Rain.

Raindrops splatter light and irregular upon the glass as thought the chill in the air creates a reluctance to enter this atmosphere for so readily today it could turn to snow. Intermittent and undetermined, their arrival leaves one hungry for commitment, impatient for the uniformity of the solid fall of rain, the banking sweeps pushed by breeze of the gravity driven downpour. Release. Rain.

The Hunted Connection - Introduction

So many times I have gone to pen to write a piece about my incredible partner. Poetic, explanatory, argumentative, indulgent... regardless they remain unfinished and incomplete. So many semi drafts & scraps of paper escaping the pages of the present journal (in which all of my pieces tend to birth from) sadly can all be filed under "unfinished" as the journey's pace has too rapidly outrun the piece. Evolving alongside one other, continuing to grow together, these pieces rapidly fell to "outdated" even "obsolete".

Yet for however long this chapter is shared by my mighty man and I, I strongly feel it is a journey to be shared with all...for it is utterly extraordinary.

Making peace with my own expectations of self I have come to accept that in small piece, brief paragraph, even unfinished verse, I will share this with you :)

This series will be known as

"The Hunted Connection"

Each piece merely numbered prior to title so if the romantic in the audience needs to follow the order of the journey, they may :)

To quote Rumi, in the very same verse that graciously introduced my mighty man and I to one another :

"Those beautiful words we said to one another

are hidden in the secret heart of heaven.

One day, like the rain, they will pour

our love story all over the world"

Indeed, this verse is how we met.

Come with us...

Melissa Hocking 2010

Why Do We Wax?

Today in standard process and almost involuntarily, I habitually entered into the encyclopedic and systemic catalogue of hair treatment/removal: trimming, plucking, waxing, shaving, preening, volumising... Such behaviours are considered an "indulgence". And yet to inflict pain upon oneself is considered "ill". Regardless of the contradictory aspects, 'tis a stinging entry to add to the list of "things my mother never told me about being a woman"...sigh...

MH

Conspiracy

The fluid muscular flex against a powerless manipulation.
They are choking in a senseless oblivion,
The dark pall a granite fist closing in upon a core that is rapidly losing breath.

Position held in action,
Decision kept from democracy,
A people cry victim
“They didn’t tell us! They lied! They lied!”
And in a generous oratorical vomit the people gift all power to the enemy.

Identity cannot heal.
Bloodless and benign is denial.
Self pity a rancid infection and those bearing decision kneel in adoration to the powerful stench of the self proclaimed injured.
Do.
Do.
Crying, shrieking, weeping, moaning, hollering, praying, sobbing, pleading, begging, hoping…
Powerless.
Do something. Do anything.
Stand up. Flex.
Power’s delusion anxiously dissolves beneath the soft acid onslaught of true strength.
Bring change.

Melissa Hocking 2010

Little Moppet's Battle

(A little girl’s battle with leukaemia)


The temple is sweating toxicity,
Blood, Discourage.
The foundation leeches the ache of mistrust.
From another’s word a tiny body disintegrates,
Power is pillaged,
Decisions absconded.

Strength falls in segments,
Petals of innocent trust scattered beneath the weighty footfall of ignorance.
Contorted in spasm, agony in control
Hysterical,
the system shrieks coarse tones
Of despair, twisting amid the
Choices structured in humiliation,

Foundation in regret...
She reaches for relief.
A haunted gaze,
The silver sheen of transparent flesh,
The cherry stain of blood departing...

Wisdom discarded in the misconception of uneducated youth.
Shattered breath,
Wasted hearts withering.
The temple whimpers.
One deep breath before ascension
Her eyes open and grasp at the gaze of he who loves most...

Wisdom is lost eternally as one final tear crashes upon the earth.

I love you, Moppet. I thank you.

Melissa Hocking 2009

Colby Cuddles Beautiful Girl

For her birthday she wants her own special alarm clock. The reason will be nothing anticipated. Predictable she is not.
The physicality of her expression is a dance unlike any other.
She is drama without knowing what drama is,
for to her it is life.
No conversation is dull nor is it short.
She is built-in entertainment

She is all heart.

Rose bud lips part and a singing voice pervades the atmosphere, slipping into the ear as silk and drawing sweet tear upon your heart...until she recognises someone is listening.
Upon the stage she is inspiring, courageous and rich, well beyond her years.
Others look to her. All look upward.
Entering the stage she looks down,
her eyes shaded as she searches audience beneath the footlights for her mother... at each performance.

She is all heart.

She has embraced from the womb, snuggling, nuzzling, holding and cuddling,
going without falter or fear to the stranger in the room, the space, the airport, that needs attention, needs embracing the most.
She gives. She gives wholly.
She hurts completely.
Intelligent, emotionally articulate, verbally entrancing, seeming much older than her years.
She is beautiful. Beautiful. Beautiful from within.

She is all heart.

And it shows.

She is Colby Cuddles Beautiful Girl.
And I am her blessed mother.

Melissa Hocking 2010

Footnote:

Colby Alexandra Hocking is indeed my sweet, incredibly clever and talented daughter. And I am indeed her awestruck and inspired mother. Never a dull moment is spent with Col. Presently 8 years old, she has already been in a number of professional theatre productions (somewhere I would never have imagined us!) in the past two years. As talented, clever and beautiful as she is, she knows no guise or ego with it. She truly is all heart.