Client Poetry
17 November, 2025
Our Sunshine Coast client John has started writing poetry again with the support of his support worker, Renee. John has kindly shared some of his lovely work with us.
BEING LOVED WHERE WE ARE.
There are many short stories, this is one of them.
Being loved where we are,
May never be the same when our love teachers could leave us.
Do we search in these lesser known places? What is it we find?
Our dearest soul friends may have little reservation to say this;
Or to perhaps speak us from a yearning sadness in ourselves.
Yet the heart truly knows where we belong.
It is part of the steps we have found and given to others.
Why hesitate when giving this?
Our inner searching and its yearning takes us to lesser known places;
But for us, we can find an open heart to share with others;
Children run towards these moments, and so can we.
It is the "sweet" for our open heart to find and share with others.
Those that care this way beyond themselves may often know this;
It was once before them to find, yet now, it is more present for themselves.
Found as rare bonds, given to us, with open love.
Children can run to this unconditionally, with their hearts held behind their hands.
As they protect this rare spiritual centre.
They know this and without reservation share it with others.
It is also common in the high sacred mountain villages,
Where more souls have found this love.
And where gatherings of village voices sing loudly their songs together.
When hearts are free, why wouldn't they sing these treasures?
With others, with their hearts singing out loudly these beloved calls!
It is truly a belonging; that some teachers, when choosing to leave, can take this away.
Tears come freely with children, whose gifts for them may lose this sacred truth.
Can they find it again, or learn it may not be so sacred: when it can be taken away?
For them, it is everybody's gift; that has arisen in their villages too.
They give back this found love held in their hands as a sacred truth,
Perhaps beyond them, but passed from their hands to you, held with their love for you.
Yet, in your presence, as a teacher, you do move on.
This soon will become their vulnerable truth, from their said words, gifted from you;
Held with the note paper in their hands, about your precious words when saying goodbye.
They are still timid in this unknown when walking towards you,
With their goodbye and then, its awakening.
So this awakening becomes their farewell ritual, to their loved teacher;
Who tells them what they can know, about his kindred wisdom.
It is shared as," We will miss you! We wish you well."
And from the distinct isolation and learning that tells them that there is
Always a Home: taught to them, showing it to them, in their shining eyes;
Yet again they have to accept that the teacher will be leaving the village.
This certain truth takes some love from their eyes,
For it is harder to love and remain open willingly when a loved one is leaving.
The children know this has come to them through their teacher as,
Another brief moment of truth to know.
And his truth was very clear, as when their rich mountain songs are sung near high canyons,
With a special beauty, that throws its words back to the children repeatedly;
Catching them with echoes, felt in their hearts,
And fulfilled through them, when found in this happiness.
There are truths that young souls will never be prepared for;
There is a yak, that has a room in their homes where the teacher lived;
He never knew this; and he had to learn about this ritual too.
A family feeds the yak, they need him;
They have fed him, washed and brushed him; in a home of belonging.
It is gifting to their animals, while applying their young herdsmanship,
Against high mountain rifts,
With trails meandering upon hilly crests that shower those mists over them,
Completely with this seeing.
These young children in their singing have found this, on these high and loved hills,
Where snow drifts purify their care.
And share it with you, with the beauty they have found.
They have to learn that someone near them, will leave them,
Looking for another wisdom:
Which tells them it could also be theirs.
It is a secret handed by the teacher to them, and what is then for their unknown.
It is seen by them as a hooded secret,
But it can be much greater, held in the wanting for them to become a teacher too.
It has been given so kindly for them before, but now will cease also.
With paper written words held in their hands, as gifts in their truths for him,
And with that, he then has to say goodbye.
These young male beloved teachers may go to other places, somewhere else;
Where stranger's smiles may not show stories of their coming and leaving.
But it does belong to big cities that are very different;
There will be many willing hearts filled with stories about their loved music,
Where the teacher may have to wait in his learning with reflection and inclusion;
While remembering about the barley in the fields and the buckwheat,
Where yak caravans trade with their salt; and reminisce about the Buddhist tradition:
There is the waiting, the looking back about a shared reincarnation and for a new birth.
You, as the young teacher, have learnt about the clothes from this high mountain school,
And what mountain children learn from stories that they dream about: In all of them!
When running towards their crystal mountain school with a new found philosophy.
Sharing the stories, creating new stories.
When flirting with their Tibetan jewellery upon handmade teenage clothes;
And mostly, from their new tradition in a modern world, calling for you:
Yes calling, down their very long mountainous road.
Now, young teacher, is it your contentment to be in the crowded bars,
Waiting and waiting to be heard?
You are their singer now, who holds their interests, waiting again for some silence.
Then, as a young mountain man, you stand and sing to them;
You sing to them, singing from your deeply felt wisdom songs.
John
