Heart Broken

Dave’s had a bottle smashed on the back of his neck,

Asked the neighbours to keep the music down,

His reply was violence,

Last time saw Dave was at my front door,

He had a bunch of purple Easter daisy from his garden,

The size of our lounge room- vivid purple turned my heart yellow,

Dave’s been away travelling – only just got back,

Check if he’s okay – give him our number, ring day or night-

 The night it unfolded- I came home to four police cars lining our street,

The violence  also insidiously spread to the bottle shop, slashed face, blood smeared down Dave’s duco of his white car-ugly red graffiti,

I went to the pool and I swam and swam- submerging my mind into the numbness of the rhythm, my arms pulling through the water hard and fast-

The quietness underneath the water blocked the screaming, the yelling, the sirens, the confusion, the sadness in my heart,

My West Footscray heart is breaking,

Why do some people see the world through violent eyes?

Gentle eyes can never comprehend this-

Dave rents a 40s weatherboard same as ours- worn with paint shedding hundreds of stories into the night sky,

Stories of other lands and dreams,

His house is a jungle of indoor plants and exotic pieces from far away places,

Out back there’s  a field of flowers Dave’s grown and a paddock of chooks-

A breathtaking   oasis of colour against the rusted corrugated  industrial skyline,

Dave’s field of flowers is so beautiful – I am moved to tears,

My West Footscray is a community so diverse and rich in culture ,

The woolshed and the corrugated iron fences, the railway goods yards,

The prickly pears and the vintage rose gardens, the industry, the trucks,

The diversity of families – a community of sharing, not violence,

…………and Dave’s flowers.

 

Rob 2012

 

 

 

 

What is love ?

What is Love?

A small white feather drifts towards me-

Hand reaches out-

Softness caresses my skin-

I lean and gently blow the feather

Into the blue.

I watch -caught in its slow motion,

Gentle traveller

Fragile beauty.

Love simply is-

A feather.

Drifting in and out

Of a caress,

A moment,

And the tenderness of its travel-

Its sensitive landing-

To touch a heart.

The mystery of its destination

Is a reflection of the souls yearnings-

It glides, spins, spirals down,

But is uplifted by the breeze-

As the heart is in love.

Love –

Simply is

A feather.

Robyn

Autumn

Autumn

Scribbled in my diary  we are to meet up second day of Autumn,

Strictly business-

 I sit on grass opposite the Fitzroy library waiting for your warm smile,

Autumn conversation as we walk Fitzroy streets is as colourful as the changing leaves,

Cumbungi harvesting as a child,

All things made of sugar and flour,

Russian sunflowers behind wire fences,

Joy behind ugliness,

Graffiti artists and marzipan,

Beauty of industrial buildings,

Time management and pork panini rolls and good company.

Happiness in my autumn soul,

Second day Autumn

Rob 2012

 

 

 

 

Nan

53 Wordsworth st- Nan

 Rose bordered path,

Leads steeply up towards cream weatherboard,

Californian bungalow.

Blue and purple hydrangeas

In full bloom.

Nan leans over the balcony,

Beckons us in with her smile.

We are young children.

Overnight bags unpacked,

Out back in mum’s old bedroom,

With the mirror on the wall,

Which made my eyes very green.

Cards at the kitchen table,

Crib, 500, donkey and Nan’s favorite sevens.

Nan peels apple skin into a perfect monkey’s tail.

Macaroni pudding, stewed fruit and custard.

Daytime games of imagination-

Horses with brooms,

Their stables under the house,

Trotting up and down the path,

Galloping across the grass.

Pouring water down the gully trap,

Nan’s hair has been rinsed “True steel”.

Sitting at the kitchen table,

There’s neighborhood gossip,

And talk of bowls games and upcoming events.

Getting ready for bed,

Hitchcock’s “To Catch a Thief” in the evening.

Columbine toffees to greedily unravel and devour,

The toffee sticking hard to our teeth.

Nan’s teeth in a plastic cup on the bathroom sink,

Pink bathroom smells of tea rose powder.

Open and shut the bathroom mirror cupboard,

“Cyclax” lipsticks and many Cyclax beauty products,

Dear great Aunty Molly was their accountant.

Yellow pottery vase I made for Nan,

Fake violets bunched inside,

Resting on Nan’s polished side table.

So proud how Nan displayed my hand made gift.

Nan tucks us in tight,

Wrapped in her leopard print dressing gown,

Hair net pinned down carefully,

Large feet encased in burgundy velvet slippers with bows,

We kiss and hug her goodnight.

 Twenty something-

I take my bags inside 53,

Living on my own now, like Nan.

In the evening we talk at length,

Of boys who broke my heart,

We watch telly together.

Nan remembers days past-

We chat from bedroom to bedroom,

Call out goodnight.

One wall separates Grandmother and grand daughter.

So much love my Nan has given me,

Rob 2009

 

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Swim

Swim

Submerging my heavily pregnant body in the warmth of the pool,

Trademark  pink  goggles enclosing  green eyes.

Weightless I move slowly through the water,

Taking my baby for a swim – rocking side to side,

The silence under the water is sublime,

The silence lulls me into a multitude of future dreams,

How I will love you when you are born,

The things we will do together,

Oblivious of the vast changes in my life’s landscape ahead.

The end of each lap – rub my stomach in circular motions,

You have gone to sleep.

Heave myself from the pool- proud of my huge rounded “baby” tummy.

I know you will love water just like me.

Rob 2011

 

 

 

Bougainvillea Dreaming

Bougainvillea Dreaming

Canopy of purple petals cascade down my hair,

Toss my hair and bougainvillea confetti,

Scatters to grass beneath me,

I lie alone on a bed of soft purple,

Look up at the blue sky,

Through a mass of purple vines,

I am in a dream far away from reality,

Floating on purple clouds of sunshine,

What is my truth ?

My truth is oneness,

Aloneness but completeness,

My truth is simple,

Self acceptance,

Abundance of love to give and more,

Intangible dreams of purple milkshakes with purple syrup, purple ice-cream and purple cheesecake,

My Bougainvillea dreams.

 

Robyn 2011

When I was 7

When I was 7

I used coloured rods for maths at school,

Loved the pink ones- think they were worth 2 or was it 5 ?

Mrs Larkins screamed all day,

Was a huge well- fed dragon,

Mouth red from blowing fire at us all day-

Often wondered if she had taken a student back to her cave to eat,

There always seemed to be someone missing.

Played cubbies in the cypress pines-

Drank warm milk delivered to school.

Our brown Austin Tasman always broke down on the way to school,

Often late toclass.

Played “lost in space” in the school yard.

I was regretfully always Penny but wanted to be Judy.

When I was 7 it was 1975-

We had terry towelling car seat covers, shorts and chenille bed spreads.

We never wore seat bealts-

Played at Kelly and Kirk’s after school-

They had a modern 70s house overlooking the river.

Kelly was killed in a car accident at 21- her and five friends killed instantly-

She was a backseat passenger.

Kelly’s smile was the sun.

Kirk’s death notice was Billy Joel’s “Only the good die young”

Kirk was killed in a superbike accident at 35-

He was a famous rider.

Kelly and Kirk’s parents lost their smiles forever.

In 1975- Kirk loved Evel Knivel.

When I was 7 my brother David and I would walk to the milk bar for mixed lollies,

50 lollies for 20cents,

We played up at Shaw’s dairy farm in amongst the boxthorns

We never got home till sunset

When I was 7.

What was your life like at 7 ????

Robbie