Home isn’t only four walls and a roof.

Home isn’t always two eyes and a soul.

Home is here.

Home is everywhere.

You are home.


In this body.

You are home.

Take good care of it.  





Moss Green


Green is the color. Moss green of flourishing trees and shrubs of a forest,
with vivid beauty and greenery everywhere.

Moss is the blanket over rocks and faded paths, the coating of a rusted car in abandonment, and a climber of trees and vines.

A color of habitats and tranquil places, a carpet among trees and river beds, and a companion of mountains and ancient statues.

Moss green of forests, moss green of habitats, moss green of greenery everywhere.

A Happiness Jar



2017 is coming to an end, And finally, it’s come to this. 

My Happiness Jar. 
Inside, it holds a record of all the happy moments of 2017.

Every time I felt happy, Or something good happened. I’d write it
down on a piece of paper, And pop it in this jar.

Come New Year’s Eve, I read and review all the amazing things that happened this year.

I’ll be participating again in 2018, as this has had a positive impact on my mental health and wellbeing. 

If you too struggle with Anxiety or Depression. A Happiness Jar would be a great idea for you to try in 2018.

Happy New Year, And may 2018 be a year of good.



In Loving Memory


Dad, this world won’t be the same without your shit-stirring,
humor, talent, and love. 

Dad passed away peacefully on March 31, surrounded by
loving family members. He was taken care of by a
group of wonderful Nurses, who took care of him right until the
end, and made him comfortable and without pain.

He will be missed dearly, and though it breaks my heart that
he is gone, he was an adored man by many, and a beloved father.
I regret not spending more time with him, if only I knew time would
be cut short. Though I am fortunate to have spent those
final moments with, and to say goodbye to him. 

I’ll miss Dad’s big cheeky grin, his laugh, his stories, his shit-stirring,
seeing him enjoying ABBA and Creedence, seeing him beam whenever he talked about fishing, camping, or gold, and giving him the biggest hugs,
a Dad’s hugs are like no other.

Because of Dad, I have some amazing camping/fishing experiences
that are some of my best memories. Dad was like a big kid, always
making jokes, having a laugh, and was the worlds biggest shit-stirrer,
Dad was a gentle, patient man, yet who swore like a sailor. He adored
animals, and treated them like royalty. He didn’t do a lot of cooking, but
what he did cook, always tasted damn good, especially his camp fire
roast pork. Dad was also a talented man, a brick-layer and concreter,
who helped build houses and buildings around Ballarat, Daylesford, And Werribee.

Some of Dad’s final words to me were ‘Be good Lyd, Be a good girl’,
My last words to Dad were ‘Rest well, Dad’,
Dad, wherever you are, rest peacefully, And I’ll see you again
someday. I hope you are as much of a shit-stirrer up there,
as you were here. Love you so much, Dad

Say hello to Pop for me, love from your youngest.



An eerie silence echoes through the creaking

Their is nobody home, And no soul to sing
or paint life into the air. No busy
kitchen, with tea and coffee, or
cookies and milk. Their is no light
in the fireplace, And no laughter
in the once lively kitchen.

Furniture still sits within unused rooms,
covered with dust, As though abandoned and forgotten.
Beds are made, but why bother?
Nobody sleeps in the beds, nobody has for ages.

Ambiance roams throughout, causing
a ghost-like atmosphere. It is cold, lifeless,
and empty.

This isn’t a home anymore of memories.

This is just an old house without life. 

Withering away. 




I Write For Euphoria

Remember the joy of Christmas morning as a child?
I do.
But eventually, Christmas Day became another ordinary day,
And that special morning joy, stopped around the age of 12-13.
Which is why I write.
It is the euphoria of writing that makes me come
back time and time again to a blank page, and attempt to
fill that page with magic.
When I write, it feels like joy on a Christmas
morning again. I write because it makes me happy,
And because it is a yearning, a need, something I must do.
Aside from euphoric emotions, it is writing
that can turn even tragedy, misfortune, and heartache,
into something beautiful. And in a world populated by
troubles, happiness is like a rare gem to find.
Do what makes you happy.
What do you love about writing? 
Let me know! 

Nightmare Of A Cold Dead Earth

An endless solitude fill dark lonely streets.
No noisy motorcars, And no busy hustling of humans.
Only utter silence all and everywhere.
Nothing here is what it used to be.
Where skylines made of tall buildings once stood,
highlighting with brilliance and beauty, crumbled
to dead statues in the distance. Grey and silent.
Where lavish homes and busy streets once stood,
Lively with people and spirit, ruined to dilapidated
slump. Broken and abandoned.
Nothing here is what it used to be.
Fore, Earth is a cold, dead place.

Night Beauty


The world is most beautiful between the earliest hours of a morning; one and three am.
When the world is fast asleep, And a thousand stars are your personal think-space.
Where you explore the deepest questions of life, And ponder the ways of the universe.
It is here you find perfect peace.
Free and alone, When the world is silent.