betterdays

betterdays Sep 2017

to make the choice, to use your words
for the betterment of others
is sometimes thought of
as somewhat antiquated gesture

to use one's talent (which is sublime)
to draw attention to some one else's
achievements, with both grace and humour
not once or twice but time after time
is beautiful beyond my word ablitities

to do this with such panache
to do this with absolute humility
to honour this with a joyful spirit
so as to, do this in a way
which gives the recipient, all the glory
is highest art form
it is the poetic way of chivalry
it is magnanimous beyond magnanimity

it is to my reckoning; this particular poets
way of giving, small peices of his very big heart away

it is confetti made up of admiration and love
thrown high in the sky for all to see
it is one man's ticker tape parade
that i stand on the kerb waiting for
each and every day......

For Nat Lipstadt.......Joel Frye made me do it.....well sort of....have been working on this thank you for awhile.....

betterdays Sep 2017

pebbles

five pebbles
stacked on bottom step
circled with chalk of blue
culminating in an arrow
pointing toward the back yard

four pebbles stacked in the driveway
sitting on a piece of sandlewood
sharpened to a point
indicating a pathway to the back yard

at the corner of the house
three pebbles wrapped in wire
stung together, hanging off the
battered surfboard ...arced toward
the backyard

in the middle of the vege patch
a table upon which
two stacked pebbles sit
table set for breakfast
chairs with cushions
an invitation to sit

one god boy, coming with tray
from kitchen, ever so carefully
makes his way to the table
serves pancakes and syrup
juice and coffee, fruit salad
and gives his dad a single pebble
deep brown striped with white
and a small gold spot..polished to a shine,
with a hole drilled throughand leather loop

smiles, tears and bearhugs
father's day has begun...

Todd organised this mini hunt, with some help from his cousin, did breakfast, found the stone had his scoutmaster polish it and drill the hole.
We did other things today, went to lunch and the beach..they had some man time...but this simple breakfast and gift..gave the surfer dude the most joy...and the god boy too...

Sep 2017

Lori Jones McCaffery

WHEN I AM AN OLD WOMAN

BY JENNY JOSEPH

When I am a old woman I shall wear pirple with a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on bandy and summer gloves and
satin sandals and say we've no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired and gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells and run my stick along public railings and make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain and pick the flowers in other people's gardens.
And learn to spit.
You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat and eat three pouds of sausage at a go or only eat bread and a pickle for a week and hoard pens and pencils and beer mats and things in boxes.
But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We shall have friends to dinner and read the papers.
But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old and start to wear purple

The wonderful write by Sally A Bayan titled "Sepia" inspired me to dig this out and post it here for her.

#purple #hat #society

betterdays Sep 2017

water's edge

the waters edge
is where i stand
feet sinking slowly
in the golden sand
water is ice in a
white lace hand
salty tears from
a far off land

sun is bright
and warm is air
breeze is light
just ruffling hair

off in deeper places
dolphins play and
win races against
the curling waves

surfers sit awaiting
water graces before
leaping walking on
surf and slimline pieces
of wood and fibro foam
artfully worked into boards
of about three paces

whales swim along
the water roads
occasionally
showing age old faces
and fins and tails
in the dance of ages

birds fly high
on wind planes
dipping and diving
in order to gain
greater speed
better angles
to spear down into
water tangles
coming up with
dinner or not
spreading wings
again seeking the aloft

at waters edge
where i stand
mountians have been
broken down into sand
horizons quiver in the sun
somewhere day is starting
somewhere day is done
and still the waves seek the shore
and still the water always wants more

betterdays Sep 2017

bagellove

perch on stools
too high for short legs
elbows resting askew on
sawn wood table top

the smell of dill pickles
pefumong the air
we wait for the bagels
to arrive......

heaped with pastrami and onion jam
crumbling half melted sharp cheddar
dill pickles sliced acroos the top
a mountain of foodlove
on an old china plate

old time root beer floats
and a mound of serviettes
let the **** begin....
as we snarf and scoff
our way down to china

don't forget to buy
some bagels for breakfast either

new bagelery in town...we have found heaven on earth.....

Aug 2017

bex

Icarus (Villanelle)

So... What if I flew too close to the sun,
cimbing steadily through the open air
and my feathers all fell off, one by one.

Freedom and a reckless moment of fun
mixed with a child's propensity to err...
I know I will fly too close to the sun.

I left the earth with my song, still unsung,
drifted along, alone, without a care
and my feathers all fell off, one by one.

A chimeric mirage, to which I clung
and I pleaded Fates, my wings to repair.
So what, if I flew too close to the sun.

The journey over, quick as it'd begun.
Shining bright was the sun's terrible glare,
and my feathers all fell off, one by one.

The path once chosen, could not be undone
when caught in simple, Fates' auspicious snare.
So... What if I flew too close to the sun,
and my feathers all fell off, one by one?

Rewrite

Aug 2017

Someone you used to know

Water soaked photographs

The black night’s ebbing tide
erased the only remaining hints,
the cresting long ocean swells
did not cleanse without a trace.

Adrift and lethargically bobbing
seaweed entangled teakwood box
of water-logged photographs, drowning,
surrendered from the heart of the sea

Like molted wild feathers cast ashore with the tide
to the coarse specks of rasping  sands,
Darwin's dream in an emptied  sea-bubble popped,
dissipated into its own haplessness,
bestrewn about an untrodden seashore

Washed out snapshots of life’s disregarded minutia
enchained to an ordinary forgotten Kodachrome moment
left out to the consequences of the ever fickle tides,
abandoned happenstance spilled by chance
upon another undiscovered world

The warped and bloated wooden box encasement,
hoary with swollen furrowed woodgrain s,
wearied by an enduring measureless moment adrift;

as if an ill-fated message in a misbegotten leaky bottle,
corked with marooned good intentions,
and images of disappearing dreams
flung out shipwrecked in barnacled azure glass
beneath a sky so far away

*someone you used to know

#memories #thoughts #change #ocean #fate #tide #photographs #happenstance #washedashore #messageinabottle