Monthly Archives: May 2011



Silence speaks, in volumes that ripple their thick base notes across the surface of my heart.

In silence swims the essence of memory, a slippery persistent fish, nibbling nerve endings of raw, familiar sorrows.

Silence rains with the gentle patter of teardrops against the windows of my dreams.

Oh, silence, too heavy to bear, so cruel a curse, the weapon of choice for a fearful soul. Silence, the sound of fear and woundedness, it cringes in the shadows, and torments itself.

Silence trembles waiting in the doorway, afraid to take that next small step, a limbic dance between then and now.

Silence, the humbling voice of truth, echoes across self deception, and is heard in the cold glassy voice of mirrors past and present, mirrors I have known and loved. self consciously reflecting what it hurts too much to hear.

Silence is the vacuum, a pulsing void of the unknown waiting to become known. Listen… as silence speaks, It is the language of the dead whispering secrets across the veil, icy words to remind and haunt, elusive answers dangling between unspoken lines.

Silence speaks in sameness, in difference,

Silence stands alone without keys to break its own code, an insurmountable wall, a deafening presence. Yet Silence at its worst cannot survive without the spirit of another to shine light into its darkness and kiss meaning onto its cold lips.

But silence has its sunset and sunrise.
It is the falling sun, and the awakening moon.
Silence holds a music of its own,
It dances in the light
And rings with hope,
Like birdsong in the dark hours
Before dawn.

Silence is a gift,
A healing touch…
A solace to the mind;
The herald of the now.

An affirmation of distance,
Invisible hands that push away,
Yet in a change of heart
A beckoning of souls,
The drawing near
Of intimacy,
A holy communion.

Silence bristles with passion,
The connecting force
That vibrates the chords
Between two hearts,
A living entity,
Rich with meaning.

Silence with soul, breathes
The song of the living,
The turn of the seasons,
The waiting breath for a baby’s cry,
The resting place for a body
Whose being walks another plane.

Silence holds power.
The Master musician knows.
In that instant between two notes
The silence dwells,
Defines their diversity and
Enhances the beauty of their union.

Silence is the tide
Between all islands,
A portent of emotion,
The song of the heavens,
And the swell of the heart,
Silence, whose connecting force
Tunes the keys of all instruments,
Lives, and its unsung harmony endures
Beyond life’s symphony, through the final curtain fall.










Come In Out of the Cold …

 Wednesday 25th May 2011  

The aroma of home made soup drifts across the road to the car park to greet me as I unpack my gear from the car.  It is like a sensory welcome “home” reaching out along the street to call anyone within range.  “Come in out of the cold.”   And while it is still quite balmy weather for this late in Autumn, the hint of chill in the wind reminds us that Winter is almost upon us and the comfort days of soup and hot fires are imminent.  And I have to say, there is no better place to indulge in such comfort than by the fire at the Old Post Office Tearooms.

How like soup, such humble fare, to still have the power to evoke all kinds of memories and feelings from so many corners of our lives, not the least of which  is “home”.    Who can forget the healing warmth of chicken soup, or the rich depth of pea and ham, the stuff that true sustenance is made of!   Can you remember the soup that your Mother used to make?   Or your grandmother?   There is something quite symbolic about placing so many tiny elements together to create something new, something even tastier or grander than the sum of its components…   Today’s offering – sweet potato, carrot and ginger soup with it’s cashew nut cream and coriander topping is a mouthwatering invitation to anyone walking past, to come into the warmth of the Cafe.

And so I do.   But lucky me, I get to be here in this warmth and home-ness for many hours today, to soak it up on all levels and just sit quietly with my thoughts.

A Place of My Own

I have smugly grabbed the “green couch”, because that is the perfect home away from home.   Lumpy, deep, soft – the kind of couch you really DO have trouble getting out of, not just because it’s set low, but because it is so homely and comforting, your body defies any commands to rise and leave.    This is where I will spend my time with laptop and notepad today, while inhaling the aromas from the kitchen.

Kind Hearts and Good Food

The girls are incredibly busy.   Brenda is away, and Caitlin and Heidi are running back and forth, weaving in and out of the tiny kitchen and the throng of customers, with a sense of purpose, yet calm.   I admire people who can remain so serene with the pressure of many waiting for their attention.   If it was me, I would be feeling a little stressed, right about now!   But waiting does not seem to be a problem here…it is a gift.  To me, waiting is part of the joy of just sitting in this lovely old building, taking in the energies of an establishment that produces all of its fare “with love” together with so many pieces of history and art, all brewed together, like soup, if you will, and served up in the warm bowl of the present moment.     I would not wish to be waiting anywhere else!  

There are quite a few little notes laying on the tables today.   People HAVE picked up the pens and notepads I left here last week and shared a few thoughts…. Humorous, whimsical, reflective or otherwise… just little pieces of their stories as they pass through here.    Little folds of someone’s truth, if you will….

“Roses are red, violets are blue,

So goes the age old rhyme;

But I know violets are red, and roses are blue –

I’ve seen them hanging on the line.”


A Red Teapot and a few Words

“With a bright cheery red pot to keep me company,

My back is warmed by the fire and company.

Baked spud!!!!  




“I know you believe you heard what you thought I’d said,

But I’m not sure if you realise that what you heard is not what I meant”

Work this out!!!

(Edie and Dot)

Lovingly Prepared Hot Food

“Cosy, nice place

With delicious, warm food.

A great start to our holiday”

(Dominic and Yoke May,  KL, Malaysia)


“Sydney I tell of

the bays, the oceans,

Where ideas splash and children laugh;

And tell of the biggest coffee cup

That I drank in the Old Post Office

In Busselton”

(Liz Ryan)



She sits by the fire with her damp hair from the rain,

Gazing  out the French windows,

As her feet warm through her patent leather shoes

By the fire.

She daydreams of her son’s wedding as

Cars hurry by in the rain.

Soup is served,

Music plays the flower duet.

She sighs and thinks ‘this reminds me of England’

And says out loud ‘gee, I miss my Dad.”





Be happy.       

A Delicious Gift

Do I confess what I ate here today?   I am not sure if this will be a good habit to get into, because anyone reading might assume far too much about me.   But the chocolate cake…..sigh….. the chocolate cake………    need I say more?

As I pack up my things to leave, a customer rushes back into the counter to say goodbye to the girls….. “Thank you” she says, “That was the most beautiful soup I have ever had – I was so cold and it has warmed me thoroughly.”  

And so it is.







I read between the lines
And glimpse the many colours that are shadowed within
So hard to fold one’s truth
Into such tiny places.
But that is the way life’s laundry gets placed,
The sunshine folded into sheets
And stored within lines for a rainy tomorrow.
Minute corners of comfort
Protrude between the lines of our story
Year after year after year.
Today, I pull the blanket of truth
From its hidden place
And shake out its many folds,
Unfurling its colours to the wind,
Airing the frays and tears in the
Interwoven threads of a soul’s journey.
I spread it on the Earth,
A multi-coloured landscape
A resting place to come home to
A place to lay a weary body.
I take the well worn edges and draw its
Heavy warmth around my trembling shoulders.
Fingers feel the softness and touch with tenderness
That which is constant.
Like a child enswathed, hidden and safe,
I fold myself in the comfort of truth
And close my eyes.

There are wide spaces between the lines now
And I glimpsed the tattered edges
Of your truth hiding there.
It is time for you to take out your blanket
Caress with love its tears and frays,
Wrap it around your shoulders
To keep the cold at bay.

Is it possible
That we can appreciate the beauty of another’s blanket?
In the dark night of our journey
When the lines drift free with no space in between,
Can we feel the warmth and wonder
In the folds of each other’s truth?

(wendy slee)



Hope still walks beside me on the road
Her gentle company eases the miles
And lightens the load a little.
On days of unwashed clothes and unkempt hair
She sometimes seems a little unprepared,
Yet mismatched shoes can still skip
And callused hands can still warm to the touch
Of love’s tender potential.
Some days her mind seems elsewhere
But when our eyes meet,
She is quick to smile,
And through her windows
The light burns brightly
For anyone who cares to share.
Hope is never pretty
But always beautiful,
She is a silhouette in an open doorway,
A soft touch as sleep dissolves
A memory that lingers in the folds of your heart.
She is the exhale of a sigh,
The softening of shoulders
To imagined caress,
The trickle of water at the source
Of a mighty river.
Hope never looks in the mirror,
Indeed, she looks beyond,
For she holds her own reflection
In a place I have yet to find.
Sometimes weary,
She falls behind,
Engulfed in the shadows of the past;
Sits down to rest in the settling dust.
A time-worn traveller, she fades from my view
As I continue on unaware.
Somewhere in the chill
I miss her hand in mine
And sit down by the roadside to wait.
In the stillness,
The road continues to pass me by
And if I close my eyes I can be
Wherever I wish to go and whomever
I choose to be,
Yet somehow the one I open my eyes to
Is me.
In these fragile precious moments
When quiet enters me and wraps my soul
In the solace of silence
And the road has lost its urgency,
I look up to find her standing there.
We hug
Old friends,
The holding hands, continue on our way.
Some days Hope takes her own path,
But most days, she still walks beside me.
She lives in me
And I live in Hope…


The Cafe Poet Journey Begins…

Wednesday 18th May

Yahava, roses and a pen  Well here we go … got the coffee, got the pen and paper, got a good spot at the window, signs are posted …and….

Darn!  Only ten minutes to school pick up, so I had better not get too comfortable!    Or open up any channels to an inspirational word flow.

Where did the time go!  Must be somewhere in the middle of that having fun thing!  Because today I started something that was indeed “fun” for me.

 So, this is it folks, I am officially now the Café Poet for the Old Post Office Tearooms at the Artgeo cultural complex.   Today was more about setting up a plan of action, the conception of great ideas, and … having official photos taken.  Oh yes, this lady who is more recognizable with a Nikon over her face than not, has had the tables turned (bad pun for a coffee shop full of fine china, I know!) and made to endure a photo session at the hands of the local press (thanks Derek!).     times copy

 How did this all happen?   I can thank Brenda for this initiative.  It was her desire to have a “poet” for her café, so upon her invitation, we put in a submission to Poetry Australia to take part in the national program that places poets in coffee shops around the country.   I have to confess that when Brenda mentioned it to me, and I went onto the Poetry Australia website to learn more, I did get excited – the whole idea of having some time each week dedicated to writing, and to mingling with those who appreciate the written word, was a most attractive thought.   Add to that, the thought of doing this at one of my favourite cafés, one of my favourite cafés with CAKE…..and you can imagine I did not hold back in saying “yes please”!

So what do I have planned?   At present, I intend to be at the café on a Wednesday afternoon each week, from 1 till 3pm so that anyone in the community that wishes to join me, to write, to read, to share poetry, can do so.   I hope to provide a space where all who love poetry and prose, can get together and share their words and thoughts, and be inspired.  

The chocolate cake awaits...

Chocolate and Roses

Many years ago, I had a small writers’ group in town, and it ran for several years and was enjoyed by a dedicated group of people who wanted to write, and share their stories and thoughts.   I hope to attract similar people again to meet over coffee (and Brenda’s famous cakes) and provide an added dimension to the cultural centre that is ArtGeo, the old courthouse and the Old Post Office Tearooms.

I look forward to the weeks ahead, and to seeing you here soon!

ArtGeo Courthouse Gallery

ArtGeo Courthouse Gallery in Queen Street