A sneaky one

She's a sneaky one,

That daughter of mine

Often too quiet

Up to some mischief

It wouldn't surprise me

Doesn't say much

Flicking through

My notebook

I come across

Some notes

She's written 

In her sneaky way

Long after she's gone 

A few scrawled messages

Dating from some time ago

Assuring me of her love

Congratulating me

I'm all chuff and teary

I told you she's a sneaky one

But I love her so

Being sneaky isn't so bad is it? 

Well not in my book

That's for sure.

Lucette C. Bailliet ©

Zenic walk

Walk after rainy day

Black swan sleeping on water

Head tucked under wing

In middle of creek

Lonesome cricket song

Hidden in long grass

Roos grazing before resting

Around homestead

Leaning old telegraphs poles 

Without lines under ice blue sky

Relics in modern urban landscape

Lady walking dog 

Or vice versa? 

Yellow splash of canola flowers

Amidst frog calls

Following steps

Ubiquitous crows

Heading for high eucalyptus 

Zenic walk in suburbia.

 Lucette C. Bailliet ©

I love you

Day after day

I forget to tell you

I love you

The tedium of life 

Gets in the way

And I forget to tell you

I love you

I know it's neither your birthday

Nor Valentine's day

Is an excuse needed

To tell you I love you?

Love is our strength

High and low

It has been tested

It has survived

Don't know how long it will last

Let's not take it for granted

So I shall tell you

That I love you.

Lucette C. Bailliet ©

If only...

Oh yes! Life could have been

So different if ...

How many times have I heard you say 

Those words of regrets

For something that never was?

If, is the most dangerous word

Closely followed by only

If only life had given me

But that's the point 

It has never given you anything

So stop torturing yourself 

About that which was not there

Why imagine a world of possibilities

When they never even existed

You're agonising about missed opportunities

Which were never offered to you?

Calm, rest yourself, 

You do not need illusory regrets.

Yes, if only ....

But it was not 

Meant to be.  

Lucette C. Bailliet ©

From my blog:

echoingsteps.blogspot.com.au

Solitude

Remember how I used

To haunt the cemetery

The only place to find 

Fresh flowers all year round

In that modern post war

Urban developing suburb

How faithful my companion

Would accompany me

On my daily walks

Oh solitude I was sure 

To find you there waiting

Staring at the tombs stones

Reading about all the beloved

Taken too early leaving us behind

Beloved mother, beloved wife

Beloved daughter, beloved child

We would look lengthily at each other

Knowing that we didn't belong there

You had nobody

I was not beloved

And we would turn away 

To meet another day.

Lucette C. Bailliet ©

Teen angst I

Remember those early days

Of existentialist angst

When suicide seemed a viable gamble

Confronted with unallayed solitude

Squeezed in indifferent greyness

Between infancy and adulthood

One evil known and suffered

The other only to be guessed at

Not to be desired in any case

If only it had not been so final

The Romans were true stoics

I proved I was no Roman 

My first failure was to be born

The second was not to please

The third one was not to be loved

The fourth was not to die

 To suffer was then my lot

Which I did to this day.

Lucette C. Bailliet ©

There's a spider

There's a spider in the shower

On the white tile a black spot

Half the size of my tipi toe nail

There's a spider in the shower

Surprised by the water steam

Coming at it from the shower head

There's a spider in the shower

Slowly I hedge toward the screen door

Making sure to keep out

Off Its jumping range

There's a spider in the shower

I'm not fond of crawlies 

Never been 

There's a spider in the shower

Get the fluffy towel

Grab the spider through many layers

Throw the towel in the garden

There's a spider in the garden.

Lucette C. Bailliet ©

From my blog:

echoingsteps.blogspot.com.au

How can one be thankful?

Despite for that momentous hitch

Creating utter wanton calamity

Life natural rhythm returns

Indifferent to the devastation

That it brought unpremeditatedly 

How one can be thankful

When the sun rises 

On the flattened ruins of one's life

How can one be thankful

When every beloved have perished

How can one be thankful

When utter devastation

Has rendered one's life 

The sole possession

How can one be thankful 

Walking alone lost

Moaning in shocked lamentations 

When the sum of one's loss

Is greater than one's worth

How can one be thankful?

  

Lucette C. Bailliet ©

Exam day

Sitting in the students hall

Of the Union House

Simply for no other reason

That The Potter is closed on Mondays

And that the weather is freezing

The floating aroma of boiled cabbage

Pervades the hot house atmosphere

Not exactly tickling any appetite

So early in the day

On this first day of exams

The atmosphere is somewhat subdued

The normal din being absent

The students are ready for everything

Displaying their backpack

Complete with water bottle 

And the ubiquitous umbrella

Due to the always wavering

Melbournian weather

The ambience is somewhat tense

Despite some trying to joke.

Good luck to you all,

Been there, done that.

 Lucette C. Bailliet ©

Recipe

Time and time again.

Time out guys! Stop

Time to recharge oneself

Time to evaluate what's going on

Time to question one's vision

Time to doubt one's doings

Time to ponder one's direction

Time to slow down! Pause

It's back to the drawing board

Time to conceptualise

Time to imagine one's future

Time to think about one's present

Time to redirect one's energy

Time to call in changes

Time to focus

Allow time to dream

Insert dream into plan

Let silence be

Examine all

Time to act 

Time to built

Time to create

Here I am again

Return to top line 

That's what life is about

We know the exit point.

Lucette C. Bailliet ©

The Louvre Museum

Trekking through the Louvre museum

On our way to see the Mona Lisa

I stopped and pointed to my daughter

A canvas painted by Leonardo da Vinci

Telling her dogmatically

"This is a very famous painting"

We took what I thought 

Was a respectful pause

And continued our progress

When a few steps further

I could not resist saying it again

She nodded dutifully,

Paused and walked again

To be stopped once more

By the same words having the same effect

After umpteen repetitions 

Her voice came up clear and distinct

Amongst the din of the crowd

"I get it, they are all famous paintings",

Now let's go to Angelina

For their world famous hot chocolate

At least it's unique"

Culture is such a pleasing hobby in Paris.

 Lucette C. Bailliet ©

 

The bouquet haiku

Cross I woke up

Until I saw the bouquet 

You offered me.

Lucette C. Bailliet ©

Bittersweet

How strange it is

To have one heartstrings

Pulled by a childhood song

Of an idealised country

That is a lie in itself

You know it for what it is

But the bittersweet feel

Is so strong as to overcome

Your rationality and still

You wish to be back there

In that illusory time

Of innocence even though

There never was such a time

Man likes to dream

Of a better tomorrow

Disappointed by today

Obfuscated by the past

Is that the appeal of religion?

If one has screwed one's life

The hope of an eternal one

Is sure to have traction.

Lucette C. Bailliet ©

Picnic day

A white rabbity tail tumbling down a rabbit hole

A turtle swimming away in a swampish pond

A troop of roos busily jumping the track 

A flock of ducks alighting in the paddock

The cacophony of screeching cockatoos

Criss crossing the cloudless azure

Above the creek revealing its dry stony bed

The sultry vapours of the eucalyptus

Feeding each tentative breath

In the hot and torrid afternoon

Bush bashing impressions

Evanescent memories captured

Of a picnic day at Eppalock

Generously sharing its peace and beauty

All this taken in fleeting moments

Makes it an unforgettable day to remember

 

Lucette C. Bailliet ©

Mornings

mornings are overrated

early risers have been

the bane of my life

they're so chirpy 

about morn delights

the bracing energy

of dawn's light

one comes to doubt 

one's owlish nature

and gives it a try

the first three hours

are so busy to rush up

to be there to welcome

noon and its cohort

that it is much better

to not bother about them

then the following ones 

wait in passive attendance

to go back to their slumber

there's not much more

to add to mornings

mornings are so overrated.

Lucette C. Bailliet ©