Computer rage!

It is an age since I last posted.
Waiting for a printer to give me my copies.
It's not cooperating so am going to give up!
Will just have to have the computer page open while I am talking to someone tomorrow.
Life and computers.

We just don't know how to say goodbye.

We just don't know how to say goodbye.

Agnostic's deathbed

LORRAINE MCGUIGAN NOVEMBER 07, 2011

Late Afternoon

To please me, my son tries on this coat
out of the wardrobe dark after five long
years. It rests awkwardly on unfamiliar
shoulders and I imagine he's feeling the
weight, deciding if this is gift or burden.

Adopting the body builder's stance he
tests length of sleeve, strength of seam.
The stitches hold. He grins. Something
of dad's. As he strides to his car from

a distance it could well be you, absurdly
alive, always with so much to do, places
to be. Energy is still in the winter air as I
lean on my gate until the light has gone.


What you tried to tell me

Your breath fogging up the mask,
skin stretched over cheek bones,

what you tried to say I did not know.
I could only play games, run through

the alphabet, guess words as we did
in the car with small children, those

ridiculous pleasures of long ago.
But this was quite different. You

wanted, needed something and I
couldn't crack the code. Grabbing

my hand you drew a line on your
chest, moving on to make the sign

of the cross. Or so it seemed.
Priest! You want a priest? I said,

puzzled yet pleased to read your mind.
You rolled your eyes, looked up to

the ceiling, slowly shook your head.
I never learned what you tried to say

as we reached out to each other,
and words deserted us.


One day

Not tired, not lazy
wanting no more

than the warmth
of familiar flesh

a closeness nobody
else can give.

A sign on their door
siesta: do not disturb.

All that's needed
is in this room.

Late afternoon
a struggle to remain

awake; they cling
one to the other

as if to stay
the moment


Reflections

For forty years I saw myself through John's eyes ...
Joan Didion, 'The Year of Magical Thinking'

I too saw myself through a lover's eyes.
To him I was the girl of fifty summers ago

although he, my mirror, at times reflected
a woman I did not want to recognize or

even be. This December morning I bend
to a mirror to face what five years exactly

have written on my skin. As I speak
to him of grief, its persistence,

my breath on glass blurs my image
and that appears to be as it will be.


Thoughts of death in a bookshop

So many titles bearing this word
and I recall that we seldom spoke

of death, passing on, ceasing to be.
Believers no more we kept God

at arm's length. You were in ICU
when a poet offered to pray for us,

speak in tongues. Then a cascade
of syllables falling over each other

like excited children wanting to be
heard, if not understood.

Your colleague brought a rosary
blessed by Pope John Paul only

months before he died. Closing
my palms on crystal beads,

chains of silver, Brian pressed
marks into my skin.

His gift I put away in a drawer.
The top one.

This the best
I could do.

Lorraine McGuigan has been published in Quadrant, Island, Southerly, Cimarron Review, North American Review, Antipodes and Psychopoetica. Since 1995 she has been managing editor of Monash University's Poetry Monash. Her first poetry collection What the Body Remembers was runner-up in the Anne Elder Award.

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UNCLE PAT08 NOV 2011

On Sunday my sister died.
"A merciful release!"
Is all I could say.
On Monday her son rang
To fill me in on
The funebrial arrangememnts:
Thursday evening, the Vigil Service;
Friday morning, Requiem Mass
Followed by the Funeral.
Today, Tuesday, I was alone
Until I read:
"Thoughts of death in a bookshop"
Which led me to Seamus Heaney's words:
"And we all knew one thing by being there,
The space we stood around had been emptied
Into us to keep, it penetrated
Clearances that suddenly stood open."
There I heard my sister
Talking to her mother
And her grandmother.
"It's good to see you both
After all this time."
And I knew she was at peace.
It was indeed
A merciful release.

JOE CASTLEY08 NOV 2011

Deeply moving verse. Thank you.

JENNY ESOTS10 NOV 2011

I'm saving these poems.
They are worth keeping and savouring.
The paradox of saying good bye to a loved one.
We just don't know how.

Ahhh Vienna! The Hare with Amber Eyes.

Am in the midst of Vienna and the aftermath of world war one. The Hare with Amber Eyes by Edmund de Waal.

Saw my first Tuesday book club for the year this week - as we rescheduled.

They did A Visit from the Goon Squad - got great reviews, of course.

Had a lovely lunch today @ 3 monkey's after my Co-op shift.

As usual there are too many books and not enough time.

Going for a walk now - halls dairy.

Did the shiraz trail again yesterday.

Hope you are all healthy or trying to be?

The Tall Man

I appreciate the update emails on the latest books.

But there is something so tragic about the story of 'The Tall Man'.

I know I could not watch this movie.

Have the book, but found it too confronting.

Was particularly disturbed by the scene documented of a horse and petrol left in a bucket. Couldn't read on after that.

Surrounded by Taste

Am having a remembrance of the most delectable seafood in your November issue.

Adelaide Magazine.

Have never seen scallops look so good(!)

Am also fortunate that they venture to the Willunga Farmers Market.

Surrounded by taste.

A standout issue, Gillian Mears, Fleurieu artists and rights for dogs.

So many things to discover in this weekends magazine. (Nov 5 & 6th)

Firstly was enthralled by the Gillian Mear's story.

The most poignant profile by Susan Johnson.

As I had recently been given her book, Foal's Bread, I now have a new perspective on her writing.

Writers like many in the creative field give an awful lot to be able to do what they have to do i.e. write.

For example, Living hand to mouth in an old ambulance called Ant and Bee. Quirky by name and nature?

Also lapped up the profile on the fleurieu artists. Port Willunga being my mecca.

It is this landscape and the spirit of the place that I have been called to live in.

But I was perhaps most affected by the plight of many dogs and their owners.

A dog needs a loving home, to know they are loved.

Without that any breed will have some form of behavioural difficulties.

Is that something that can be legislated for?

Getting a dog licence is now simply a rubber stamp, maybe owners need to step up and validate that they really care for their 'best friend'.

A doggie check up.

We have taken them for granted for too long.

The final curtain

Re: The Final Curtain, Nov 5th.

On reflection the final curtain brings us all to a rude awakening.

Is anyone ever ready for this time?

I have been to loads of funerals.

Having worked in palliative care with all ages and mental health fields.

Plus my own family and friends.

There are some transcendent moments, some hopelessness, some anger.

People come out of the wood work who never showed their face in life.

As a stranger in a church connections are frail.

Public relations is not the churches forte.

Perhaps it just goes against the grain.

It is not really about profits and margins.

Personal faith does not come with a hard sell and price tag.

It's not a consumer 'product'.

I have noted it is the people who never set foot in a church/faith community that get the most upset when the traditions of what they expect don't occur.

Things are different, modern worship is vibrant and inclusive.

It does take a bit of mettle to look inside yourself.

Asking questions is a great place to start, so thanks for your sharp honesty, as always.

Willunga Christmas Tree Festival 2011 - the 10th annual festival!

Willunga Christmas Tree Festival 2011