Behind Curtains

‘There’s no perfect life. There’s always something going on behind the curtain that people don’t know about.’ Madelaine Petsch ( Read more at: Brainy Quote )

Longing for time’s
healing
behind curtains
memory eye lids
open and shut
portals
between loss
and renewal.

Yesterday’s grief buzzes in
through the window
suffering gives
wings
of pain’s unraveled
mystery.

The insider wills
yesterday to fly
beyond the
decay of the
human heart.

The sting of understanding
within the sun’s
light
streaming in through the
window
of the open curtains,
invites
the curious outsider
into the room of the
unknown.

(c) June Perkins

Developing the idea from Evening similes, I continued on with the curtain image.

1- I looked to a quotation for inspiration
2- I thought about the idea in my original poem the Pandora’s box of memory and worked on expanding that idea.
3- I went for metaphor more than simile.
4- I thought about the themes of healing, time and grief.

Extending Evening Similies

Curtains of Mystery

Curtains are like
eye lids that
open and shut.

Eye lids are
bridges
between night and day.

Day is longing
for freedom to
dream.

Dream is unpicking
the thread of
daylight
meaning.

Meaning is
smiling
its mystery.

(c) June Perkins 27/ 04/2019

These blogs are to explore the editing process from initial idea
to playful experimentation with both theme and form to create a piece
that the poet is finally happy with.

I am revisiting old notebook/blog poems and developing them

Today’s experiment with ‘Evening Similes’ involved
1- Extending metaphors of some parts
2- Playing with the lines
3- Thinking more closely about the links from stanza to stanza
4- Re-titling the poem to ‘Curtains of Mystery’

I hope some of my readers find this sharing of process informative
and helpful to their own poetic journeys.

Island Borders – Journal poems 1995

fieldtasmania
Fields of Tasmania (c) June Perkins

Inspired by Ali’s post I am exploring some of my journal poems going back to 25 years ago. I found a black journal with a red spine with an index to poetry pages. The year was 1995.

Island Borders
push in around my soul
squeezing out the joy
I found in you.

Labels of types could
spring so easily to mind.

The thought of leaving this place
could rid me of this insecure need
for island borders.

Here I know people
who spend all their time in one town,
rarely venturing out 50 kilometres beyond
what they know.
I know people who will never experience
aeroplane flight.

Here I know growing
country towns with pubs and
new shopping centres
young families broken
elderly people retired
at Sandy Bay. Young drunks
who hang out in Launceston’s City Mall
on Saturday nights
and at Milk bars along the Midlands.

Some people are kind
and others push you if you’re black
and your boyfriend is white;
they pull your hands away with such hate.
They still believe in the ‘Black line’

And they believe these lush green hills were
always theirs to own because of their birth right
because of their colour.
Theirs, theirs,
not yours or mine.

They can have their island borders
parameters and lines
and flat earth
their labels and types
their black line
their country pubs
their hate.

I will find a joy
not in place
but in spirit
a new love
a new dream
where everywhere is home
there are no borders, no islands
lines on my map disappear.

(c) June Perkins