August #4

It Only Needs to Win Once — You Think? 

Courage, you think,

only needs to win once.

After that you can relax,

never fear again,

be always brave and daring,

confident like others —

the everyone else

who, you're always being told,

aren't scared.

But it doesn't work like that.

Courage is needy, wanting 

your full attention,

refusing to be taken for granted.

It wants to own you;

catching you with your pants down,

wants to give you a thrill — the biggest.

Courage is a very

demanding lover.

Or else it's a wilful child

that runs away.

You have to chase after it,

find it, bring it home,

settle it — embrace it

all over again.

Every time.

Too bad if you tire 

of the game.

You think you only need

to win once,

but it's not enough.

Each time is new —

new effort, journey, struggle, 

catch of breath.

But then, it's all that terror

(grin) 

provides the thrill.

— Rosemary Nissen-Wade

August #3

Living through the pain

My compatriot urged his dad

to rage against the dying of the light

but my rage is against pain

and blood and tears and sweat

and hope getting stomped

when it peeps its little

chocolate-buttony bright eyes

over the top of the trench

where it very wisely hid

until optimism once more

triumphed over experience.

I watch you living through the pain

and I try to find something positive

in your brave, dogged fight

and I love you for your strength,

your weakness, your quirks,

your failings, your heart

but I cannot find anything positive

that wasn't already a part of you

before the adversary arrived

and this torment began.

I want to scoop you up

in my arms and hold you

until the danger passes

but you see it never does.

That bloody enemy stalks

us all the time and never sleeps

and even if I doze with one eye

open it still sneaks in because

nobody can win against it every time

and it only needs to win once.

— Michele Brenton

August #2

Firm Body Upright

for Amanda Watson and Dani Cooper 

She pounds her gravity-bound knees,

with hands still free.

Her wheelchair, black and silver,

gleams solid in the stage light.

Rising behind her, dark dancer,

jerking the movements she cannot express.

Dancer sinews hip lift to shoulder roll,

as the music clanks on.

"My body is a cage".

The seated one is veiled in black,

legs seen and still,

face hidden.

The dancer does all the woman cannot:

not enough for either

to have only six minutes

of shining to others.

Her body is upright in her chair,

as the dancer leaves the stage.

She is firm, still whole and uninvaded
by surgeon or the harder-core drugs.

Her resolve is to keep living
through the pain.

— Helen Patrice

August #1

Knowing it is right

makes it

legitimate

if it fits

wear it

also sets

you up

for a fight

some call that

civilised debate

the thing is

it pulls you

off centre

you have to

grab hold

to regain

balance

anything

will do as

long as

you get

through,

both feet

firm, body

up right

— Jennie Fraine