Journal Entries for Jane S
The Edge
May 11th, 2012 3:42 am MDT
I stand on the edge of the abyss, looking into the yawning darkness below, striving to see the solutions I once imagined existed there. Where lies that longed-for release, that freedom from pain and heartache?
As I strain to see, looking downwards, I know that such freedom, such a release, does not lie below me. For my visit to the edge is simply that, a visit. To remind me where I once stood, what I once felt and most importantly, how I found that freedom and release elsewhere.
I can walk away from the edge now, knowing that I need never return, unless perhaps to gently take the hand of a friend and lead her too away from the darkness.
Betrayal
December 13th, 2011 11:30 pm MST
The eyes.
That’s what it is.
Though the touch of black mascara shrouds the pupils below
And a faint shadow of earthy tones endeavours to draw the gaze away
They are the same eyes
Once said to be the windows to the soul
They are, instead
Betrayers of the heart.
A heart rent by indecision and doubt.
For when all else seems to change
And the outer shell takes on a variant appeal
Betrayal of the spirit comes from one source.
The eyes.
Despair
December 13th, 2011 11:16 pm MST
Though the room seems lit by the radiance of hope
And the journey seems to be in hand
Harsh words remind me that the black dog of despair lurks close by my heels.
Can one really walk the middle way, grasping desperately the freedom once thought eternal but now perhaps fleeting?
Does my mirror now abuse me?
The Release
October 14th, 2011 6:13 pm MDT
The racing pulse and palms asweat
Reveal the fear within.
But the hidden truth must be released
For the healing to begin.
The rift began, I know not when
But separation came.
For identity as cast by fate
Had bound me to a name.
But who I am I could not rebuff
Nor inner self deny.
So reality I had to face
To the world I had to cry.
The person you see here before
Is but an outer shell.
For the hidden one who dwells inside
And of whom I must now tell.
As I faced my fears and the consequence
Of the confession I had to make.
I thought of loved ones and the beliefs they held
And how my news they’d take.
But there had been a prime mistake
In the path that lay ‘fore me.
I’d not considered the bond that held
T’ween spouses like her and me.
As I spoke my mind, and revealed myself
I waited for the shame
That would flow from a broken heart and hurt
But nothing like that came.
Instead upon her face I saw
Relief that truth had shown.
The acceptance of just who I am
And the love I’d always known.
I realised then, as we embraced
That courage had set me free.
And love allowed me to now accept
I could finally be me.
Aftermath
October 11th, 2011 12:26 am MDT
A dust cloud canopies an awesome scene,
Blind sun, an eerie dark
Enshrouds a vista once serene,
Now crumbled, bleak and dark.
Survivors drag from shelters deep,
Some injured, all in shock.
Eyes hollow, red from little sleep.
From surroundings they take stock.
The weapon’s blast has laid its hand
On mankind’s humble site.
Steel girders twisted, blackened stand.
Mute symbols of its might.
From devastation far and wide
There seems such little hope.
But if local conflict’s put aside
Perhaps we’ll learn to cope.
For folly though it was to cause,
The curse of evil’s reign.
The spirit of good will make no pause
To blossom strong again.
As I stand and look at what remains,
Of all my august plans,
I see a sign of faith that strains
To rise above the sands.
A single yellow flower grows,
To give the people heart.
A testament to all that shows
Of mankind’s brand new start.
The Ledger
October 11th, 2011 12:21 am MDT
I’m trying to do a balance sheet, a challenge to be sure.
For it’s not a tote of finances, or mathematics pure.
It isn’t calculating just how much I owe the bank,
Or settling all my household debts, and where the debtors rank.
The trial that I have set myself, the task I undertake
Is to tally up my moral worth, and the payments that I make
Towards salvation of my soul, my karma, if you like.
And hope that when the task is done, a credit balance strike.
The obstacle before me, though, is to mark the bottom line.
Just how much is existence worth, and have I paid for mine?
The positives are there to see, my children living proof.
A nest of love and happiness was gathered ‘neath our roof.
But can the fact of parenthood, the great equation sway?
For that is but a long-term plus, but what of day to day?
I look at those around me, and all the things they do,
And I find I have to ask myself “That’s good, but what of you?”
“Your greatness could be measured like a tiny grain of sand,
Just one unknown of millions that are spread throughout the land.
There’s nothing that you have achieved, that could be found worthwhile.
No laurels lie upon your head, no statues in your style.”
“No monuments or charities attest to your value.
No schools or universities were named to honour you.
There may be some who claim to say what a good person you have been,
But surely those who’d speak those words are few and far between.”
It seems to me my inner voice has struck a solid chord
And the failures of my life so far have pierced me like a sword.
But maybe now its time to search for some redeeming fact.
That will help me build my credits up, a truly noble act.
There’s no gallantry that I can claim, no great heroic deed
So I must search within myself to satisfy that need.
And as I note the little things, the credits start to grow.
Til I find my balance looking good, and the pluses start to show.
My ledger now, is almost done, few pages yet to go.
So perhaps it’s true, I’ve done my bit, and have something real to show.
For now I see, that greatness comes not from glories end to end
But from simple things like an act of love, or extending a hand to a friend.
The Photo
October 9th, 2011 11:26 pm MDT
He stands there, firm of countenance, with his life ahead of him.
Staring towards the camera unaware of the return gaze, forty years hence.
Is that really me? Did what I wished for then come to pass
Or were young hopes dashed upon the rocks of lost dreams?
Through those eyes I try to glimpse the man within.
He does not exist.
Fair Dinkum
December 28th, 2010 12:30 am MST
Fair dinkum, stone the flamin’ crows
I dunno what to say.
It seems some codgers reckon I
Should give the game away.
They reckon my attempts at prose
Would make old Shakespeare start
And my usage of the written form
Would break his ancient heart.
But, struth, I only seek to scribe
For all my china plates.
So I couldn’t give a fat pig’s burp
What any drongo states.
My poems are for my cobbers, true
Dead set, that’s how I feel.
Or any others with lively heart
Who’ll listen to my spiel.
I’ll chat with those who love to chat,
I’ll rabbit on and on.
And sometimes I might make some sense
I hear you say – “Go on.”
So when you join the forum next
Or log in just to chat.
Accept my words as works of art,
Cos crikey, they are that.
