A New Year’s Revolution

A quick little reflection of the year that was,
Not for any good reason, but just because,

Already I find, it’s hard to remember,
What it was I was doing, this time last December.

I welcomed the year in the usual fashion,
With free-flowing booze and in the throes of passion.

But though I danced my way into two thousand and ten,
And found myself in a similar stupor, again and again,

That really is the only constant to be seen,
In then and now, and the times in between.

Back then I had a job, no, a career,
A relationship, a lifestyle, and nothing to fear.

I rode a bike in secret and lived by the beach,
But there were unfulfilled desires, just out of reach.

So I threw it all in, in the pursuit of adventures,
In the hope of living life, before I wound up in dentures.

I put all my faith in the romantic notion,
That the secret to my happiness; lay over the ocean.

I spent three months in the back of a truck,
Wandering through a continent filed with hope, but no luck.

I experienced a world that most never will,
Had the time of my life, but was unsatisfied still.

You see on a quad in the desert I’d flirted with death,
And once again on white-water, thought I’d breathed my last breath.

I’d spent time with people devoid of possession,
Happier than those with the consumer obsession.

All in all, Africa had helped prove to me,
The importance of life, and its fragility.

So though I’d seen sights that I’ll always remember,
I’d had enough off playing tourist by the end of September.

I returned to the house of my parents’ rule
And focussed my attention on returning to school.

But with marks too low, and aspirations too high,
It proved not to be, but I gave it a try.

Home was full of pilots, and good times galore,
But pretty soon it was time to open the next door.

So it was less than a month before I again boarded a plane,
And headed out into the unknown again.

Then all of a sudden found myself in a place,
Absent of English, or another white face.

Head and shoulders above the man in the street,
And unable to communicate with those that I meet.

Scary? Absolutely. A challenge? For sure.
But isn’t that really what we’re given life for?

So I dusted myself off and surveyed my surround,
And before long was overwhelmed, by the good to be found.

A welcoming people, generous to the last,
That needed my help, and needed it fast.

So before I knew it, I’d swung into action,
Tested the waters and received positive reaction.

I grappled with the language, and found a place to live,
Discovered who I was, and what it is I can give.

I’d believed in the cause, but what really gave me chills,
Was to realise the worth of my strange set of skills.

Already I can see the difference I’ve made,
Which is nothing compared to the plans that I’ve laid.

So as I stare at the dawn of another year,
I shan’t mourn the loss of an unhappy career.

My life as I knew it may well have ended,
Or at least finds that it has, for a time, been suspended.

It’s on a new path that you’ll now find my feet,
An exciting, but admittedly, less-paved street.

Now I hope only to live up to what of myself I expect.
Will I do it? We’ll see, next time I reflect.

Written December 2010 after discussing with a mate just how incredible the last year had been and that some reflection was required for NYE.

Living the Dream

Insatiable for adventure with a thirst that can’t be quenched
He's wallowed in the pool of life and come away drenched
Never able to sit still, or even slow down
Hungry for a new life, in a foreign town

Determined not to be, just like all the rest
Trying all the paths to see which one suits him best
Laughing to himself at those who choose to settle
Why be on the road if your pedals not to the metal?

He only gets one shot at this, so he'll make sure he does it right
Live and love and play and dream, make peace and start a fight.
He has his whole life, to live the aussie dream
but not before he's had the chance to blow off a little steam

How can he give himself to someone else for life
If he's barely old enough to know himself, let alone a wife?
He'll be drawn to those with vision, who protect the lower class
And shun those more focussed on their own wealthy ass.

This will change in time, inevitable as kids and tax,
But he'll enjoy it while he can, take some time to relax
The secret to a life, lived without regret
Is to follow his dreams, and not the safe bet.

Written July 09, while my friends are looking at apartments and marriages and I am giving in to the travel bug again.

In Loving Memory

As inevitable as birth is the arrival of death
But how different is the first, from the final, breath
Pain and tears and the miracle is born
Tears and pain and from us you are torn

Ninety years are gone in the blink of an eye
But would you have us laugh or prefer us to cry?
Is this the moment to mourn never seeing you again
Or the time to celebrate your life with us, Den?

I really barely knew you and now never will
And yet such a big part of my life you’ll always fill
Your shadow is cast longer then your tiny frame would permit
We’ll miss your penchant for the arts and your razor-sharp wit.

There is an empty seat at the table at bridge
And a full bottle of gin still waiting in the fridge
Five daughters who gathered to see you cut the cake
Find themselves instead planning a wake

You thanked the nurses with you final breath
Told them they were beautiful and accepted your death
But you were the beauty in your scarves of every colour
A unconventional wife, friend, gran, and mother.

We’ll miss you Den and yet be happy for you too
Appreciate that you’re up there having a few
Thanks for the laughs and the stories you tell
Goodbye, so long, auf wiedersehen, farewell!

Written March 2009, on the day my grandma Denise passed suddenly, and yet after years of expectation. An incredible woman who will be missed by all who knew her.

The 8:05

I have often found myself wondering, as the morning train pulls in
where exactly I am going and where it is that I have been.

For some it's about the journey, and for some the destination.
But surely it all depends, on the arrival station.

Is this where I thought I'd be, when I hopped onboard this morning
or has my trip been diverted, unbeknownst and without warning?

Have I been in control, of this journey I have made?
Or am I just an actor, and it's been a part I've played?

Who is the fat controller, whom dictates where I go?
And why is that the trip, is always so painstakingly slow?

Should I take an express, or another faster train?
But what am I trying to skip, through pleasure or through pain?

Would my life be different, if it involved another station?
Or would it be no more then a subtle variation?

I guess I'll never know, instead I'll just ride the 8:05,
It's not the most glamorous trip, but imagine if I had to drive!

Written in the summer of 2006, while an intern on the way to my first real job.

the man without a plan

sheepishly he admits that there is no plan that has been laid
life has been the product of both good and bad decisions made
some dreams have been realised while others still remain
time sees a few grow stronger and lets the others wane

but can one's choices be decided in such an ad hoc fashion
can a life's direction be governed by only passion
shouldn't you have goals, each one carefully selected
or will you forever be haunted by the options you rejected

should you aim lower then you are able and achieve as you desire
can you live in potential's shadow and only dream of hitting higher
or should you set your sights up high, well above your weight class
and each time you jump you miss and land back down upon your ass

it really all depends on your definition of success
is it that the needs are satisfied, or by the level of excess
does the checking of all the boxes signify a life finally fulfilled
does the cup need to flow to the point of being spilled

or is it that you lived your life, and not just played a part
that you controlled the journey, it was not mapped out from the start....

Written Nov 2008, the alternative approach to the previous...

The Man with the Plan

Cautiously, he moves through life with plans but not a vision,
Vigilantly, he considers the consequence of each and every decision.
No action is to be taken until the facts have been collated,
The data never lies and as such each fear is in turn abated.

He is happy with his path because it “made the most sense”,
He ticked all the right boxes and watched others from the fence.
The epitome of rationality, caution and hesitation,
He fails to feel the extremes of depression and elation.

But in the quiet moments when he sits and reflects,
Does he see in his love of logic the very obvious defects?
Sure he has achieved everything, and exactly as he planned,
But life has run through his fingers as if it were grains of sand.

The future’s caught the present and it’s too late to enjoy what’s been amassed
There’s not a lot of time left, and there’s no comfort in the past.
Sure the wife, house and car, leave the Jones’s a little green
But there’s a hole in the perfect picture where the life should have been.

Written August 2008, trying to decide on how a life's direction should be determined.