Growing Confidence

Posted: February 19, 2013 in @SCRiMiE, billy, flash

Billy is an angel
She is blue
Not because she is sad
She was made blue
Billy loves questions
This is her story


One day billy was asked to sing a solo

The thought of this made her very uncomfortable

Singing alone, a l l the heavenly creatures watching her

She imagined their many eyes drilling into her delicate being

She gave a little judder which made her halo sing!


Billy loved singing, but hidden among her friends

One voice in harmony with a company of voices

Not solo in f r o n t of everyone

“Why was this?” Whisper asked kindly


Immediately Billy saw a big word

c o n f i d e n c e 

Billy knew she was able but she wasn’t confident singing alone in front of everyone 

Would she get confused about the arrangement? Sing out of tune? Forget some of the words to Michael’s song?

“Probably not! So why am i afraid?” she pondered


“I sing to nations of their d e s i g n and d e s t i n y”

But standing solo in throne room before the Presence and all those eyes made Billy anxious

Whisper reminded her “Confidence is a choice that grows when we simply believe”

what is the worst that could happen billy t h o u g h t ?


As she sang even the big and sometimes grumpy angels cried with pure delight at the sound of Billy the blue angel singing

Billy still felt anxious but choosing c o n f i d e n c e was a turning point in the being of this little angel

m a y b e it could be for you t o o

Finding Freedom

Posted: February 19, 2013 in @SCRiMiE, billy, flash

Billy is an angel
She is blue
Not because she is sad
She was made blue
Billy loves questions
This is her story

Billy was always being ordered by the bigger angels where to be, what to say and do

Sometimes in a very grumpy manner they would tell her

“Announce that message here”, “Proclaim that there” or “Deliver this immediately!”

“What is the matter with them?” she wondered

In the busyness of angel work it seemed like there was never the freedom for Billy to slow down and follow her heart

To pause and enjoy the moment

Billy loved to watch, wonder, wait and worship

But she felt like she was just always too busy working

Delivering messages here, there and everywhere

She also had to fit in singing practice, halo maintenance, flying skills, navigation, celebration competency and learning about other important stuff only angels know about

Whisper interrupted her thought train saying “freedom is best learned in the midst of responsibilities, silence will be your teacher if you choose to practice”

Billy wasn’t sure that she agreed

She imagined arranging another party for her angel friends

Just a moment to have fun, be happy, to play, laugh and enjoy being together

Billy wanted to practice parties and announce the messages she was entrusted with

Whisper spoke gently “Billy you are free to choose to work and play. The freedom of now is a gift hidden inside each of us.”

Choosing to practice a silence that nurtures freedom was like a new day in the being of this little angel

Maybe it could be for you too

nailing (de)nial

Posted: November 14, 2012 in @SCRiMiE, ACACiA, poetry, reconfig

delineate difference enabled
embrace reconciliation renovate centre
new day old ways together navigate unknown
imagine cruciform k e n o t i c culture daily chapatti
anticipate heavens bread await intervention cathedra
lean into difficulty transcend disfunction renegotiate normal

decode healing paradigm division disabled
envision unknown innate pathways reconnoitre
negative perspective choose death or life crackdown
i we you me desire just words of peace do you know obligati
alleviate community distress re-couch shared f u t u r e exedra
lament sectarian d e n i a l distraction denied default catechismal

© acacia @SCRiMiE all rights reserved 2012

Corrymeela Qs

Posted: October 31, 2012 in poetry, reconfig

Community connections
Distracted distraction
Unspoken relation?

What are our questions?

Corrymeela infertile
Future denial
Shared dementia?

Account Deficit
Governance vacancy
80K or leadership?

Networked relationship
Cross-dressing Alastair
Feline disaster?

Roel purpose
Freedom chosen
Lotus rose?

What are our questions?

Vision mission
Strategy strategic
Culture toxic?

Wisdom discerned
Future hope
Faith led?

Elephant present
Awareness absent
Wisdom latent?

Fear Not
Story tell
Practice silence?

What are our questions?

Elijah Jack
Working hard
Not smart?

Missional priority
Vernacular clunky
Other equity?

Networked memory
Mini-skirts stranded
Stories stewarded?

Micro Projects?
Astute conjuring
Meaningful connection?

What are our questions?

growing confidence

Posted: October 27, 2012 in @SCRiMiE, billy

one day billy was asked to sing solo in front of the archangels and the heavenly creatures

the thought of this made her very uncomfortable

singing alone, everyone watching her

she imagined everyones attention fixed on her

she gave a little judder which made her halo sing!

billy loved singing, but in company, with others

she liked to sing hidden among her friends

one voice in harmony with many voices

not alone in f r o n t of e v e r y o n e

billy liked to watch not be watched

“why was this?” a voice inside her whispered

immediately she saw a big word

c o n f i d e n c e

billy knew she could sing

but she was not confident singing solo

would she make a mistake? sing out of tune? forget the words to some of Michael’s songs?

probably not, “so where does this fear come from” she thought to herself

“i sing hope over people and strength to those in need

but then in(the)visible no-one is watching me”

billy would be sent with messages to sing to nations of their design and destiny

but standing alone in the throne room, before a great crowd of others, was not billy’s idea of fun

the thought terrified her

the voice whispered again “confidence is a choice that grows when we simply believe”

“what is the worst that could happen” billy thought

as she sang before the crowd

even the big and sometimes grumpy angels cried with pure delight at the amazing sound of billy the blue angel singing

her songs were a gift to others that did them good

billy still felt anxious

but choosing confidence was a turning point in the being of this little angel

maybe it could be for you too!

Kyrie Eleison

Wine o’clock leads me again to the cross roads
Knowing where the in-between corrodes
What the fuck is it all about?
Our indignation a silent shout
Structure stripped of power democracy exposed
The holy highway appears closed

Kyrie Eleison

Nations and their peoples rival on
Justified with or without their chosen canon
Is a peace of truce all that should be realistic?
Might a peace of transformation be optimistic rhetoric?
Who will model another way?
Does hope exist after the third day?

Kyrie Eleison

It crossed my mind to simply leave
But compelled I declare that I believe
What then does it mean to remain engaged?
How might a woman or man no more be caged?
Instead what might freedom mediate if realised?
Faith stirs burning desire a way will be materialised

Kyrie Eleison

Let’s together walk the talk pedagogy manifest
Future ways researched developed and put to the test
Will we act to defend innocent children?
Or will their blood cry out a silent siren?
How do we resist such violent sectarian hate?
Only wisdom from beyond is likely to alleviate

Kyrie Eleison

Posted: May 31, 2012 in @SCRiMiE, poetry

Assisted Descent

Posted: February 24, 2012 in @SCRiMiE, fiction

The bell rang. I entered. I stood at the edge with my back to the open metallic doors. Staring through the streak free lens gazing over the city. I imagined this had been the last vista you had consumed. I held your temporal container tight in my left hand. The sprawling urban expanse before me seemed to teem with signs of life from boutique to thoroughfare. Most of them unknowing and unaffected by your departure. I was alone, as I imagined, you must have been. The void in the object in my hand mirrored an expansive emptiness I could feel growing in my own heart. Like a supernova exploding and consuming its context. I too felt like this event was swallowing me. My eyes welled again with tears. They streamed down my face, pulled by gravity, through two weeks of facial growth. The tears began to drip onto the cream marble floor under my feet.

Mindful of the consuming ache within me I closed my eyes. I re-visited that night you had taken me out to examine the heavens through your telescope. It was alongside you in the darkness, shivering under the blanket of lights, that I knew you were the one.

The doors closed. I pulled my hanky from my back pocket, dried my eyes and mopped my whiskers. I’d only started to carry this accessory in the last week in order to address the spontaneous displays of liquid grief. Little insignificant things seemed to trigger these overflows of emotion as if my body simply could no longer contain all that was within my depths. I looked down past my feet to the street level below. My forehead rested on the cold glazed surface that safely separated myself and other prospective passengers from the risk of our position.

As we traveled along the set path, the urban landscape that had been our home for these past seven years drew closer. The train station, cafe, park and gallery before me represented interdependent sets of memories that were now the residue of our relationship. Was it possible that I could remain at home in this landscape full of rememberings – without you? Suddenly our descent slowed, there was a noise and when we were stationary the doors opened. Two children and a woman entered.

She sighed as the doors closed. The kids squabbled and our eyes met again. “I want to press the button” they said in unison. They pulled at one another and the girl hit the 12th floor pushbutton. Without saying anything the woman excused her children’s absorbed, vociferous exchange. I smiled and another tear pushed through my duct and rolled on down my cheek into my beard. She reciprocated the smile with only her eyes, her face also mediating warmth and compassion. “My partner always wanted to have kids” I said. As I addressed the woman the children both went silent and only their heads turned towards me. “Our Mother is deaf mister” said the girl. The woman smiled and blushed. She signed something towards the kids and the girl then spoke again “she says being a parent is both wonderful and…” “I can imagine” I interrupted, looking at both the woman and the juvenile speaker. “…exhausting!” finished the girl. “You’re looking great for someone who is exhausted” I quipped. The woman laughed, looked at the kids, signed again, and then back to me. “Thank You” said the girl. The woman and I exchanged further smiles and then I noticed her miniature male guardian grimacing at me disapprovingly. Feeling uncomfortable, I looked away towards the buildings opposite.

His facial contortions took me back to those ‘robust conversations’ we’d have about when we would plan to have our two kids, “I’m not getting any younger” you’d say, “my biological clock is ticking and I think my baby making apparatus might already need serviced due to lack of use!” I had kept deferring on making a plan. Becoming a parent seemed like such an altruistic phase. I had been more concerned about preserving our lazy Sunday mornings. Did my delaying fail to divert us from that dark place? “I am so sorry baby!” I said, holding the cold bronze urn in both hands. “Did you say something mister” said the girl. I turned looking back at the questioner, “Sorry” I said. She tilted her head and frowned a little “Did you say something?” “Sorry I was talking to Sarah, I mean myself.” “Oh, okay” the girl smiled and her Mother placed her hand on the girls shoulder.

Our descending cell slowed again, the high pitched ding announced, we were now stationary and the doors opened. The fragrance of freshly pulled espresso entered. It was carried by a dapper gentleman. He reached over the kids and hit the pushbutton for the 34th floor. The rich smoky aroma of black gold in a disposable cardboard cup, filled the confined space we five now shared and was contrasted by the sickly floral eau de toilette that wafted from the caffeine fueled carrier.

Inhaling such fragrances always makes me think of you paused in a moment of indecision, in our walk-in dressing room, contemplating  which fragrance from your vast collection you’d spritz. You seemed to always approve of those impromptu perfume gifts. Although I’d like to have had the opportunity to confess that my selections were often more influenced by the aesthetic glass structure rather than the actual olfactory of the contents. I still miss your smell. The doors closed and our journey down continued.

An automated voice filled broke the silence of our shared space and drew our attention to some of the local landmarks in the buildings across the street and down towards the park. “It’s my turn to play on the iphone” said one of the minors to the other. The boys knuckles were white and bloodless as he gripped the phone tightly and resisted any compulsion to share as per the invitation presented by his sibling. Pachelbel’s Canon faded in, growing louder, my phone was ringing. I answered. “Darling it’s your Mother, I’ve been texting and calling, how are you?” “Hey Mom, I’m ok I think” “Have you done it?”  “Yep, she’s gone, I let her out from the balcony of the penthouse” “It is what she wanted baby, you did the right thing, it is what Sarah wanted.” “I can’t really talk now, but I’ll call you later.” “Mom, is Dad there, is he ok?” “He’ll be fine darling, come and stay with us soon won’t you.” “Sure I’ll fix something, maybe this weekend or next.” “We love you dear boy.” “See you soon Mom”.

After the call, my phone danced and vibrated again in my hand. I scanned the GUI and the numeric counters on the homescreen indicated that I had seven text messages and thirteen voicemails that were unattended. I re-sleeved my phone and returned it to my jackets chest pocket.

The digital billboard across the street started playing an advert for sports car we’d just bought with last quarters dividend. The doors opened on the 34th floor and a gentle voice from the floor asks quietly “Are you guys going up?” As the dapper gent exited he answered, “this one is on it’s way to the basement love,” “okay” says the voice “not up then!” The cars in the ad had the amethyst paintwork that I had selected on our customised Panamera which was waiting in car park below the daisy garden. Sitting in the luxury of that sports car, hours after we had collected it from the dealer, you had received the call that changed the course of our lives. If only we had tried to have kids before we did, maybe we would not have had to endure the vicious cycles of disappointment following those unsuccessful attempts of in vitro fertilisation?

“What is in the pot mister?” said the girl who’d spoken on behalf of her Mother moments earlier. I returned to my body from the malaise of remembering that I’d slipped into and replied “sorry, what did you say?” I wasn’t being awkward I genuinely hadn’t listened. You’d always said I was gifted with the ability to hear selectively. “In your hand, the pot, what’s in it?” The Woman looked at me, reading between the lines on my face she signed something to her daughter. “It’s empty” I said. “There is no-one in it.” The girl paused and again her Mother signed to her. “I’m sorry” said the girl. “So am I” I concluded. We exchanged silent sympathy.

Tears again began streaming from both eyes. The pod we had shared again slowed, as the doors were about to open on the 12th floor, the bell signaled our arrival. The woman squeezed the skin of my forearm. The children and their Mother exited on their way to I don’t know where.

You used to caress me on the inside of my wrist as we sat and talked or drove together. Such comfort seemed to have abandoned me, as you had been beyond consolation. “We can try another cycle” I’d said, “What if it doesn’t work?” you kept saying. Crippled by that fear your mantra became “I can’t cope with this, it is too much, too much for me.” The tears kept on coming and I started breaking down. The counter above the door passed eight, seven, six and we continued descending. I inhaled deeply, controlling my now erratic breathing, pulled the hanky from my pocket and again buried my face in its fabric to dry myself.

The bell signaled my arrival, I exited and made my way to the rear of the building. The lobby was adorned with colourful assorted seating you had adored. I made my way past the communal toilets to the garden whose status was the same and proceeded to the bench where we would read the sunday papers together with takeaway coffee and pastries from Konstam’s. Bee’s danced from flower to flower. The daisy’s stood tall and crisp drinking in the sunlight. I looked up to the penthouse balcony. Minutes earlier I’d scattered what remained of you from the urn I was still holding.

Only weeks earlier we had been shouted at, by a grumpy neighbour, when seated here, for making too much noise, too early on a Sunday morning. You’d been giggling at some satirical comment and we’d ended up drunk with laughter. I love your laugh. I can’t believe your gone. I don’t understand. I’m sorry.

What do people do with used urn’s? I thought to myself. I’ll never forget you Sarah. I got up and started making my way to the car park. I pictured in my imagination putting an orchid into the urn. I had no where to be and no one I wanted to be with. I reached the car and got in. Your favourite vintage scarf was on the floor on the passenger side and a spare make-up bag in the door pocket. “I’m so sorry baby!” I sat there and wept. I was drunk with grief and a gnawing guilt that I had not supported you at the point when you had reached the end of yourself. No-one was blaming me, but I knew that my withdrawal from being meaningfully alongside had made this madness possible. By doing nothing I had permissioned a chaos that consumed you and allowed you to be overcome by the despair from which you will never return.

I started the ignition, tears streaming down my face, I considered whether I should be driving but all I wanted was to keep on moving. The sound of Bach’s St Matthew Passion emerged. I knew I could not have you back but I needed to keep on moving and for now that meant driving. I headed out of the city and I kept on going. I am going still and your orchid has just bloomed again.