What follows is a poem relecting on the ‘to opt-in or to opt-out’ organ donation debate. It is inspired by this Australian news article. This is me, trying to decide….because opt-in or opt-out, a decision must be made. Opt-out systems do not sit well with me, because to actively opt-out judges you an a#$😱hole, even …
Even though time has passed, I wail to the sky mother, This weekend is hard. Time is but a veil, My moans are all consuming, The wound is still raw. Does it ever cease? Do I even want it to? As long as I grieve You stay.
Like a breeze through a willow by a sleepy brook I will gently caress you Like the soft sun in Spring I’ll bathe you in love and warmth Like the moon when it’s full I’ll light your way I will never leave you I will always be there I’m the breeze across your …
(Inspired by this article) The parallels between birthing and dying I have long fascinated me. My Birth Map is to birth, as an Advanced Care Directive is to death. The thought that death must be avoided, is a last resort, is always a tragedy, and anything natural is stupid or insane, disturbs me. We do …
10 000 people attended a vigil for Eurydice in Melbourne: http://www.abc.net.au/news/2018-06-18/eurydice-dixon-vigil-parks-melbourne-crowds/9880894 How many woman must die? As one attendee reminded us…”Nothing’s changed, from Jill Meagher to this day,” Jill, from Brunswick (not far from where Eurydice lived), was raped and kill in 2012, also by a stranger as she walked home at night. Nearly 6 …
The parallels between birthing and dying are profound. It can be an awesome experience to observe and a great honour to be present in the moment. Or it can be a stressful, awkward experience. Following are two poems. The first is a medicalised experience, full of fear and uncertainty. The second could be a natural, …
via Swimming in grief
A wave of grief washed over me, Pulling me down. I could not breathe. I flipped between trying to breathe, desperately And wanting to peacefully slip away, I was trapped between not living and unable to die Not wanting either. Desperately wanting both. Spinning in the grief zone, Consumed and overwhelmed, Clawing my way back, …
Time passes but the tears still come, It is hard to know what will break the well, And see our grief spill over. Time passes and without warning, the dam breaks. Today it was the mauve texta. Your favourite colour was mauve.
Within my mum, within her mum, a tiny egg was developed*, Within my matriarchal line this egg was enveloped, The time came, this awesome egg received it’s spark And Two new humans formed, ready to make their mark. Two within, and within them seven who came to be And within five of them were eggs …
In your grandmother’s womb: The egg that made you. Read More »
