We are driving,

moving away from the outskirts of the city with a promise of scenery,

moving out of suburbia into a rural setting,

a loop of sorts that will end with us back in the city,

yet having spent time with nature’s bountiful beauty.

 

I am driving down a road,

a road that a few years ago was desolate,

burnt,

a scene of despair.

 

we see flowers,

we see birds,

there are comments about the trees,

they are green,

they are tall,

they are alive.

 

Our first stop,

a picnic spot that is filled with sunlight and shade,

plenty of space for families,

games,

reading a book under a tree.

 

We stay here momentarily,

my charges want to see more,

they want to see more of the river,

the trees and the hills.

 

We drive across a bridge,

there are trees,

massive trunks split and broken,

jammed under the bridge,

a casualty of the winter floods.

 

Everywhere we look,

there is new life,

dead trees,

and the white buildings of the observatory,

we are seeing them from behind the hill,

we are seeing them where they would be looking out,

the trees that hid them before are long gone.

 

This drive is discovery for us all,

for me,

for them,

I am seeing roads that were tree lined,

bare,

They are seeing new things,

exploring a new area close to their backyard,

that they never knew was here.

 

We come down the road,

around a corner,

into an open area,

and there,

in majesty and glory,

massive and crowning,

the new dam works,

towering cranes that stand tall,

open gouges into the earth,

they exclaim at the size and breadth of this new construction site.

 

As quickly as it appears,

we round another corner and it is gone,

we are now in its shadow,

down to a bridge with a traffic light,

red,

waiting,

green,

and over the tiny bridge we go.

 

There was a picnic area here,

there were playgrounds,

there were swings,

now there are gates,

fences,

and I feel disappointed.

 

I hatch a plan,

we keep driving,

they don’t know where we are going now,

we come to a small town,

I pull in,

stopping,

and we get out of the car.

 

This place I have come to,

this small shop,

has been here since I was a kid,

my father would stop here,

we would get out,

and there was the promise of a drink,

on a warm day.

 

This general store,

this small slice of the past,

hasn’t changed over the years,

outside.

 

We buy modern drinks,

back in the car,

I tell them we are close to home,

they laugh,

it is a joke?

then we see the sign,

the sign they know,

the golden arches.

 

We drove in a big loop.

they saw trees,

they saw the river,

they saw lots of signs,

kangaroos,

wombats,

and a traffic light.

 

when are we doing this again?

when the weather is fine,

when we have a picnic to eat at the first stop,

when we have drinks for the park by the traffic light,

when we just want to get out of town for a while.

 

I am sitting at my desk,

in the heat of the house,

lesser than the heat outside,

but only just.

 

I have a fan going,

i am listening to it whirring,

humming,

lulling me into a sleepy state.

 

why does summer have such a bite,

a slap in the face,

that we wish for cooler days,

and for winter to come?

 

we quickly dismiss the seasons,

we don’t seem to remember,

we crave other seasons,

we crave something we don’t have.

 

when winter is here,

with the frosts,

with the fog,

with the hibernation of friends,

we wish for summer.

I inherited a garden,

it is a part of the house,

that we bought,

and it isn’t me at all.

I inherited a garden,

it has hedges,

it has roses,

it has areas of lawns.

I inherited a garden,

and I spend every weekend in it,

not relaxing,

but I really want to,

not enjoying,

but I really need to,

I am starting to hate it.

I inherited a garden,

I inherited a lot of work,

I inherited a lot of maintenance,

I didn’t inherit any peace.

Peter Holland 17/4/2010

On the weekend,

in the sunny backyard,

I took some photos,

portraits,

of my children.

I have hung them on the wall,

in a row,

staring out at me from the past,

happy faces,

and they make me smile.

They chose the photos,

laughing at them,

asking me to print them,

asking me to frame them,

asking me to put them,

on the wall.

The weekend is over,

they aren’t with me now,

I feel soulless,

alone,

isolated,

and I wish it was the weekend again.

Soon, we will be sitting,

in the lounge room,

playing games,

looking at the portraits,

and I am whole again.

Peter Holland 13/4/2010

Looks like it will increase my post numbers, but lumping them together, the coal and the diamond was never a good idea.

I have been sheltered,
Cut off from reality,
In a coccoon of my making,
Now that binding has been broken.

I am free!
I no longer fear the upset,
The rejection and hurt,
I embrace it,
And the black dog can slink away,
No longer does it rule my heart.

I was living,
Numb,
And I wasn’t living at all.

My children,
My work,
These were my life,
These were my props,
Holding me away from my reality.

Now I face a new life,
Not with the one I thought forever,
But a naked, lonely soul,
Time to understand me,
To love myself,
And to learn to love again.

It is my time,
My life,
My love to share,
And I won’t waste it again,
There is someone out there,
More deserving,
And it is time to live again.

Peter holland
14/01/10

Hotel view

 I look out of the window,

at the vista of skyscrapers,

framed by the beach,

and the setting sun.

 

so cramped,

these lives of others trapped in their units,

some don’t see the beach at all.

 

I step out,

on to the balcony,

and listen to the life far below,

and smell tropical flowers their perfume is relaxing me.

 

on the far horizon,

there is a storm,

dulled by the distance,

it is a pretty light show.

 

the storm is getting closer,

but I can smell the rain,

feel the cool breeze,

and I wait for it to arrive.

 

The light show intensifies,

flashes that seem of blue, pink or white,

and i go inside,

lying on the bed,

watching the storm and the sunset.

it is a peaceful place.

Peter Holland 4.45am 31/10/09

For Gail

I remember seeing a girl,
standing at the taxi rank,
she looked upset,
like she had missed something.

I recognised her.

I went up to her,
asked if she was alright,
asked if she wanted to share a cab,
and we went back to belconnen together.

We went to the boardroom,
a nice old haunt of mine,
she had a liqueur in a chocolate cup.

I walked her back up to the labor club,
she took my hand, and
led me towards the library,
we kissed under the underpass,
then she ran away.

I was in shock,
stunned,
partly because she had kissed me,
mostly because she had run away.

I thought,
I will never see her again,
and that was sad for me,
she was so smart,
so beautiful,
and I knew I wanted a girl like that for my forever.

Many months passed,
lonely months,
sad months,
ainslie village months.

And then,
when i had put her out of my mind,
I was reconnected,
introduced to her,
and we became friends.

we spoke nearly every night,
about every single thing,
and I was happy to hear from her,
and I wished she was mine.

she decided to have me over,
for dinner and a chat,
but her ex came back to town,
and the dinner was cancelled.

it was sad for me,
I wanted to be with her,
but it wasn’t yet my time.

She called me up,
out of the blue,
dinner tonight?
I was able to come over.

we talked and ate,
in a really small bedsit,
and then,
we kissed.

That was it,
she was my girl,
she was my friend,
she became my life.

We were together for everything,
when she changed jobs,
I was there,
when she felt down,
I picked her up.

I decided to propose,
in a romantic setting,
and popped the question,
in telstra tower,
I held my breath,
she said yes.

We were engaged,
living in a unit,
with running water down one wall,
and we started to save for our future.

we decided to wait,
no kids till a house,
and we saved,
saved and saved,
till we bought a house.

here, it all went wrong,
we were trying for kids,
and it wasn’t happening,
and we found that the problem,
was me.

I begged her to leave me,
to find a man who could give her,
the kids and a family,
she refused.

she found a solution,
IVF and assistance,
and she tortured herself,
with drugs and injections,
until we were pregnant,
I was so humbled by her sacrifice.

The child never made it.

I was devestated,
I withdrew from her,
and we drifted apart.

we reconnected,
and our daughter was born,
eyes like her mother’s
a tiny beautiful girl.

She decided that a friend was best,
for our daughter,
and back to the injections,
the pain,
the sacrifice.

we were told that there were two heartbeats,
there were two people coming,
and I prayed every day,
that all would be fine.

it was,
for the boys,
but I almost lost her,
and she almost died.

Now,
I feel like I am standing,
at the library,
watching her drive away,
watching her leave.

I don’t know,
if she is coming back,
but she loves me,
I know,
and I can wait…

22/10/09 Peter Holland

as the willows whispered quietly,

next to the tinkling waters,

the sun sparkled gaily,

in the tumbling stream.

bands of gold and silver,

clear water and sunlight,

a flash of colours,

a trout fast in the darkened world,

of tree shadowed waters.

Never changing tranquility,

a border on the inner peace,

not a bad word nor painful cry,

unravaged by man’s influences.

A dark shadow crosses the sun,

and is gone,

faint on the horizon,

disappears quickly from the memory.

the willows are immortal,

the waters always flow,

you just have to take time,

to remember.

Peter Holland 29/5/1990.

words of rationale,

describing but confusing,

leading away from the plot,

never remaining in reality.

 

A shot in the darkness,

an unorganised note,

a word out of place,

a paragraph of life.

 

Eeriness unfolding,

a chime in the wind,

a plaintive cry,

the light reveals nothing.

 

Editing a sequence,

the mistakes are fading,

the brilliance blinds,

comprehension is gained.

 

Love of others,

a comma or a space,

a statement,

an exclamation,

all end in a full stop.

 

Death is destiny,

love is a paradox,

a channel to the side,

escapism from the cruelty.

Peter Holland. 14/11/1988.