I am from the Bullfrogs and Butterflies album,
from the sound of the Victor,

the steady drone and thick Buffalo.
I am from the weatherboard house,
striped blinds covering glassy eyes,
hammock adorned decks,
and sun warmed lawns.

I am from towering gum trees,
passionfruit flowers, dark cool soil,
the uncurling tendrils of tree ferns,
pungent frangipanis,
and the fresh smell of rain
before it falls.

I am from epic adventures,
unrelenting determination,
from Gargi and his Love,
Dadpa, Whale
and Mattaheyyou.
From little Moos and bigger Baas.
And now there is Miss V.

I am from the impassioned response,
the sentimental.

From, "eat all these Strawberries;
they’re just for you:"
his Dresen china plate,
her Lady Muck.
From, "Mi lovem yu tumas,
Morning Star bilon mi,"
and "mi killem yu!"
nau em losim mi.
From, "I love you, precious mama,"
I love you, too.

I’m from "if Gargi’s in Hell I want to go too,"
I’m good enough as I am,
and "how do you know God’s real?
or, man landed on the moon?

From God cares so much, He sent His Son,
that whosoever believes in Him will
have eternal life, but maybe lose their family.
I’m from whatever I lose is never
as much as what I’ve gained.
I’m from He holds my tears in a bottle;
And one day they’ll all be wiped away.
I’m from neither scissor throwing,
nor window barring, nor rape,
nor blows to the head,
nor theft, nor broken hearts,
nor unfaithful husbands,
will ever separate you from the love of God
which is found in Jesus Christ,
my Lord.

I’m from, "Come with me."
...Come with me.

I’m from the potato famine,
a stolen dress, a long boat trip, a new land.
From gold panning, dairy farms,
cloud descending on mountains,
big rivers, dry grass, bushfires,
the harbour and the city,
the sun, the sand,
almond seasoned bean salad
and chicken
wrapped in basil and pancetta.
Champagne brunches that last all day,
wine, the smell of fresh coffee, and tea.

From the sawdust on the floor of Dad’s workshop,
from the bed, the table,
the mirror, the clock,
the doll house, the billie carts,
the skipping rope, the tree house,
and all he made for me.

From piles and piles of

Puffin classics.
From the cadence of pedals,
the flicker of shadows,
as we ride and we ride and we never give up.
I am from the fresh produce loved into gourmet delights.
From the smell of bruised fresh herbs,
the new recipe.

I am from hearts that love all I love
as if it were their own,
because I am their own.
I am from hearts that break when mine does
because mine does.
I am from the blood that bled from my brother’s nose
when he found out they’d hurt me.
I am from running away, and being found again.
And being brought home.
I am from the laughs of children. Hugs and kisses.
Tuddles, snovicks and calluges.
I am from flower walks and fists full of daisies
bestowed with crumpled brows.

I am from moments, hugs, rivers of tears,
swings which make me fly through sunshine
until my feet touch the clouds.
From, scratchy knitted jumpers
and soft woolly socks,
fingers in the soil,
feet in the sand.
I am from salt water, cool, clean, clear and fresh.
Sun kissed brown skin,
salt encrusted eyelashes and sand swirled hair.
Souvenir shells, or the ‘pilfering of natural resources.’
I am from water colours and paper,
oil on board, Australian hard wood,
favourite songs.
I am from a bed covered in drawings
and kisses left under my pillow.
I am from a rambling rose, a bouquet of leaves
nailed to wood, and button grass.

Kim did this a while ago and even though I wasn't blogging at the time I made my own 'I am from...' poem. Just thought I might publish it now as a kind of obscure introduction.