bright things,
glisten and shimmer
in the corner of my eye


little fairy wings
flit and flutter
in the outer circle
of my sunny day sky

my oak and acorn
plant seeds in the sunshine

no hope for sadness
no room for forlorn

today is bright
daffodils and roses
happy faces, happy poses

small sloppy kisses
and large heartfelt ones too

the last days of summer
shining, shining through...

dappled sun ...
green grass too,

we all lay down,
soak the heat
from the ground

happy to, look for fairies
and pixies, and gnomes,
lady bugs, inch worms, skinks
and grasshoppers too.....

dragonflies hover
and race the wind

butterflys, flutter
art on the wing

and in the tree
the kookaburras  chuckle
the magpies warble
wrens chatter

these are memories
although, destined to be lost
these are memories that matter
these small things and lazy days
are the backbone of our lives
holding us upright in times of strife
giving us grace to cope, with the darkside of life

these bright things, lead us home.....

it is a small thing
like sand in my shoe
this grief that wears
away my soul

but it is there always
in small moments
of wanting
in words lost to the
unhearing ear
in laughter that echos
thin in empty air

i still see you everywhere
but you are a year gone
from here...

your scent fades upon
your clothes....
your voice dims within
my mind.....
but your kindness remains
forever stitched within
my heart...
and your smile, before
my eyes,

it is a small thing
this grief within
my soul...
like sand in my shoes
both pleasant and wearing

this day is beyond warm
less sultry, more stifling
the heat, holdings it's breath
awaiting the gathering of  the cummulus

the boys have gone, with polesand lines
and a box of milling maggotty enticements
to cajole water beings out of their depths
into the gasping heat of the day


my mother sits  in between making
sheep into woolen rugs and concoctions
of woollen froththe keeps the tea cosy,
before the drinking,
switching the tv channels
between the small ball sports on offer
like stone fruit, there is a glut
of tennis and cricket
and she gorges with patriotic fervour

I lie in, reading, making internal lists
of what should be done, but will not be
too hot, far too hot, the little tuxedo devon
lies in the bath room
stretched out on the cool slate tiles
and i wish for the life of a cat
one with out lists incomplete....

the stockings were hung
then unstrung
the gifts wrapped
then opened and scrapped

eyes open wide, at gifts given with pride
forgive us dear lord for the little white lies

I adore it, no it won't leave my side
Where can we find a place for,
this monstrosity to hide

The church bells were rung
the carols sung,
All the while thing of the traveling miles
for the holiday away in the summer sun

Dinner was baked bbqed and burped
Wine was drunk, now Uncle Albert
is dancing, just shy of naked
drunk as a skunk, Aunt Em in the throes
of the holiday funk....has declared her new teeth
have been sunk into the trilfle....of which she is
elbows in, having a rifle, through
Dad's mid nap, and we are counting down the seconds
between each snore, Mum still asking any one for any more pav
And Malcom has dissapeared to the lav

and this is the Christmas, that we have had,
and tho it sounds dorky....I am a wee bit glad....

Tommorow we box ourselves in the car
travelling, travelling o so far
and back to the bickering, backstabbing and fights
but we practise peace to all men at Christmas
as is our right....
but with da and his snoring,
we have no chance of a silent night.

grumble, rumble, crack.
god in heaven, stretching his back


spit, splat, splosh
out goes god's bathwater
with a great heaving toss

wind blow, seas squall
rivers rise,  mud forms
oh gosh what a summer storm

lightning forks in the sky
jagged streaks,
thunder speaks,
from clouds of grey
glad i'm home,come what may
on this sultry stormy summers day