Coach

Coach

"Will you coach?"

"Sure I'll do that."

(Not sure really)

I observe that

it is me stepping forward again.

(There must be something wrong with me.)

Ah, the risk-taker character

makes his appearance.

The quote "Never work with children or animals" 

flashes across my mind.

Now I have years of experience, 

it does not feel like a risk.

Normal for me.

Silly...

It is always a risk.

Coach...

 to be a vehicle,

to transport,

or

to get people from one place to another.

So off we go

together.

I want the team to come with me,

to put in the effort too,

like that hot air balloon

trip I had in Alice Springs...

except that one guy who did nothing to help.

When the team exerts together

the journey

is exhilarating.

Adrenaline junkie...

fool...

coach...

Grins.

Hey there...

Hey there...

When you start

a conversation,

you don't know

where

it my take you.

I started a conversation.

It was work.

6 year old girl and I.

Maths.

She was brilliant.

I told her so.

She knowing numbers

and 

cleverly working out 

hundreds, tens and ones.

She grinned.

She knew she was clever.

I grinned back

proud of her work.

She smiled back.

Tears for me.

I had to finish the session.

Quickly.

No one can see all that emotion...

in a test score.

Hey there..

First Fire

First Fire

Someone sat near a fire

and just flat out liked it.

Maybe the weather had

turned cold.

They may have picked up a 

stick and tossed it on,

watched the flare

as the fire took

hold.

My first fire

was in the family lounge

stretched out on a small red rug

with a black cat

purring.

As a teen

with dad, uncle and cousins

setting fire to gorse bushes

on the hillside

over where the sheep ran wild.

In the Himalayas

as a Volunteer,

at a dzong

during a festival,

where super-hot oil

and sawdust

were thrown 

up into the night sky,

exploding

in flame

in the bonfire

with a rush of 

heat.

and tonight

as I light the first 

fire of the 2012

autumn

the

first fire

handed down

father to son.

Serendipity

Serendipity

The things that happen,

and when they happen,

can be amazing.

Take yesterday.

It was just yesterday.

A colleague said.

"I liked your 'Woodstack' poem".

I was thrilled.

I didn't even know

that she knew about it.

So, I went home and 

sent a 'tweet'.

Told the twitter using world that

'someone liked my poem'!

Next thing

someone (EmilyJones)

replied

"loved it"

Well...

I was bowled over,

ecstatic.

First ...nothing

and now

two people

on the same day!!!

Then I found

a TED talk

by 

Brene Brown

talking about

vulnerability.

Following that

with 

tears 

as I watched

on 

Youtube

as

Jim Stynes

grappled with

his cancer.

All too much

for me.

Overwhelmed.

Serendipity

you're

roughing me up.

I'm

ready

to

poet

harder...

now.

It's Hard.

Writing is hard.

It is.

This poetry thing takes time.

It makes my head spin.

I do love overcoming the difficulty

and 

just writing it.

But thinking about doing it,

the writing thing 

and the thinking thing.

Like thinking about mowing the lawn

or thinking about chopping the wood

or even thinking about hanging out the washing...

Yes, it is the thinking about it that is hardest.

I think it is the thinking thing

most

that is hard.

The time thing,

that aspect of allowing 

myself time to sit

 and think

and write.

That is hard too.

Because there are so many other things to do that are 

possible to do.

What if I choose the wrong thing?

Can a poem be wrong?

These questions are hard now.

Writing at night.

It's hard too.

and 

quiet.

Quite hard.

Woodstack

Woodstack

The days shorten up,

bit by bit.

Summer takes a bow.

(No one applauds this seasons performance.)

Autumn marches on.

A neighbour delivers wood for winter.

Great rounds of pine

in a heap.

The axe and the splitter emerge from 

their annual hibernation.

Axe and splitter take turns.

Rounds become pieces.

The hacks and thuds splinter,

separate rings,

divide.

A knot screams,

as the wedge

separates the twisted cells 

from each other.

Muscles strain

and wood flies to the woodpile.

I am warm from work.

The pile shrinks as

each armload

shifts

from the pile to the growing stack.

Three long stacks,

under cover,

dry,

fuel for the cold days ahead.

The curve of this piece meeting the triangle

of that.

Slowly it comes together.

My woodstack.

I recall my dad

carefully putting the jigsaw

of wood together

into a stack

tidy,

prepared.

His woodstack.

Then, in Bhutan,

my delight.

People

stacking wood

in the same way.

Tidy and prepared.

Their woodstack.

A defence

to shield off

the cold.

To the Universe

To the Universe

A hero of mine

John Lennon

sang

"Words are flowing out  ..."

"...they slip away across the universe..."

and I sang along.

and

now it dawns on me

so are mine.

(My words, you know, flowing out

and slipping away...)

Hey! I'm talking to you!

Yes you.

Why don't you talk back to me?

Are you angry with me?

I do do some foolish things, am thoughtless.

Are you scared? 

I'd welcome your words!

You can write, you don't have to speak.

You may like it.

Dr Suess (another personal hero)

wrote

"...you may like it you will see..."

so go on give it a go.

Send me a word back.

Message me.

Go on.

Nudge (from me to you).

Smile.

Lighten up.

I only want a few...words.

They don't have to be serious.

I may laugh.

You'd be helping me.

I'd like the universe to know

that we

chat.

I'd like the feel that

you,

me

and the universe

could all

sit around

a fire

comfortable

and share

a

few

well chosen

words.

(I'd be 

thinking 

of 

John Lennon).

Solar colour

Our sun
sends out a solar flare.
I imagine red and yellow,
orange bursts of intense flame.
Into the dark space between us.

Searing through the flimsy atmosphere
of our earth.
A burst of green and blue floating light;
Aurora Australis,
high above the vast empty stretches
of this land of the long white cloud.

The azure sky above my Nelson home
like a theme for my life.
Vast, surreal, framed
by purple mountain silhouettes
and dotted with the sparkling stars.

Read a Poem

I also read poems.
I read this one tonight and thought it was very evocative, and spoke about the weather too!

http://www.writingroom.com/viewwriting/Starlingpoet/Seaweed-Songs