December 2009
56 posts
He not busy being born is busy dying.
I am going camping now.
I will come back less of a Wayne Kerr. Promise.
Ninety Mile Beach ftw.
In a Christmas Card
From one of my worries
Was an offering of reconcilement
To be fulfilled in the New Year.
Feelings of relief
Anticipation
and dread
Are to be felt
Instead of festive “cheer”.
We
Put our hands in
The esky
To see who could stand
The cold
For the longest
I was going to hold
Your hand
But I didn’t
…
Instead
We took our hands
Out of the
Icy water
I pinched your
Fingers
And you couldn’t feel
A thing
“But it’s the life I chose, not the life that chose me.”
—
He Says:
Why do I do this?
