The Mystery of You

Who was it that knew to strain light through raindrops so we could see a rainbow?

And who knew that time in the centre of our spinning planet would pass more slowly than on the outer crust? 

Who was patient enough to construct the chemistry of rock so that when heated it would produce lava, and then wait patiently again for it to cool so it could be used to string spines of mountains across vast continents made from plates floating on even more molten rock? 

How long did it take for the thought to crystallise that brought about the families of kelp and the nations of krill, the armies of insects, the kingdom of beasts? 

And did the law of evaporation precede that of osmosis? Or were both a lucky happenstance birthed from mathematical musings?

Who gave such mastery to the solar winds that rust grows on our moon 384,000 kilometres from oxygen?

Who beguiled the anuran embryo to burgeon into life with face and leg and breast (and carbuncled toes, pinocchio noses and smelly arm-pits). Life that is an inscrutable mystery of chemical and physical prowess based upon a DNA helix that genetic testing is still unable to fully fathom? 

Who came up with human biorhythms, luna tides and insect calendars so complex that their knowledge is impenetrable yet they look and act like siblings - same but different? Understandable at first glance, but change just one bit and the effect on other unrelated systems is so profound as to be disturbing. 

Was the notion that calculus would be cripplingly unforgiving in its exactitude, yet be so obtuse as to confound the thinking of the majority of the population a deliberate thought or a passing whimsy? 

And why are some boundaries set as hard and fast as the wrath of God and others soft as a besotted father’s discipline of his children? Take chemistry for instance. Once the basic rules are understood a man can do anything with chemicals, including building long chain polymers and amino acids that nothing in nature can break down, so they lie around polluting everything they touch?

Who designed tears to fall at the most embarrassing times yet considers them so valuable as to save them in bottles for some future use? And what of a kiss? 

In a million years a human could not have designed the lips to be the most expressive part of our bodies, able to communicate anger with a small press, amusement with a smile, surprise with the round Oh of exclamation, disdain with ease? - not to start on the trillion other nuances the female human can project with the minutest of movement. You could ask a thousand people to write down what a kiss is, and every answer would be different, would be lacking, would be incomplete, but each one would be correct. 

Who balanced simplicity with enjoyment, effort with reward, and proclaimed that beauty would confound bullies into tongue-tied submissives.

Who was it that combined frequencies with tone and allowed music and song to exist as a result, but then confused us all by giving the act of creation of that choral extravagance to the heart? 

What is it about music that can lift sadness to a place of hope, strengthen resolve to a place of determination, galvanise laziness into action, fill a heart with dread, plummet a soul into the blue?

For all we know, and for all we will know, there seems to be an unfathomable quotient of mystery. One thing we know for certain is that there is more we don’t know than we do. 

And should we plumb the depths of all the mysteries of the universe, we are still left with the greatest mystery of all - You. For knowing that you did all these things, and knowing that you have done more than I can ever know does not allow me to take even one step towards being able to do the same.

(Ecclesiastes 3:11)
MDC
January 2021

Duet

Fire trucks and kookaburras 
sing duelling duets. The sirens, 
stertorous and serious, urge 
all to be aware of the importance 
of their work.

The birds raucous laughing, 
jocular and rambunctious, 
ignores the clamour of the firies
with derision, content to 
complete their hilarity before 
considering if the drama 
unfolding before them is  
no laughing matter.

The siren volume overpowers 
the birds, but their risible 
cackle wins hands down for 
irony

MDC

November 2020

Water Running Blue

He laughs, places the goggles over his face,

flips backwards over the side of the boat, his 

spear disappearing after him into water running blue. 

He’s done this a thousand times before. Her heart 

is warm with his laughter. She takes a breath, her 

lungs captured with the joy she feels. She finds herself 

singing as she readies the basket for his catch . 

She took courage from his experience.

It settled her fear, allowed her to relax and

discover she loved the flash of fin and scales,

the splash of silver under azure,

the quicksilver surface of

water running blue. 

She was initially worried of the sharks drawn to 

the schools. The secret is to pounce quickly, 

snatch the catch. They don’t feel a thing. He 

taught her the rhythm: he thumps the hull, she 

reaches over the side and pulls the fish from 

his spear, placing it in the basket while he goes 

down for another. 

When the fish are running he pulls the spear 

down as soon as he feels her grasp the fish. 

She has to be firm with her grip and waits 

to feel the tug as he pulls free from the catch.

They’re running today. She barely has time 

to throw the catch into the basket before he is 

thumping the hull again.

He thumps the hull, she reaches over, grabs 

the fish, feels the tug. Only when it lands in 

the basket does she see his hand, still grasping 

the spear buried deep in the fish. She looks 

over the side. Water running red.

Imogen

Ethereal zeal seeded me in 

a watery womb 

I was a wet wastrel, hunger 

my only emotion

My infant days spent dreaming in 

slivers of wind, 

my devotion the promise of rain 

Sky was my playground, clouds my toys. 

Directionless, but not without route, I went 

from meandering to wandering, 

from cruise to jet. 

I flew here and there until I was travelling 

in circles. 

I discovered I like travelling in circles,

picking the gleanings from field and yard,

fervently funneling everything into my tunnel. 

Eating makes a girl thirsty so I sucked 

on the teat of your warm seas. I fed 

my strength until my arms flailed and 

anger was discovered in my loins.

I became single-eyed in my purpose -  

for you to know the full force of 

my fists. So I came in swinging, 

a torqued ellipse, ignoring your 

futile idols, turning roofs into tinsel, 

stuffing my maw with animal, 

vegetable and mineral, your flesh 

and blood.  I caught you - a deer in 

headlights. My cyclops eye snuck up 

behind you, seized you unaware 

dreaming of a high. I vibrated your 

glass until it sang siren song -  

smithereened silver 

splintering your houses, your 

households, your hearts. I trashed 

your plans, exposed your pretense. 

I laughed at your puerile projections

Despite all the warnings you had 

no defence. 

You mumbled last rites, screamed 

your prayers, but I confronted no 

retribution and though my life was 

short it was very sweet. You will 

remember me long after I 

have gone.

And now I have gone, 

remember this as you sweep 

your streets and 

collect your dignity - I am 

not an only-child. 

My siblings long to make your 

acquaintance too.

 

The Wrong Question

My daughter dabbed and swiped, occasionally 

changing brushes. The arc of her hand 

seemed effortless but deliberate. I watched 

as the painting took on form and colour but I 

could not yet discern a meaning.

I left and returned some time later to find a 

spectacle that engrossed me. My eyes roamed 

the canvas looking for the focal point. I knew 

it was telling me something but I did not know 

what it was. “What is it meant to be”, I asked.

“Oh Dad, you are asking the wrong question”, my daughter replied. 

“What do you want it to be?”

MDC December 2020

Give and Take

We were both takers.

Fearful that we would not survive 

with what little we had.

Fearful that what little we 

could take from the other

would not be enough.

When we took from each 

other we knew what was taken 

was released grudgingly, unwillingly,

not laid down to the other.

So there was never any gratitude 

for what was taken, nor gratitude

to be able to give to help 

the other survive.

Giving and taking was never

going to be the answer for us.

It’s not the answer for anybody.

What we needed was giving and receiving.

Giving and receiving would have

allowed both of us to survive,

or one of us at least.

But now there is no us, for neither 

of us have survived.

MDC 6/11/2020

Wild Confusion

 

The wild confusion of your hair causes you consternation 

Like wiry twists of fencing wire your frustration

sticks out; there is no hiding it

And you so hate the curled morass

that does not conform to your middle class

expectations; there is no abiding it

So you tie it back tight against your neck

Your earrings bright where they bedeck

your creamy lobes; preferring to tame it.

Your desire for linear strands frustrated

nonetheless leaves your wishing unabated

I ask what would help your follicle control

You say to reclaim it.

MDC 2016

When Aliens Arrive

When aliens arrive will their insurance 

cover any damage they do to our planet? 

How are we going to handle delaying tactics 

from a non-domestic insurance company based 

in another legal jurisdiction? 

Will they have the correct currency to cover the

cost of refueling? 

What about provisions for the return trip to their 

home planet? 

Will they pay for those too or expect charity? 

Will they swagger in like pirates expecting their 

demands to be met or will they knock on the 

door begging for assistance?

Will they have bothered to learn our language 

or be like the British and just presume that 

we will learn theirs?

Is there going to be any planning for adequate 

parking space prior to their arrival? And what 

about medical checkups, quarantine periods, 

drug testing and cavity searches? 

Who's footing the bill for all this? 

Then there are the more serious questions:

Will they turn up unannounced at an inconvenient

time, like in-laws, expecting us to drop what we're

doing and play the role of congenial hosts? Is

there going to be a dress code for when we meet?

Are they going to gossip behind our backs about

our dress sense, table manners, children's

behavior or political views?What do we do if they

think pink and green go together? Will they

understand that watching the nightly soapie 

is mandatory? Do they talk only during the ads

or insist on conducting conversation during

the broadcast?

And the most serious question of all:

Do they like football?

MDC 23/10/2020

Here I Lie

Here I lie, in this cold earth

Lying still, if not at peace

The quiet wraps my soul with firm hand

my body rendered to its eternal berth

The worms, they wriggle and they seep

through earthen wall and wooden band

My molecules and minerals reduced and powdered

To soften the bed upon which you will rest

Time will pass with its job done

I lie here - alone, uncrowded

Offering my softened breast

To pillow you when your time has come

MDC October 2020

Wedding at Wang

Wedding at Wang

Adrianna and Matthew, 19th September 2020

Oh, these are strange days and new times.

Global pandemic thrusting narrowness and loss upon us.

Forcing us to reconsider things we didn't realise needed to be reconsidered, and encouraging us 

to consider only those things that have eternal value. 

(And perhaps, giving us a new appreciation of that poor camel trying to squeeze through the needle's eye.)

Society may be in an uproar, the media festering every anxiety, and promoting 

every helpless, hopeless, useless, fruitless desire, but the peace and calm within your hearts is 

the true testament of reality.

The traditional wedding thrown out, not because of changes in social mores or pressure 

to be relevant, but as Solomon so aptly stated, ' There is a time for every purpose under heaven', 

and it is surely evident that the Lord rules in the affairs of men.

A wedding is a time of celebratory largesse, a time to enjoy the company of family, old and new. 

This narrowed alternative, though disappointing and reluctantly endured, will thankfully have 

no effect on the quality of your future life together. And no doubt, no doubt at all, 

the day will be sweet with sparkling sunshine (or effervescent rain), halcyon air, 

trees singing in the wind, clapping their hands, and your hearts growing so big you think they might burst.

It is understandable to grieve over loss; family unable to attend, two guests present 

rather than 200, quietness instead of the murmur, laughter and rabble of excited loved ones.

So, while the circumstances may appear straightened, rest assured that the real gifts 

come with your marriage, not with the wedding, and those gifts come from the Father of lights.

And while we would wish to honour you with our bodily presence, we feel honoured to be part 

of such a great cloud of witnesses excitedly testifying to your declaration of vows which 

will cost you joyfully dear; an event written into the eternal books so, so long ago.

And witness it we will. Virtual wedding guests, gathered in homes near and far, some still 

in pyjamas and some in suit and tie, peering into computer screens large and small to see 

your nuptials through the cycloptic eye of a video camera.

With you in spirit but obviously not in body, unable to ooh and ah over 

the details of your wedding dress, unable to hug and kiss our joy and blessings to you,

but with you nonetheless, and He will bless you; with joy and gladness, difficulty and sorrow, 

children if you choose, and long, long Elysian days of fellowship with Him.

And the unusual way in which this season plays out is a harbinger of things to come and is 

heralding a new closeness amongst us. 

What better way to celebrate that, than with your wedding.

MDC September 2020

Out of Fashion

Out of fashion

He had only been in fashion once in his life, during the penultimate year of his high school education, at the school formal. Flares were in style. Those tight, hip-hugging trousers that gripped from hips all the way down the thighs to the knees, and then, as if needing to take a gasp of breath, opened up to a flared hem that covered the whole shoe. He had read somewhere that sailors wore such things because it allowed them to pull on their pants (or remove them) without having to take off their shoes, saving vital seconds in the event of shipwreck. He had never bothered to follow the path that took such an understandably necessary style all the way to the far removed catwalks of high street couture, mainly because he knew very little about how the fashion industry worked, but he did understand that its engine was emotion, not logic.

The flares he wore to that school formal were bright blue with a crimson pinstripe, held  precariously on the hips by a 3 inch-wide tan vinyl belt. His shoes were black and maroon with platform heels that rivaled the belt in height. A golden orange shirt with a high collar folded over a blue and red paisley tie, whose span soundly trumped both belt and shoes in measurement, finished his outfit. Unless you lived in the seventies, you would have no idea how this could be accepted as popular fashion, but it was not only accepted, but enthusiastically embraced by the masses. Which is not to say that class and good style had fled mankind altogether, as he was soon to discover. 

Walking up the steps to the auditorium where the festivities were being held,  Snow White, the school captain, loudly exclaimed, "Good on you, Chimesy!", as he looked his attire up and down. Pleasantly surprised at the unexpected approval, he raised his chin, stuck out his chest and marched confidently through the foyer into the hall. The room was filled with all the students of the graduating year. The young women dressed in stylish understated dresses; fetching but demur. The boys modelled dark trousers and tweed jackets or subdued sports coats. The only ones wearing bright coloured clothing like his was a bunch of bodgees made up of the undesirables of the school's male population. Known as riff-raff, and conscientiously spurned by all the females in the school population,  Snow White's comment suddenly held a completely different tone and meaning. Rather than approval, he now heard a mocking gloat and immediately realized that while he did not reside, in attitude or academic standing, in the rabble-rousing group, his choice of attire forever cemented him in its membership in the eyes of the other students.

Tattooed

His arms were black and blue with ink. His skin covered with 

words, numbers and pictures

it took some time to sink in - what it all meant. 

Birds, fruit and mixtures of colour. 

Nothing made sense to one so young.  Did he lose 

his tongue and had to find another way to

tell his story? I wonder 

how much he spent on each hieroglyphic. Still, 

everyone needs some glory.

MDC April 2020