There was an incessant reporting
That a virus was warring
Heading to the shores of the great land of Aus.
But our blind self deceiving
Had us disbelieving
Though the doubt couldn’t stop what already was.

And so as the virus arrived
We were ordered inside
But not before stocking cupboards with care.
There were limits on buying
Though not all were complying
The shelves at the supermarket were practically bare.

Lists of measures in place
There to keep us all safe
Felt like a relinquish of our control.
And though most were trying
There was no denying
The lack of connection was taking its toll.

Then came the vaccination
That divided the nation
When what we needed was to stay strong.
But with tensions so taut
It’s no wonder we fought
Though it would’ve been easier if we’d got along.

The days turned to nights
As what we thought were our rights
Turned out to be privilege we hadn’t prized.
So when the restrictions eased
Much more than just pleased
Many of our priorities were revised.

Now those times seem so distant
But there are reminders persistent
Of a time when we couldn’t just be.
So visit those that you miss
And lean in for that kiss
Remember it’s a gift to be free.

Caught between the elasticity of time and the rigidness of a 9am Monday meeting…

Innocence woven into cotton, pulled down, stretched and snapped.
Fingers trailing, tracing and leaving flesh branded by hot fingertips.
Fabric forgotten and crumpled on the floor, replaced by a fine coating of goosebumps dressing milky white skin.
Air thickened with sticky, salty secrets, hanging around like a morning fog.
The filtered light through curtains highlights the place where virtue meets experience and the cotton, now misshapen tells a tale.

She sat at the table
Where she nodded and bled,
Blood dripped to her plate
And her dinner turned red.
But nobody noticed
Because they were all fed,
And her posture was straight
And they liked what she said.
So she choked down her dinner
And kept the mood light,
Then cleaned the blood from the carpet
As she bid them goodnight.

She smiled through the unease
And accepted too much
She was eager to please
Took the unwanted touch
Until her skin grew blisters
And she cried out with shame
Too boisterous for Misters
She takes on the blame

I put my journal
in the sealed packing box- Now
inspiration’s struck

My poetry’s dark,
Though the release from writing
Can lighten my soul.