The Wall

Brick by brick, tile by tile
We built a wall which stretched for miles
Each piece was laid with silent rage
And mortared with resentment
Sometimes I’d feel you trowelling there
Upon your side, with extra care
Ensuring all the seals were fixed
All holes surely cemented

Our wall it started with one word
One slight misunderstanding
But then it grew and each brick laid
Continued the compounding
Until it stretched from here to there
One horizon to nowhere
Our wall it stretched, it wove and weaved
Beyond all understanding

Each brick a word
Each tile a hurt
The mortar, when we’d felt unheard
And each of us upon our side
We worked upon the wall

The bricks once small to manage
Began to grow in size
Until the effort to construct the wall
It made us tired
And sometimes we would double back
And find a brick we’d laid
And carve a pattern in it
With such purpose to dismay

As the wall grew long and wide
We started on the height
We’d build it up to hide the sun
We’d work both day and night
Until the only good to find
Was resting in the shade
Of the wall of words and spite
We had so deftly made

Each brick a word
Each tile a hurt
The mortar, when we’d felt unheard
And each of us upon our sides
We worked upon the wall

One day a little crack appeared
A shaft of sunlight did reveal
A glimmer and a promise
The hope of new contentment
You from your end, I from mine
We met at last on either side
We laid our trowels upon the ground
Exhausted and repentant

I placed my hands upon the bricks
I sensed you do the same
And then we pushed with all our might
And felt the wall give way
Our wall that stretched from here to there
To dust it crumbled, fine and fair
And now it’s only ruins of the ramparts
That remain

Each brick a word
Each tile a hurt
The mortar, when we’d felt unheard
Now each of us upon our sides
We work upon the wall

© Kacey Patrick 2012 (September 29th)

On the notion of ‘pussy whipping’…please explain?

First Published June, 2010

For the first time in a very long while, my husband and I sat down to dinner….together and alone.  A very rare moment to be savoured!  It was not however, the romantic interlude that this very rare moment called for.  Exhausted, we downloaded the day, indulged in some adult conversation and very speedily regressed to elaborate on the debate of the morning.  For the life of me I can’t remember what that was, but I enjoy a good debate and was having fun! My husband opted to leave our discussion for fear of it escalating beyond control. Wise but very exasperating!!! The retreat did allow me however, to further contemplate the notion of ‘pussy whipping’…..Please explain?

To (in part) quote my husband:

Pussy Whipping; how the husband/father/man in any given relationship eventually surrenders to the whim of the woman and ceases to express opinion in order not to rock the boat and entice the ‘bitch’.

Mmmmmmmm……

I have a theory!  A theory why we – particularly we as mothers (and please exclude yourself if you are always delightful!) – evolve into humourless and narky versions of our former selves and why our other halves feel that they are ‘pussy whipped’ into submission and muteness.

I believe that we exist largely out of control.  Once glorious free agents, a child appears and pwoof!, our lives transform instantaneously and our whole paradigm has to shift.  We are no longer who we were, we are no longer who we thought we would be, we are everything to everyone and no one to ourselves. We do however (most of the time) manage to keep it all together, juggling the balls of motherhood with aplomb with very little prior training. It can be glorious picnic! Adventurous, filled with wonder and overwhelmingly, an incredible and very blessed excursion. But!!! There are the bindi-eyes and the green ants and sometimes your venture into the park to enjoy the sunshine is rudely interrupted by a freak thunderstorm.   So too, the manic organisation of children, the catering to their needs and whims, the maintenance of familial equilibrium…..all can become chaos in less than a matter of minutes.

Add another adult, with their own thoughts and views on domesticity and parenting, into this heady mix and there you have it.   The mother, who has spent the best part of her day trying to maintain balance, reacts very badly to any advice or suggestions put forward by the man of the house who might just have arrived home and only been privy to the last five minutes.  Unless you have a partner that remembers well his former life as a mother of five, this scenario is (often) repeated and repeated and repeated and the ‘bitch’ emerges.

She’s not really a ‘bitch’.  She’s just incredibly desirous of a heartfelt, “How can I be of help to you?”.

We love your input, your masculine slant on parenting,  your fatherly concern and presence.  The issue is the timing!!  At the end of a day we are humourless and narky and simply trying to maintain status quo until everyone is in bed.   Add to this our constant assimilation of how to be the best mother we can be, fulfilling all our expectations of ourselves and living up to the wider community’s notion of the perfectly in control parent and…..WE DON’T NEED MORE ADVICE. We simply need you to expertly catch the flying balls, continue juggling with us and do it all……EXACTLY HOW WE ASK YOU TO!!!….xox

Joy of the Day: Surviving it!

 

The Griffin and The Dove

A snow white dove she sits, beneath a walnut tree
Her snow white breast lit up against a darkened shade of green
And his adoring eyes
Caressing her with care
He sees her grace and charm and all the difference there

She sees the Griffin watching with his calm unwavering gaze
His gentle heart encased within a dragon’s crimson scales
This creature of a myth
Glints ruby in the sun
So different from herself and yet for her, the only one

How could a love
Ones such as this
Survive beyond the sanctuary of this garden
Out in a world
Where sameness holds fast
Could they be brave enough to share their love and rise above
How could a love
So real yet so stark
Survive beyond the sanctuary of this garden
Would others remark
Or would the fable stand true
That a love so full of promise will overcome the rules

A snow white dove she sits, beneath a walnut tree
All the while she wonders on the world she cannot see
Where poppies all compete
With roses’ faded blooms
As the setting sun reflects a darkening afternoon

But to overcome the fear and embrace with all your soul
The difference that attracts
That completes, that makes you whole
To celebrate your love with all who come to pass
To be strong within each others arms
Dismantle walls and shatter glass…..

How could a love
Ones such as this
Survive beyond the sanctuary of this garden
Out in a world
Where sameness holds fast
Could they be brave enough to share their love and rise above
How could a love
So real yet so stark
Survive beyond the sanctuary of this garden
Would others remark
Or would the fable stand true
That a love so full of promise will overcome the rules

The Griffin in majestic grace, sweeps down to join her there
Beneath the ancient walnut tree, beside the rusted chair
And with tenderest embrace
Her feathers white as snow
She nestles neath the crimson scales, in love she’ll always know

© Kacey Patrick 2012

A Song and a Smile for Souls

It filters down the avenue
A song –
The high note in the perfume of the business district
The source, a woman foreign and unfamiliar in her surrounds
The rainbows of her garb
Illuminate the steel and glass
Reflect austere designs of finance
To nestle like a flower in a fallow field

Her gait is full of dance
As she strolls along
The fabric of her dress swirls, lightly caressing
The trousers and the shoes of those she passes
She smiles in greeting
A smile slightly mischievous
It beckons full of promise
As though there is a garden, not far off
Which only she is privy to

Some stare
Then retreat at once
To their bunkers of glass and comfort
Some smile and share
A brief visit to her garden
Only to return to the musings of their working day
Of those that smile
A very few, they follow
And as their steps they lighten
Their garden grows abundant
Their garments turn from black and grey
To the iridescence of a butterfly
And a song and a smile are passed on
Like nectar for the soul

It filters down the avenue
A song –
Not one song but many, as they follow close behind
The perfume of the tune, precedes their joyous steps
As they leave all their cares to others
Trapped in their glass and bunkers
Sifting through the pages
And emails of their working day
Gazing out the window
To marvel at the flowers in a fallow field

© Kacey Patrick (Sydney 16/7/07)/revised 2012

Song For Delphi

Would you choose to swim or fly
Choose the water or the sky
Would you be a mermaid or an angel

Would you choose to keep control
Or to unleash what’s in your soul
Choose to question or to simply follow

Life revolves, we question why
We come to life then life flies by
Would you choose to live as an immortal

Or would you have a finite grace
A short existence in this place
Would you choose a finite time for pleasure

Do you prefer to find a place of peace and solitude
Would you choose to end your life one lonely night
Does your heart feel hope when sorrow beckons to the moon
Do you always fly with your decisions

Would you choose to play your part
And to unleash what’s in your heart
Would you find a path where truth is certain

Would you choose to live in fear or strive for all your can
Would you risk all that you had for freedom
Would you choose to be unkind to woman, child or man
Do you feel all lost in indecision

Would you choose to find a place
Where life revolves with simple grace
Would you choose to show your heart’s compassion

Would you choose to swim or fly
Choose the water or the sky
Would you be a mermaid or an angel……?

© Kacey Patrick 2003 (revised 2011)
For Delphi. And in memory of Melanie Shanahan, and the ‘boat people’ who have risked everything on their journey to Australia.

Music – Aaron Hopper/Kacey Patrick (stringmansassy)
Released on ‘Dragonfly’ 2004.

Song For Delphi (‘Dragonfly’ – stringmansassy, 2004)

The Winds of Love and Loss and Longing

Stand alone upon a cliff
The sharp north wind it brings relief
Icy tendrils catch a breath affronting in its harshness
Crystals form upon a cheek rubbed red and raw, coarse and deep
No mind for broken hearts
No mind for salted tears
The winds of love and loss and longing

A mantle pulled as close as it may dare
Shrouds a neck once caressed
But now the harsh north wind seeks to kiss the very same
With sharp and bitter calloused lips
To touch the skin and prick with cold
No mind for broken hearts
No mind for salted tears
The winds of love and loss and longing

Brace thyself against the swale
Steel thyself against the gale
A Payne’s grey sky
A grey green sea
The winds of loss envelop thee

Stand in pair upon a beach
The warm dank wind it does beseech
Surrender to a realm so near of passion unabated
Skin is damp drenched with desire
Loins are wet, one touch is fire
No mind for reserved hearts
No mind for frigid tears
The winds of love and loss and longing

A lover’s touch as close as it may dare
Caress the flesh which lies in wait
And now the sweet damp wind excites love’s revelry
With sultry fragrant overtones
To swirl round limbs which seek release
No mind for reserved hearts
No mind for frigid tears
The winds of love and loss and longing

Immerse thyself in bodies sure
Sweep thyself in rapture
A crimson sky
A turquoise sea
The winds of love envelop thee

Stand at edge of vast expanse
The dry west wind invokes a trance
It sifts and grasps in reckless whirls and smothers all it passes
Breath succumbs, eyes are blind
Lips chafed and split are blushed unkind
No mind for lonely hearts
No mind for barren tears
The winds of love and loss and longing

A veil wrapped tight as close as it may dare
Coils a neck which might expire
But now the dry west wind lifts and whips it like a sail
With rasping voice and mournful cry
To tighten skin, to choke and parch
No mind for lonely hearts
No mind for barren tears
The winds of love and loss and longing

Bend thyself against the blast
Stand before the shredding draught
A mustard sky
An arid sea
The winds of longing comfort thee

© Kacey Patrick 2012