clipped and shorn
close to breaking
the thin skin
on the wrinkly bits

words
sharp and terse
leaving marks
unseen
on the inside

criticism
meant to be constructive
but became destructive
with a turn of the shears

this baa, baa black sheep cries all the way home

my words are like ants
that an ant bully is playing with
today they wander aimlessly
trying to find the thread of sense
the trail to lead them home

we all  narrate
our own destinies
smoothing the edges of
dubious memory
so we become hero
or victim, as we see fit

we paint our words with
colour and passion
and make some areas
grey or black
shading the story,
so that our heart remains clean

it is only in the small print
foot notes, that we write
codiciles and retractions
that we give a nod to time

the nebulous truth
obfuscated  by time
and the blurred re-telling
becomes the urban legends
of our minds....

our very own fairy  tales
and once upon a times
seen through the
kaliedescope of fathertime

the puppy,collie dog
all squirm and energy
just wants to makes friends

the little devon rex
all hiss and spit
is overwhelmed
and retires
to the top of
the bookshelf

the dog tries to follow
but as we all know
dogs  cannot climb
and just pulls  books
down upon himself
with a loud clattering sound

the devon rex
becomes a dervish
racing around the room in circles
vocalizing terror and indignation

this went a whole lot differently in my head

sometimes words spoken or written
are woefully inadequate
they clutter up and make
the emotional space claustrophobic

silence can give just as much comfort

sometimes even more

here i am

9 degrees celcius
dragging bins to the curb
breath frosting clouds
feet cringing from cold earth
muttering quiet obscenities
trying not to inhale trash perrfume
looking up to see sunrise colours dance
waving to brave/stupid morning walkers
thinking early birds are overrated
hearing  the resident kookaburras laugh
thinking caffiene, caffiene,  caffiene

here i am

it is the season of soup
and tissues here.....
after two weeks of drizzling
and driving rain

each sentence is punctuated
by a sneeze or a sniffle

hoarse voices whine
and whinge beneath
doona mountains

we all look like we have
wrestled with a yeti
and lost

meanwhile the washing piles up
the bins fill with sodden germy tissues
the chemist smiles with glee,
each time we enter his store
and the tuxedo rex runs from bed to bed

from red eyes and cotton filled head
i write this seasonal report
hoping to see the end of flu season soon