September #4

They Try Again

They try again
to recollect the flavour
of what was,
hunting through trophies
only they can find:
the personal phrases,
the unimportant
yet cherished habits —

but it's thundery cold outside
and they who hide within
are only two now,
who must make new tales
to warm themselves, other
memories to gather later.

— Rosemary Nissen-Wade

September #3

Harder the second time around

I never thought I'd be excited
to see a divorce
or encourage one so gleefully
and enjoy each severance
witnessed in pixel-dancing light.

Something rises in me, a tidal wave
wanting more and more
until the old is swept away
and change becomes the new
landscape.

I used to shout at the television
when I was young and watching films:
Walk away or sneak away at night
when they are asleep. Get away while
you can!

Too many celluloid sacrifices,
too many individuals subsumed
for the sake of the storyline.

This is real life and the stories
can be better or worse.
I sit through this night
on the edge of my seat.
Please let this be the happy beginning,
the day when it didn't take
death to us part.
Because if there isn't a clean getaway
we all know what happens

when they try again.

— Michele Brenton 

September #2

Create Speak Surrender

Create the space

in the heart

for an incoming love.

Speak the words

that cement it all

in a small diamond ring.

Surrender to the machine

that is wedding and family

and the dress, above all.

Create the space

in the body

for an embryo.

Speak the idea

into silence

and mother's disapproval.

Surrender to the machine

that is pregnancy, baby,

and the pedestal of  motherhood.

Create the space

in the marriage

for two babies, and a breakdown.

Speak the words

that all is ill, broken,

the truth of neglect.

Surrender to the machine

that is divorce, aloneness,

and a sheaf of bills.

Twenty years later,

and the hard work,

the break, the regrowth

is done.

Creation is poetry.

Speaking is unnecessary.

Surrendering is time with grandchildren.

Making love is both easier

and harder,
the second time around.

— Helen Patrice

September #1

All That Terror (grin) Provides the Thrill

And the worst of it

is standing there

knowing you all need to know

that I know you, care.

Larynx glued, immobilised,

breath choking off the apt word—

words big enough to leap

the chasm between us

have tumbled, their syllables

echoing long after

we break eye contact.

This is La Grande Peur

more masterful than Death,

binding lips, sealing off

all possibility of love

for all fifty of you, myself.

This paralysis cannot be

permanent. I must lose

my self now, take that step:

create, speak, surrender.

— Jennie Fraine