While sitting at a café once
a boy of sorts went by.
His clothes were bright, he wore a suit
a purple, orange tie.
He looked around him while he walked
and then I caught his eye.

His hair was wild and fairly long,
his shoes were bright and new.
His face was lit up with a smile
and said “how do you do?”
He waved his hand, his giant hand,
the smile quite simply grew.

He walked on over, then he sat
down on the chair across
from me and all my company
a friend, his wife, my boss,
and handed me a brochure of
Learn how to play lacrosse.

“The name is Nathan Douglas Day
of age I am nineteen.
I have thick hair that gets quite gross
which then, I have to clean.
The knots that form, they almost dread.
You do know what I mean?

But hair is not all that I am
there’s skin and bones and thought,
but even then, that isn’t much
my weight is almost naught.
The mem’ry in my brain is small
which leaves much to be taught.

The people call me names to do
with where they know me from
like, Mugbo, or the wanderer,
or rang-rang, or Nathan,
or Nathan Douglas Day and some
don’t call me anyone.”

This speech of his, it left me shocked.
What kind of life was this,
to have more names than anyone
from this metropolis?
I was so puzzled and confused
there was something amiss.

I said “Okay…” and looked straight down
to where the pamphlet lay
and then began to read about
Lacrosse and how to play.
And Nathan snapped his fingers loud
and got a piece of cake.

A strawb’rry shake came next and then
a plate of biscuits came.
he offered them around and said
“they all taste much the same.”
We ate them all. He sat quite still.
I learned about the game.

My boss and friend were wondering,
who was this Nathan day,
this boy who came from nowhere and
sat down and seemed to stay?
They asked me with their eyes but I
did not know what to say.

Then Nathan started talking to
the wife of my good friend
he made her laugh and laugh and laugh
and laugh it didn’t end.
We all wanted to hear the joke
he wouldn’t say again.

“Lacrosse seems very difficult”
I said to stir the air.
“It is” he said “I played it once
but now, I would not dare”
I wondered then why he would hand
the pamphlets out with care.

I wondered maybe did he work
in trade from door to door.
I asked him this and his reply
it shocked me even more
“I do not hand them out” he said
“I found it on the floor.”

My early memory of farm,
Blackfella’s hill, banana sand,
exploring, chasing rabbits.
And riding round with grandpa,
in the white and well loved station wagon
checking sheep, windmill and chooks.

The lollies in the tin were there,
to help him stay awake at night;
but grandchildren were once allowed
to sample from the tin of treats,
in longer trips with grandparents,
while out on country roads.

The farm, a favourite place of mine,
away from school and normal life,
but Modb’ry North not quite the same.
With grandpa still out shearing though,
the farm-like feel not far away,
and granny kept a strawb’rry patch.

I went a-shearing with him once,
About six customers that day
and I can’t count the load of sheep.
I earned five dollars on that day,
while travelling around in ute
with shearing stuff all in the back.

His love of music satisfied,
the grandchildren are all gifted,
the music played from instruments
of cello, clarinet and bass
of flute, piano, violin,
and voice as well from Kate and Jo

Called grandpa day or dad or Doug
he’ll be remembered, days to come.
The stories will be told and told
of happenings while he was here,
from farm or Modb’ry North or else,
from other places he has been.

i scream
i cry
i hate myself

i yell
i scream
i tear at my skin

okay i get it,
you will never love me
cause no im
not her

im not pretty
or funny
or skinny

so this is why
i yell
and scream
and hate myself

because i know
ill never be her
and you will never love me

but i was hoping
just once to hear those
words
but what the **** was i
thinking

im sorry

C D E F G A B
    C D E F G A B
         C D E F G A B
              C D E F G A B
                  C D E F G A B
                     C D E F G A B
                         C D E F G A B
Do re mi fa so la ti
Do nt
Re peat
Mi stakes
Fa ke
So rry
Ti lts

See the previous sonnet:



(sonnet #MMMMMMMMCLXXIX)


I meant to put down shadows 'cross the hale
Face of these sun-washed green lawns blue skies fence
With nary cloud but tis a white puff hence,
How that September'd wink in tow t'avail,
Our hopes of was't vacations? in betrayl
Capped ere yet realized with a haunting sense
Of sheer conclusion, kneading rye dough thence,
Tae whip a sheet cake up like joy's not frail.
Poke myr'ad holes and trickle as it were
The strawb'rry juice in for dessert, and to
A fault I'm drained 'fore sundown in a poor
'Scuse.  So I washed my hair at midnight's cue,
And showered after, to drift off, til fer
All that how Sunday nudges me anew.

27May18a

i'm sorry
that i tried
to give
up my liFe
I'm sorry
that i bRoke
more than
i could know
i'm Sorry
That i need
to feel
Like i'm free
i'm sOrry
that i Vowed
to nEver
let you down

emp t tt yyyyy y yy y

   and tired



and

   i'm

so

   s o rry

i w_rry __u will s__ _nd r__d _nd und_rst_nd _nd s_ i c_ns_r m_ _wn w_rds _n m_ _wn p_g_s, _nd m_ h__rt c_nt_rts; th_ s_rr_w runs d__pl_ in m_ bl__d, i _m sc_r_d it will n_v_r l__v_ m_ v_ins - but lif_ m_v_s\ _n _nd m_ l_v_ f_r __u __t c_rri_s - _nd _ll i h_v_ t_ s__ is s_rr_.