Zombie Baby – A Halloween Special


SHhhhh, stoke the fire,

pull up a place,

Gaze upon my baby’s face,

Grab a log and take a seat,

Let’s tell some stories,

let’s talk of freaks,

These are my boys,

Don’t be afraid,

Let’s take someone else,

Into the glade,

Keep minds open,

And keep them keen,

Between them and I,

We’ll rip out your spleen,

The baby that sits,

in the pram is not nice,

He put his mothers,

Heart upon ice,

But I loved him and held him,

And as God would have said,

A  mother’s child,

should always be fed,

One day we slept,

His head in my neck,

He watched

’til my breath,

Came close to death,

He tilted his hips,

and pushed up his ribs,

And put his lips on,

Where my pulse lives,

Baring his fangs and rolling his eyes,

He sunk his teeth in,

To my jugular line,

He ripped it apart,

and shredded my veins,

He gnawed and he thrashed,

like the insane.

The thing that was quiet,

That nobody knew,

His father was dead,

When mother was due,

Zombie baby,

had only one way,

And that was solely,

To take life away.

Now we connect,

like pieces of pie,

But I only wish,

That I could have died.


Gum Trees and Walnut glades


One Spring Vorn convinced me to rough it in the Dargo High Plains with him for three days. We each took back packs filled with minimum supplies; including a  spare set of clothes, sleeping bags, a hoochie (a tarp for sleeping under), and army rations.

When Vorn’s father dropped us off at the foot of the Mountain, I remember seeing groves of lush, majestic trees lining the valley. They seemed to be at odds with the Australian bush that scattered the slopes above us and I was curious as to what they were. Vorn’s dad told me that they were century-old walnuts trees. I regarded them with interest and their age truly did appear to be etched in the rough bark of their trunks. Their gnarled branches reached outwards and downwards forming beautiful green canopies that would soon produce the delicious treasures that the Ancients believed to be “the nuts of the Gods”. We picked a poor excuse for a path and started our journey into the rugged terrain. The bush was marvelous  dry but green, harsh but beautiful and the first leg of our journey was all up hill.

On our first night, we pitched our Hoochie, just a piece of tarp stretched low over two trees, and built a fire to boil water for our evening meal. The ham and pineapple freeze dried food we had bought from the Army Disposal shop tasted like vomit, so we disappointedly cooked some plain rice in its place. Exhausted from our five hour hike we slept soundly despite the rain pattering on our humble sanctuary, and it didn’t seem long before the sun signaled the voices of a chorus of birds and drew out the aromatic particles from the moist earth to release them into the air.

Our camp had been set near the Dargo River and Vorn decided to go for a bathe. I watched him peel off his clothes and wade boldly into the water and then prostrate himself in the middle of the river without hesitation or trepidation against the cold. I however, gingerly tiptoed over the uneven rocks towards him. As the freezing water reached my waist, I sucked my stomach in as if to avoid its icy fingers. I cupped my hands into the water and tipped it over my face and let it run through my hair. The water was so cold, unexpectedly cold, and I hurriedly concluded my sluice without the vigorous enjoyment that Vorn appeared to be experiencing.

Vorn tending our fire for morning riceBreakfast was rice again; we had given up on Army food. And afterward we lay in the morning sun while the steam rose from our drying tarp and the smell of eucalyptus streamed from the gum leaves clearing our noses and pervading our lungs. We felt wholesome and energized.

When we eventually stepped out our nesting glade and gazed upwards once again, ours eyes were met by a steep and jagged path. Much of it was covered in uneven rocks and I remember the fatigue in my legs as I resolutely dug my toes into its unforgiving pitch. Vorn walked a little way ahead but turned periodically to encourage me and we were able to keep a steady pace to reach our destination within a few hours. The rise opened out into a plateau and we were encountered by a panoramic view of clear blue sky, a skirt of tree tops running down the slopes and a deeper ring of green signifying the walnuts nestled in the valley below. Words were not necessary and we held each other in silence and wonder at the world we were lucky to be within.



It’s nice to be thought of as a “Versatile Blogger”!


Daan over at http://www.ifkknrokk.com/about  has nominated me for this award and I ‘m  flattered that he sees my writing in this way.

I have only recently started visiting Daan’s blog and I find his posts to be filled with wisdom, love and humour. Daan is conquering his own battle with  Dysthymia (Neurotic Depression)  and purports to be “doing it well”.

As an example of the way his mind works, I have included this proverb from a recent post of his http://www.ifkknrokk.com/rants/philosophy/325/proverb-people-pain-growth/ :

“There are three kinds of people in this world:

People who have fallen and risen again;

People who have fallen and pretend to have risen again;

And people who have always laid down.”

Thank you Daan for sending some of your positive light my way, and to my much appreciated blogging community and reader friends, pay him a visit….I’m sure you will will see why he is worth a chunk of your time and subscription.

Passing the award forward, these people are the ones I would like to nominate as “Versatile Bloggers”. Please take the time to have a look if you if you have a bit of spare time up your sleeve.











Versatile Blogger Award pay it forward rules:

1) Thank person who nominated you, include a link to their blog, include an image of the award in your post.
2) Give seven random facts about yourself
3) Nominate 10 bloggers for the award to pay it forward to.

My Seven Random Facts:

  1. I love watching scary or supernatural movies.
  2.  I like to paint but only get random artistic bursts
  3. I often dream that I can fly and wake up and believe it for about 30 seconds.
  4. I am definitely not an early riser by choice.
  5. I strongly believe in Karma
  6.  I have a hell of a lot more to write about…good and bad
  7. I always wished I could be Jeannie from “I Dream of Jeannie.

A Belated Appreciation of a lovely Award


Jofelyn please forgive me. You honored me with this award well over a month ago. I am thrilled to accept. To be thought of as inspiring     is such a great compliment and I don’t think I have ever been told that before…so thank you very very much.

For those that have not yet visited Jofelyn’s Blog, you must visit the beautiful world she has created with both her art and her words.  Her paintings are vibrant and full of life but in her posts she breaths even more life into them with her beautifully woven words.

Lately, I haven’t had much time to blog hop and I have so much to catch up on including yours Jofelyn.

Please join me and enter into this little oasis for the mind.


I am inspired by a myriad of blogs for many different reasons. Some for those that struggle with mental health and are brave enough to share daily battles, tears and tragic events, some because their words or art often bring me to tears for their beauty and others because their clever take on life events make me either laugh or think about things more deeply or from a different point of view. Here is but a few of some of these wonderful blogs….in no particular order:

Very Inspiring Blogger Award Rules

1.Display the award logo on your blog.
2.Link back to the person who nominated you.
3.State 7 things about yourself.
4.Nominate 15 other bloggers for this award and link to them.
5.Notify those bloggers of the nomination and the award’s requirements.

















7  Things About Me

  1. I used to be a Jillaroo (Female version of a Jackaroo)
  2. I absolutely loooove horses.
  3. I love to dance…Latin, Ballroom but Salsa is my favorite
  4. I am a Gemini
  5. I am a terrible housekeeper
  6. I have a degree in Accounting and Economics
  7. I enjoy listening to Santana


Thanks again Jofelyn xxxx

When Love was as easy as Breathing


I can’t remember how long it was before we got in touch again; whether he called me that night, the next day or if I had to wait until our next lesson. He was on my mind constantly and when we next saw each other, it felt so natural. We decided to continue his dance lessons “privately” (another teaching taboo) and we met several nights a week in his little flat in St Kilda.

Recently, Vorn had taken a job as a security guard at the Highett in Melbourne; a job that he despised as much as the many thugs that he both worked with and was employed to “handle”; a job that he tolerated solely for the money. By this stage I think he had achieved his First Dan and I was fascinated to watch the fluidity of his Kadre and the beauty of his body at work. Vorn taught me a few combinations for my own self defence and we practiced them, enjoying the physicality of his lessons.

After a few weeks, Vorn gave me a key to his flat and I would sometimes arrive before he got home. I took great joy in cooking for him whenever I could and everything I did was met with great appreciation. No one had ever treated me like this before. On our third month anniversary, I decided to give him a surprise present. When he opened the door to his flat, I was waiting for him in high heels and nothing else but “I love you”, drawn in lipstick on my right buttock. I could hardly contain my giggles as I heard the keys jiggling in the lock and his surprise turned to peals of laughter when he saw my “love letter”.

Falling in love was swift and blindsiding for both of us. Neither of us had expected to find feelings so incredible in another. Staying in love was as easy as breathing. We respected each other mutually and I revelled in the stories from his childhood, his experience in the army and his philosophies on life. Making love was spectacular and beautiful. Often we would fall asleep afterward in the middle of the day and I would turn my cheek to rest against his back so that the whisper of my breath woudn’t disturb the fine hairs on his smooth skin. We would wake again and make love again, eyes and bodies locked in an embrace that felt like heaven.

In this time, I took on some modelling and extra dancing for a company called “High Rise City Dancers”. It was good money if not a little shady at times but it helped to pay my rent. Mostly I modelled swimwear or lingerie but I had been also accepted by another agency for mainstream advertising contracts.

I was very excited one day when my agent called to tell me that I had been chosen out of 100’s of girls to feature in the “Big M” calendar. Back in the 80’s, Big M was the only flavoured milk advertised on such a scale in Melbourne and like Coca-Cola, was promoted by bikini clad girls frolicking on beaches making the product look like this was the kind of life you would live if you drank it.

I was ready to take the job. A few months worth of photos had already been taken and I was lined up for April when my agent called me to say that the contract had been cancelled as the photographer had wanted to take more than photos of the girls. The calendar that came out that year was abstract, with no babes, and was the last Big M calendar to be circulated. Modelling wasn’t for me. I wasn’t confident or ruthless enough to survive in that world and I put that dream to rest.


Here are two posts on souls mates that I found fascinating and also to be true for my experience visit Clark Kent at:



they are well worth a read!

The Time of my Life


….for those of you who haven’t read much of my blog before. This post is a continuation of my memoirs which start from https://jiltaroo.wordpress.com/2012/08/08/galloping-feet-on-a-lonely-road-2/. The most recent post before this one was https://jiltaroo.wordpress.com/2012/09/06/denise-friendship-loyalty-and-redemption/

Although my life had obviously now changed for the better, I had the clarity and desire to make even more positive changes. I was, I guess, directionless at this point; so I started to scour the paper in “positions vacant” for a better job.

One thing I have always enjoyed immensely, and been fascinated by, is dance. When I was very young, my parents took me to ballet lessons. For some reason, although I did well in my first exam, I didn’t continue with this art until I was in year 12. It was an effective outlet for me but I stopped again at the end of the year but the need to dance has stayed with me from there on.

One of the jobs that peaked my interest was as a ballroom and Latin dance teacher  in Melbourne. I called and after some initial discussion, was invited in for an interview. Although my experience did not extend to this form of dance, training was to be provided and I was offered the position.

I remember my first nervous attempt at teaching a group beginners’ class. I was terrified that someone would recognise the fact that my knowledge was only one step beyond theirs. Nevertheless, I soon realized that by presenting myself as a professional both in posture and composure, my students would be none the wiser. It wasn’t long before I was well beyond one step in front of my class, and my confidence no longer needed to be feigned.

As well as holding group lessons, I was also required to teach private lessons. For professional reasons, all the dance instructors were expected to fabricate a “Nom de Dance”, so I was known by my students as Miss Stevens. It was also mandatory to refer to our students as Mr, Miss or Mrs.

One afternoon, a new student was allocated to me; Mr Burns. He walked up the stairs to the studio and we made our introductions, recorded his preliminary details and discussed his expectations and goals. From the first moment I saw Mr Burns, I found it difficult to hold his gaze. I was aware that he was immensely attractive to me, and exhuded a quiet confidence that made my heart rhythms stutter and my face flush.

We commenced the first class and started with the basic steps of a modern waltz. I discovered that Mr Burns was studying a martial art called “Hapkido” and wished to improve on his balance and flow through dance. He was respectful and kind and I anticipated his next lesson with impatient distraction and a flutter in my chest.

After our second lesson, I still felt embarrassed to look into eyes. I felt sure that my attraction for him would be discovered and the professional cover of “Miss Stevens” would be melted away in all but one gaze. Much to my surprise, it was Mr Burns who was to break the spell. Quietly and evenly, he asked if I would like to meet for coffee in my lunch break and although I knew it to be against company policy, I was unable to decline his invitation.

We met later, around the corner in a little coffee shop. The vintage tables lined the wall and my heart skipped a beat to see him patiently waiting for me. Later, he admitted that he was sure that I would not come and had resigned him self to disappointment. His humility always surprised and enchanted me.

As Mr Burns didn’t actually drink coffee, I sipped at mine as we awkwardly began to get to know each other outside the boundaries of our pseudonyms. I was amused to find that he as much a Mr Burns as I was Miss Stevens and we laughed easily at the absurd formality of it all. Vorn, as I now knew him, tentatively suggested that we go to a movie together and we set a date for the next Saturday afternoon.

I love the movie “Dirty Dancing”, and I’m sure I would have regardless of who I had seen it with. However, the memory of the strong and dependable character played by Patrick Swayze, the music, dancing and romance seemed to be a prelude to what was to develop between us.

Vorn invited me home and against my usual judgement, I accepted nervously. We caught a tram back to his St Kilda flat at the pretense of a beer. The almost palpable energy of  longing between us spoke more than words or touch.

His first kiss was soft and unassuming but as he sensed my willingness, it became more inquiring and passionate. When we finally parted our seeking lips to take our senses deeper, I was enticed by the clean taste of his mouth and the delicate flicks of his smooth tongue. Every second felt sensual and meaningful and we slowly sunk to the floor in a rapture of dream-like desire.

On the way home, I reflected on the events of the evening, I felt enveloped by a magic never experienced or anticipated by me before. I had no way of knowing what was to come, but I knew we would meet again soon and I smiled with the memory of his scent and the quiver of my skin under his unhurried touch.

%d bloggers like this: