Saturday, 19 October 2013

Ethereal Love

My Love...

Every day of my life
I have felt you
and yet you are not here;
just a revolving door of imposters.

You know…

I have been loved for my looks,
a pretty accessory;
but it didn’t last,
there is always one prettier

I have been loved for my body,
when it was sleek and finely tuned;
but it didn’t last,
there is always one sleeker

I have been loved for my house by the bay,
beautifully renovated at my hand;
but it didn’t last,
once sold, they moved on

I have been loved for my position,
considered by others of importance;
but it didn’t last,
there is always one more important

I have been loved for my sense of humour,
the ability to drag another from darkness;
but it didn’t last,
there is always one lighter

I have been loved for my mind,
my determination to help another succeed;
but it didn’t last,
once successful, they departed

And I too have been guilty
of being entranced by looks, power and status;
but it was never going to last,
because they were not you

Oh my love...

How I ache to see you,
touch you,
make love with you;
please come home…

... the side door is open

(c) Dianne Traynor  7 August 2012

Monday, 23 September 2013


There will be times ...

when I annoy you
when you cannot understand my behaviour
when I will frustrate you
when I will want to run away and be by myself
when I want to be so close that you may feel smothered
when you don't even want to talk to me
and when you wonder why we got together in the first place

But I promise you ...

I will always love you, whatever your mood or size or age
I will make you laugh, even when you are angry
I will be faithful, although others may try to lure me away
I will be at your side, when you need me
I will keep you warm, when the world outside feels cold and lonely
I will never leave you wondering how I feel about you
and I will happily spend my days with you until my last breath

I am love
wrapped in a fur coat
and I am yours

(c) Dianne Traynor 24 September 2013

Wednesday, 18 September 2013

The Orchard

Air hit my ear from the hurried flight of the bird
The bird scurrying from tree to tree as if the Town Crier
Leaves swayed in unison at the excited chatter
As if nature was declaring the story be told

It was the story of an orchard
An orchard where it is said
That if two lovers declare their united devotion
Then they will be blessed

Blessed by the heavens above and the earth below
The earth upon which blossoms will fall to cover any cracks in their path
Their path that leads to where the angels sit in wait amidst the trees
The trees that will forever protect their love

It is said that in this orchard
Should the sun shine, it is a kiss from the heavens
And should it rain, the beloveds will not be cold
Because it is not rain but tears of joy falling from lovers past, and passed

Ah, it is the orchard
Where love is rooted to the earth
Kissed by the heavens
And lovers are eternally bound

(c) Dianne Traynor 18 September 2013

Wednesday, 31 July 2013


As I walked into the room
I wondered who this was
Such a small woman
Sitting in a lonely little chair
Trying to find the end of a straw
Balancing precariously in a little plastic cup of tea

She didn't even look up
No life in her eyes
Just a blanket of hopelessness
Draped over her shoulders
Tremors wracking her frail frame
Like a violent thunderstorm shaking a once strong Oak

"I love you"
I heard myself say
"Don't cry for me when I am gone"
Came whispering back
And I felt my heart breaking into a thousand pieces
Witnessing the pain etched into her tiny face

As I looked about
All I could see
Was the oxygen tank
And the dark bruises lengthening on her arms and legs
It was as if a banner of misery
Hung in defeat

Gathering a cup
I removed her teeth and cleaned them
Reaching for a comb
I tended her hair
Lovingly sliding the clips
I touched her face and prayed

A thousand memories
Raced through my mind
She took me on the train to the city as a child
She took a job in a riverside cafe
Just so that I could play netball by the river
And I wanted to go back

Back to the house
Where I gardened alongside her
Back to the Christmas
Where I took her to the beach and we laughed
Back to all those treasured memories
When health was her friend and there was still time

Taking the deepest breath
I reminded her of the last two times
She felt she would not recover and she lost hope
Yet we made it through
She looked directly at me and said
"I won't be coming back this time"

All air escaped me
My legs turned to jelly
My mind wept
Yet I smiled at her beautiful little face
Cupped it in my hands and said
"I love you"

As I walked through the corridors
I know so well now
All I could think about was the suffering she has endured
Over the last four years
And I took my ticket on the emotional rollercoaster
All the way home

I couldn't help but wonder
Why is it so challenging for some?
Kind in deed
Good of heart
The world is a better place because she is part of it

And I feel so blessed
To call this once strong and formidable woman
Now sitting in a lonely little chair
So tiny and so frail
Just wanting peace
My beautiful mother

May God
Or the Universe
Or whatever higher power
Is out there
Bring you peace
"I love you so much Mum"

(c) Dianne Traynor 1 August 2013

The Gift (of writing poetry)

You write what you feel
What often goes unsaid
Words hidden away
Emotions desperately needing expression

In love with another
You suspect does not return the feeling?
You let it out on paper
Too fearful to ask the question

Suffering another's pain
Unable to let them see how much you are hurting?
You place words lovingly in a diary
So that you can be strong in their presence

Excited at a new love
Passion stimulating every fibre of your being?
You frantically scribble feelings
Not wanting to scare them away with your enthusiasm

Writing poetry
Is raw truth
But the reader never really knows
Is it you? Or do you speak of another?

It is the closest one person can get
To his deepest thoughts and feelings
To his very soul

Fear of criticism or rejection
Must not stand in your way
It is the gateway
To freedom

It is a gift
to yourself
from yourself
and from all that truly matters

(c) Dianne Traynor 1 August 2013