Loved by a Poet

It isn’t easy

People think it might be romantic

It is also hard, difficult to decipher and full of land mines,

Sink holes that can open up beneath a man’s feet in a quiet moment when he is just trying to read the paper

Because first of all a Poet thinks


Her mind working at levels great and small

At her best she is almost untouchable, rare and strange

utterly  enchanting him again and again

never growing old

or stale

At her worst she is unfathomable, combustible

prone to over thinking everyone around her

Worst of all him

In those times

He wishes her mind wouldn’t think of him at all

Poets notice everything

their minds run like reams on a spool

at any moment it could spin backwards

to a Friday afternoon mid Winter

ten years ago

and something that was said in haste


ink to paper in that brain that never forgets

it appears in her eyes



in the present

she produces art from it

a rough draft of which is enough to sweep the legs from beneath

both of them

Everything is forgiven

Nothing is forgotten

Not the sweetest

Not the rotten

Every memory

Lies like fire wood


Thrown onto a furnace somewhere

Memories that warm and glow

A flower picked from a row outside a building

Passed to her as he slid into the car

At his busiest, with phone to ear

He thought of her as he walked by something pretty

long after the little flower withers

it blooms in her mind

That moment

Cost him nothing

Yet he handed her diamonds

Brains work differently in wordsmiths

The iron for hammering is endless

Been around for centuries

worked over by far greater minds then hers

She used to think his clicked along in a similar fashion

Now she knows

It is completely different

As he sits in the sunshine

Form guide to hand

Bible with tips spread

Pages dog eared

He is thinking of nothing more than picking a favorite horse

A winner of course

She is thinking of the racing industry as a whole

what it does to the souls

of equine and men

And prone at any moment to bring it up again

or perhaps instead

lightly pick  a name

as easily as a bird dives on its prey

how does she do that and wander away

while he chew his pen

and considers the other things

he wishes she hadn’t said

and circles

Poetic Charmer 1.30


in red


*He would be mad not to pick it. Winners don’t come from books written 5 days ago and sold in the newsagency (unless they’re poetry books) the best punters listen to the ether, jumbled conversations, a name mentioned twice, drops and turns on the dice. They roll with their guts, the quiet voice inside and even though I couldn’t give a jot for the racing industry, I’m usually luckier than not because in a high energy moment I can pick, pick, pluck like a musician playing from the mind. Magic – is always in the moment, never from a form guide.

Anyway 🙂

Let’s change the subject.

*Header photo is one of a series of photos I had taken by Sophie White, a local photographer. None of my social and professional platforms were cohesive, it was a mess that I suddenly got tired of so I rang her to come take some photos. Luckily she was able to fit me in and within the hour we were tromping around the back paddock. Sophie did such a great job, I’m not photogenic at all and as you can see – not exactly prone to make up or fuss either, so I don’t help myself out in that department. The dress was chosen because it matched the colors outside. My face is aging and my spirit is not meant to be caught in a freeze frame moment. As a photographer myself,  I have a strange aversion to appearing in front of the camera.

I don’t think I’m alone in that.

There is a dissonance that occurs between how we feel on the outside and how we appear on a screen that frustrates me time and again, particularly as we grow older. I will be 80 years old and will no doubt feel the same – forever youthful. Sophie caught my spirit, I’m so grateful to have these lovely photos to stand up behind now across my professional and personal platforms. So glad I made the decision to have it done.

I think everyone should, if able, spend the time and money on a good photographer. Our worlds are increasingly digital. We cannot reach out and meet people the other side of the world in human form – good images that tell our story along with our words are important. Even if it is just one afternoon as the winter fell away to spring. As a human being. It’s nice to be captured in that moment. I can live there for a couple of years.

35 thoughts on “Loved by a Poet

  1. Lovely words and lovely lady. I do agree with you wholeheartedly as a photographer I too hate having my picture taken and am not prone to buying beauty in boxes and tubes. 😊

  2. “Every memory lies like firewood stacked…” my friend, I want to quote all your lines. What a beautiful love story. It’s as if I’m reading my own mind at times, yet, I don’t have the words. It makes my soul and face smile that I understand your language. I’ve spent a few times at the races myself ;-). My Father was obsessed (and still is).

  3. Absolutely lovely 😍 thank you for sharing!! Your personal journey at the end is something I goo can relate too. This year I have been working hard to make everI do more cohesive on all fronts along with professional pictures. Good for you, you look amazing 👏 💗🙌

  4. Love the pics! The poem was so good, I could really relate to the racing industry and destroyed souls, and not to mention the poet who remembers, sees and interprets everything 👌❤️

    • I feel like I’m a deer in the sites of a gun. Sophie was lovely. She is used to dealing with it and once I saw the results I realised oh – just get a good professional and never go any other way again!

  5. I really feel for this poem. Two people with different insights and views, while they still have each other in mind. It is always great when people find success from their hard work. The picture of you is gorgeous! LOVE how it looks all around!! Looks so surreal. I CAN RELATE TO YOU!!! I feel like I look worse on pictures than real life lol. I am like dang… I really look like that in pictures?!

    Nancy ✨

    • I know right! I’m okay with the woman in the mirror we get along okay but snap a photo of me and I’m like “who is this imposter?” Thankfully these turned out well and actually I’m a little in love with myself which is such a beautiful thing at soon to be 48 summers old.

Leave a Reply