The Kiss is one of 7 poems within the Sea Eagle Collection. The Sea Eagle Collection was written after the death of Gabrielle’s late husband, the magnificent Richard Frank. As Gabrielle waded through grief and excessive love, her journey of lost and found coincided with the rising prominence of a friendship between bird and human. An inventory of sea eagle sightings became defunct as these birds became a regular everyday occurrence.
This is a cheeky take on what it means to be a woman, and a call out for all woman to tune in to the sisterhood in which we belong.
As a deep thinker, I often over think. Walking is a way for me to love myself up, to recognise that my body is not just a vehicle to carry my head around, there's more to me than my thinking brain. Solitude is a make or break kinda thing, like meditation it can teach me to be zen, or scare the hell out of me. Intimacy is weird like that, especially intimacy with oneself. I wrote this poem after a solo hike in the abundant nature that is Tasmania. As a nature warrior, I, like many, love and connect through nature and make it my responsibility to care for and protect this rich environment.
Viloma means against the natural flow. I think? That's what my yogi friends tell me anyway, (pass the buck complete!). On the, ooh too early, death of my husband I found myself with an excess of love. So much love was residing in my little storehouse of being. I wrote this poem after a 3 day yoga retreat, with the added fortunate surprise of some post orgasm dopamine thrown in as a creativity boost.
I dance, that's who I am. I dance to express myself and release, to be deliberate in allowing the flow. With covid 19 came the closure of many known dance spaces. I wrote this poem on arrival to a closed door, as a way to shift the discomfort that came on meeting new restrictions. So, I ran the beach, reaching the river mouth, to my own beat.
After the death of my husband, her Father, I took my 11 year old daughter on a 10 day hike on the Larapinta trail, near Alice Springs. We walked in the morning and later in the day after the afternoon sun had lost its sting. We rested in found shade during the middle of the day and shared, alternating daily, our one book and sketch pad. One day I’d read, she'd would draw, and the next day we would swop. Amelie sang to help her through the 100km journey. I wrote poetry to help me. This one I wrote of our journey.
