i had forgotten
the rage and anguish
of a two year old boy
who is just too tired
and overwhelmed

i had forgotten
the frustation and angst
of  the mother of a two year
whose answer to every question
in a howling NOooooo

both almost in tears
i so wanted to help
but remembered
outside influence
at this juncture
is often more
of a hinderence

but still i smiled
and leant over
and whispered
in her ear...
it does get better
and yes you are
doing a great job

sometimes it helps
to be told you are
even if it feels
like you ain't

sing to me songs full of joy
songs that flood the dark
corners and crevices of my soul
with sunshine buttery and golden

sing to me of love requieted
of quests completed  with heros
homecoming to hearth and home
of reunions joyful and jovial

sing me silly songs,
full of nonsense riffs
songs that make my belly ache
from laughter, sing to make me smile
not only now, but for years to come
when i fondly remember that sillly song

sing to me, all the good and bright things
you can possibly think of, sing long
and sing loud, make the melodies dance
the boogaloo, the charleston and jive

drown out this sadness, drown out this anger
sing to me hope, sing to me love
sing me a future, full of joy
sing, sing,sing,sing,sing

i recall
with a fondness
blurred by years
the town of
my formative years

in the mountains
the heart of the table lands
dissected by a highway
it crouched, along the sides
of a shallow valley

i remember a greeness
that came from the trees
eucalypt and pine
most prominent
in my mind
and the grass that grew
lush and tall
only to be mown
each Saturday morn

i remember
churches and schools
the wide expasnses
of playing fields
and parks with
hurdygurdys and swings
i remember the pool,
that too turquoise
rectangle,
that glistened
with wet invitation
and on the highest peak
the stolid grey water  tower
lording it over all

i remember rough tarmac
under my feet, running from
light pool to light pool at dusk
and frost on picket fences
in early mornings,
like delicate sugar candy
solidier braving the early sun

our house, small on a large block
with hydrangea at the front
wisteria overtaking the fenceline
an at the back door a concrete slab
painted fire engine red,
but faded to overipe watermlon pink

poplar trees garding the back
and the smell of onions
burning on the grill
hill'*******with tennis ball
and pantyhose
standing  to silent attention


and in the forground
my brothers and clans
playing football, league
with passion and
burgeoning skill

all this comes to mind
on a cold winter's day
i may of come a long way
but my heart still
ties me to there
and the memories
make the knots

unwinding the dross
from my mind
makes things no clearer
but at least i see
the rapids before me

unpicking the stitches
from my heart,
makes it no less painful
but at least it lets
the infection out

taking the rocks
from my backpack
does make it lighter
but leaves me frozen, staring
at the signposts of my life

and how do i
get rid of the
etchings of you
off my bones
the tattoo of
your love inked
into my soul

how do i change
my essence
forever
mixed
with yours

it would be just
as easy to
paint the sky green

feet cold
even in the
thickest socks

not used to
mountain weather
years in temperate climes

have softened my ability
to suffer silently
i feel ancient as  i walk
about, muttering....
too cold, too cold

the little heater
working overtime
but doing naught
mocks me with it's
white noise rattle

hot showers are great
til you have to leave
the steamy warmth

bed is the warmest place
so we, all  are in it ...
like puppies in a box

too cold, too cold

tea leaves sit soggy, sad
forgotten  at the bottom

of the cup

leaching, bitter tannins
now, forgetting the life they led

no one willing to read their fortune
no spilling of the secrets
they never truly had

just detrius now
from dust to dustbin
the cycle of a tea leaf
long or brief,
happy or sad
a parable, in hot water

once green and lush in colour
in essence, verdent's liquid fame
once used and now just *******
every life has limit, every limit claimed
as we sup, we suffer the race of time
running through our fingers

clamouring at our mind

one day we too,
will be *******
waiting for the dust,
one day we too
shall leach our liquids
in the unforgiving  dust