standing on the verge
between black and green
standing on grey gravel
the verge between
freedom and rules

behind me the cattle grid
stepping stones over
a pit filled with purple crocodiles
stepping stones between
joyful ignorance and knowledge

waiting for the big bus
peering down the road
waiting to become bigger
not knowing down the road
is just about waiting to come home

singing a little song
watching my breath
swinging my bag
all impatience and energy
waiting on the verge

i want to write something,
bright and beautiful.
but those things,
are memories,
out of reach,
on a high shelf.

i see them, in crooked
neck glimpses,
as they gather dust.

i hope to find my
rose tinted glasses
soon,
perhaps,
when i get home
and have some rest and sleep,
i will find them nestled,waiting,
in my bedside drawer.

i know my record has,
but a few grooves right now,
and sings only lamentations.

the fragility of my body,
assults my mind.
and the reliance on chemical
relief provides, physical respite.
but brings,a side order of
mental frailty.
so anything you get...
has those filters attached.

my world right now,
is miniscule.
this is my window...

but i know,
things will get better.
bear with me friends...
i will write,
beautiful  again.

the irregular rhythm
of the wood windchimes
lulls me into a sort of sleep
one where dreams are based
on worried realities yet
magnified in a daliesque manner
all bent out of shape and pooling
at my feet, in garish coloured mists
whist in the background something whispers
"tis the gloaming upon us resist, resist!"

and the chorus line of purring cats
play with prawnheads and green tree frogs

i feel myself drowning in these mists, that
smell like fresh baked chocolate cake
and i try to care,
but sleep overcomes me
and the dreams slipside away
until  i awaken
in the cooler part of the day
and recall with haziness
the heat of earlier
and the swirl of the dreams .

the cat sits, staring at me, purring,
at its feet a toy mouse,
and i smell chocolate cake,
being baked by son and husband...
all apparently  is normal
with the exception of
the irregular rhythm
of the wood windchime.

the small meaness of it
shocked me,  really in
this day and age
you would think
we had worked our way
past this sort of petty thinking

but no, apperently there are still
social neanderthals out there
who, when seeing some one different
have to poke fun at them,

before i could voice my outrage
at their actions my boy came
to the defense of his friend
standing up and calmly saying
difference is good, if we were all bullies
like you...then the world would be horrible
then taking the hand of his friend
he turned his back on the instigators
and walked back over to me

never have i been prouder

dawn chorus awakes
the tired mind revolts' groans
pillow over  ears

chasing his tail
to the point of dizziness
before running the race track
defined only in his head

streaking past in a doppler like blur
all scrabble and drift on the hallway turn
ending with a clumping thumping fullstop
into his bed/sack/bed....and then two blinks
and asleep,  limp like a ragdoll.

this is the nightly ritual

red moon rising
through flannel grey clouds
sea streaked with silver
pine trees black silhouettes

on the winow pane
brown moths paint
their lives away
and underlying it all
is the bass of a lonely treefrog
singing his heart's desire

small thing you are
yet you bring light
to the room

take age from old faces
bring back years and memories
left behind in days long past

small bundle of love
accepting all, no matter
the condition, full of joy
wonder and an insaitable curiousity

it is a balm to the tired,
to the saddened, to see
the simplicity of the exchange
love for love, even if only a brief fling

i thank you and yours, for this day
this hour of escape, you truly are
a blessing to behold....

small upon the wire
extruded with such effort
she swings with the wind
capturing her  stability against
the verdent green, once secure
she again  launches, like a spelunker
down into the darkness of the bush
only to reappear and leap from leaf to leaf

having constructed her main lines
the little architect, then proceeded
with absolutley no fanfare
but an audience of two,
enthralled by her
bravado and industry,
to fill out the infield of the  construct

before setting some fishing lines out
off her main points,  to sway in the breeze
she  then  strolled  back into her leafy boudoir,
one presumes to have a well earned nap,
before dinner

i sit in pew that years before
a convict sat chained to six others
brought to pray for a repentant heart
for the theft of bread or linen handkerchief
or perhaps something more sinister

my ample backside finds no comfort
on the narrow six inch board
but then i doubt that there were
many rotund convicts

the gloom in the old  churchis peaceful
and it is cool even though the temperature
soars outside the thck walls of sandstone
insulate not only from the heat,
also the sound of cars and other modernities

i expect the convicts, appreciated the church,
perhaps not for it's moralities and judgments
but as a respite from the harsh australian sun
a place to sit in quiet contemplation, whilst
the hymns from a homeland,  so far away
washed over them,  like water to a parched soul

as i sit  i feel for those convicts
and the quiet gloom comforts this soul...
i hum amazing grace and feel the connection...

monsoonal like heat
saps the strength
from my bones
one day into the new year
and i am weary beyond belief

sitting on the back step
a beer sweating itself
slippery in my hand
thinking sandwiches
and fruit salad
may well be our dinner
if i could be bothered
i don't think any one
is hungry anyway

the humidity creates
stickiness, so that flesh
melds together, i would
shower but it would
be my fourth today

and the beach is closed
due to a shark sighting
so i sit and ponder
as my beer warms
and the back
of my knees sweat
little puddles


thunder rumbles
and i hope that soon
a storm  will break
at least then we will
be able to sleep tonight

sheesh it is  hot.....

one more year
all but done
2 4 mins to spare

cold beers in hand
we sit on grass
and listen to folk band

our fingers touch
our hearts combine as
the years dwindles

the god boy dreams
with arms thrown wide
the lateness having beaten
his desire to see in the new

i think of those who
drifted of to places better
so far beyond our human touch
and to those we welcomed

the time counts down
as i stare at the sky
and wish for blessings and grace
but knowing that there
will be measures of sadness too

farewell to you 017
you were mostly good
and yes  i will
remember you kindly

the night becimes a carnival
the god boy lurches awake
and we stand hand in hand
as the new rushes to meet us

in truth
the sadness
weighs upon me

in truth
i see light
but so far away

in truth
i am unreachable
alone in the night

in truth
this is but a passing phase
one i must endure

in truth
i find my strength  in others
as we come together

in truth
gladness comes
like seeds seek the sun

in truth
i find my way
as strength returns

in truth
i am  not one
but many conflicted thoughts

in truth...

curled in upon himself
the patched cat sleeps
tail twitching in cat dream
a little growl comes from
somewhere in the middle
and then the skin shifts
in a wrinkled wave

i open the tin of sardines
and the bundle resolves
it's self into a lanky legged
tuxedo devon rex,
all slink and stretch
eyes and ears, mouth opened
in an enormous yawn
and nose mobile seeking scent

sardine goes into bowl
nose finds sardine
mouth follows
in seconds the bowl is clean  
and a pink tongue wipes lips,
as eyes plead for more

when none is forthcoming
cat takes himself
back to basket
to sleep away
this wet afternoon

three days later
you can still smell
the acrid smoke
on the wind
see the blackened
leaves a twiglets on
the green summer lawn

three days later
and  the town still
murmurs about
how close the
fire front came

close enough for
the northshore houses
to see the voracious  flame
to hear the crackle of it's burn

luck would have it,
that it turned,
luck and firefifighters
tested and tired, turned
the flame by art of backburn
back in on itself and then down to
the sea, down past the dunes
and then to die, to end in ash

five days of bushfire, haze and smoke
now just ash and grey black sculptures
on black ground canvas...

awaiting renewal......awaiting, awaiting

standing on the back deck
seeking a cool breeze
feeling the grain
of the old wood
beneath my feet
eyes meandering
from star to star
hearing the night birds sing
and the fish move in the pond
revelling in the serenity
still waitin on the breeze
I sip my  cold water

her capacity for stoicism
is diminishing hourly
as pain becomes both
insidious and barefaced

her world is now small
one specailized chair
in one room and then
those who visit, catch her
attention, but for awhile

she seems to have shrunk
curling in upon herself
like a leaf, separated
from the tree

i have watched others die,
this, this is so much more
difficult and complex
there are so many ties
some made threadbare
by years of casual use,
some still strong that will need
to be unravelled over years of memory

she once was so large,
so vibrant and strong
but pain like water
is undercutting her banks
and soon this river will pass out to sea
as her wellspring gives out

then we all will be smaller for her passing

tiny bird thief, that cheeky sparrow
lionheart in brown tweed plumage as he
steals  breakfast from the cat's bowl

the cat looks on confused
dinner (he only wishes) stealing breakfast
what a topsy turvy world
must go contemplate this,
conundrum  in the sun patch, by the window

pin dropping
silence shattered by whispers
gossip abounds
pinpricking comments
draw beads of bright red
food for the masses
spindoctors prescribing
the ****** of the day
click and share the apple
the new fashioned way
fast to the patient
science is blind
social media
the panacea for
the mordern mind
drink up the draught
of absinthe light
drink again
follow the plight
of the reality ****
and more
**** till your full
drink till
you pour your
intelligence
down the drain
drink and dance
till you feel no pain
then wander oblivious
until you can do it again
sense and money
down the drain
no longer able
to hear the cries
of other's nearby
just caught in your
own  circle of lies

pins drop
but no one hears
all caught up
with little screens
and musical ears

all caught up
in soapbox tears
all bound up
with first world fears

all we hear now
are the silent screams
muted by apathy

just a background murmur
......getting softer...as we walk away
with faces averted....

the day ends with a shower
rain falls through a golden sunset
and the rainbow stretches out past the waves
another *** of gold given to the deep blue water
i breathe in the smell of rain as a gather damp washing
to hang under the verandah's eaves
the cat watches from the window
meowing for his dinner
the rain feels cool on my face

the cherry wood box
sits on the mantle
it is a reminder
of his love
handmade, upon a lathe
from a burl of an old sweet cherry
it is smooth as silk to touch
of a deep yellow redish hue
carved to look like the rounded back
of a cat curled in on itself, asleep
the rings once present in the tree
give the box the look of a tabby cat

inside the love notes we share
it has over time become a letterdrop
today....his note...invites me to
a night of gentle but thorough  love
my note....says...yes....please

cherry red, dark skins
hard-hearted fruit, flesh such sweet
succulent morsels

cherry blossoms float
delicate pink white cloud flakes
blushing plant snow-fall

at night
it manifests
this dream of mine
to write my world
my hopes, my decline
and rise again to fall
it to this pit of words,
to break this wall
that lies betwixt us,
your world...
so different to the one
i inhabit.
these words like songlines,
leylines for you to follow
down into the depths
down past the dressings
into the magma
into......

what if, we just smiled at people who looked different
what if we listened to what the old haave to say
what if we taught children to wonder at small miracles
what if we cried out for peace
what if we hugged a person less fortunate
what if we made kindness our calling card
what if we stood up and listen to other's woes
what if we light small fires of hope
what if we stopped before saying something hurtful
what if we made it our mantra to do good things

what would happen if we take small steps in grace,
spoken for the better world and left and trail of small
kindnesses in our wake......

what if, one day we made some ones life better,
with no thought of acknowledgement or reward

what if one day some one did the same for us

there is much power in this quiet reflection
what if we take it on board,  seed it within our hearts
watch it grow and give fruit

flat as a tack
nailed firmly
into ironbark

thats me
after marking
over 120 essays

the words blurred
near the end
and now the world is blurry
so takeaway tea
a large g&t times two
and bed for as long as i can

then i may just be userfriendly again
but i am not promising anything

black night sky, listens
withholding judgement, absorbing all
whilst the sea whispers.,

shadows creep this night,
from house to house
at the edge of day light

shadows creep this night
little goblins delight
dracula's bite
dino's and frankestiens might
stomp, fuzzy werewovles bite

shadows creep this night
little ducks and fishes fight
over candy morsels
cowboys and superheroes slight
in stature, giant in dreams bright

shadows creep this night
oddities, memes and more
knock shyly at the door
candy distribution  
not a chore

shadows sleep tis night
like little dragons,
with candy treasure galore

springs first butterfly
shyly sits on teacup rim
showing her colours

my first encounter
bodes well for the days remainder
i smile, joy blossoms

then leaves to sample the peonies,

three boys
small in stature
big in heart
sit,
bottoms  perched
on grey concrete curb
heads together
mouths,
going hell for leather
discussing weighty things


in their hands, the world
and thick dripping slices
of red, red watermelon

moths blatter against the 40 watt light of
the midnight sun, the softest of deaths,
all need, wings and fairy dust, in the dawns light
become their requiem, the dustpan their hearse
as they become tidbits for the hungry koi sharks

small but fierce
comes to mind

three feet and a bit
of restless energy

hair so blonde and fine
it resembles spun cotton

eyes deep blue

and a mouth that moves
non-stop, with questions,
observations and affirmations

the thinness of her is that
that happens with a growth spurt

she walks trippingly, the line
between grace and gawkiness

she brings with her curiousity,
positivity and  a huge bouquet
of daisy's

my heart leaps, when she smiles
this little bit of strangeness

so used to the male child
the feminine is unfamilar

the small arms encircle me
and squeeze love into my soul

and the laughter, that tinkles
from her lips lights up the room

she is come, she is come

it will be alright
my child
it will be fine
in time

things
will go your way
sometimes
and then
somtimes
life will be difficult

but love is like water
and given tim will smooth
the roughest of edges
and when it rains it
will bring the hidden joys
to light like flowers
in the sandy dessert

it will be alright....
but for now, cry my child
and seed the new growth

is my truth yours
perhaps for a nano second
when we meet in the middle
of the burning bridge
on which we stand

is my truth universal
at death, at birth
mayhaps we see
the truth the same

is my truth mine
yes and no, in so much that
the intereaction of multitudes
dilute the same, creating
ripples and waves
that create convex and concave
versions of the truth

is my truth, but a game
with out scores or winners
but continual substitions

is my truth sane
on a good day, there is
a semblance  of sincerity
on a bad day there is
a rambling tour of my reality

was a time when
hills were mountains
rivers small trickling streams
towering trees, dormant seeds

was a time when
skies were clear of smoke
seas plentiful of whales and fish
the planets skin unmarked by greed

was a time when
life was hard but some how simpler
when you knew your neighbor, perhaps
even the whole block or town
when kids played til twilight and came
home to doors unlocked and books to read

when the most you borrowed with out great thought
was a cup of sugar or the neighbors saw
was a time, when courtesy was a given
and kindness was common

was a time....there was a time....almost a lifetime ago

leapfrog, crawlfrog
sitting frogs,  snogging frogs
frogs, frogs, frogs
making pollywogs

sudden downpour
rainfall and now we have been
stopped by froggy urban sprawl

all over the road, expanding
the tadpole nation
every frog hop jumping
to their station.

uncle toad needs you

all the little froglets
stand up and take your
place in the human
eradication
we are small, we are cute
and soon we will be many
and our conflagration will bear fruit
the ribbet will roar
the pobblebonk will rise
watch out humans, watch out flies
time you realise...the frogs are coming
looking out for more...it is written
in our sacred lore...we are the future

gotta, no gonna be like
aesop and his fable
slap a moral
on the table
talk about
old slow poke
tortise on his hike
up against a speed freak
hare  

zikes

this is harder that
it seems
like interpereting dreams

better yet
start again
find a new refrain
gotta make an original
stain
gotta use my incredible brain
bring a new flavour
new story to savour
not some tired old jam
not for this poetry slam

so here goes
follow the flow
stay in the know

don't be a facsimile
a sad printed copy
take the high road
and write a new load
of originality

be one with totality
up at the mountains peak
where the angels speak
to those,
who have time
to listen.

one word, one world
glows and glistens
that word be, free
that word be LOVE
and love be liberty
to a soul broken

so the morale of
the day
freely give love away
as truth,
not a carnival token

the wise old woman
(yeah that be me)
now has spoken.

done now with
her word spin
done now

gotta go do
as she say
take some action

go give a nobody
a kind reaction
some hugular compaction

be a friend
to the friendless
the possiblities
endless
let charity
have a say
be brave this day

go on now
be on your way



-fin

the imaginings
of the lonely heart

wander within this page
and beyond.
sent like beacon lights

out into the darknes
of the heart's distress

out across the waves
seeking another life,
another living

seeking connection,
a return other than
plaintive echoes reply

into the dark
the deep, deep, dark

a butterfly
of heartstrings
and hope,
sent out
into a hurricane

and somewhere
there sits a soul,
weaving a net
of love and lonliness
awaiting a battered
but hopeful butterfly

at one time, for a time,
you were my greatest love
at one time, for a time,
i could not have hated you more
at one time, for a time,
i could not live without you
at one time for a time,
i wished you dead

and now I see you in the park and feel nothing
it is like passing a stranger, albeit with a haunting face
we see each other, look away and then come together
we speak with awkard grace, making the smallest of talk
before hastening away, knowing that bridge
was long made ashes and we were calling across the abyss

at one time, for a time, our hearts beat as one,
synchronous and now our tempos are so different,
the past only an offbeat echo.....heard faintly on the wind
i wish you well my erstwhile friend....my forgotton lover

puddles
places where
rain juice gathers
so you can startle
your own reflection
with a rewarding splash

the fan chops the turgid air
as the moon settles lower in the sky
and we lie as far from each other as we can
with just our fingertips touching
love on a muggy heat driven night
is a matter of thought as opposed to action,

we are beyond languid and are now puddles
of tired humanity, just waiting for the tipping hour
when the temperature drops enough to sleep

til then we commune with the darkness and wait

sorrow sings silent songs
in my heart, in my heart
while my face smiles
and responds to you

i dance the line of the shadow
on toes tipped in light
this is my life

balancing the gray with the white
my circus has monkeys
now quieting sleeping
in their cage

i have learnt to be quiet
so as not to endanger
their rage

i see the sun and feel it's warmth
i look to the light, i fight, i fight
somedays, just by standing still
i fight....

the music score is changing
slow but sure, there is joy
in my encore....

the candle flame flickers
as the zephyr breeze blows
across our sunwarmed skin

we hold hands like teenagers of old
and you nuzzle gently at my shoulder

the stars brighten, as the sky darkens
from chambray to indigo
and the moon shones with mottled ivory glow

the frogs sing love songs and the lonely boobook calls
the night settles in as we make our way indoors
the candle flame splutters dies and leaves behind
a trail of smoke, taken away by the zephyr breeze
and the boobook calls again....mopoke....mopoke

bleak the heavens above
bleak the heart within

black dog sniffing my skirt tails

it is a hard thing
watching  
a loved one suffer
mental anguish

need a ray of sunshine to break
the cloud cover, today

waiting for the roses to bloom
she loves the home grown roses

will take her a mango,
the taste of summer on her lips
may make her smile....

all the elephants are rapping
box beats and toe-tapping
mapping words and rating states

all the foxes are crying
for my sake, stop your lying
we aint buying, what your styling

all the bears are wondering
why the foxes be mussing
when the food be going cold

all the tigers be  chillin
while the bears be fillin
the foxes be fussing
and the elephants
just don't care
as the beat goes on....

going through spring heatwave here
tempretures that are hot for summer
the last three days.

sweltering
guzzling
perspiring

phhht so hot
the lizards are seeking shade
the devon rex has declared
the bath tub as his and hisses
if we try go move him


sweltering
guzzling
sweating

found my boy
sleeping with the fishes
really he had climb into the fish pond
and was pretending to be asleep
while the fishes swam around him

perspiring
guzzling
sweltering


sweltering perspiring guzzling

sent the surfer dude out for some beer
he was taking a long time
rang him....hes said i live her now
in the beer fridge...at dan murphies
come join me....bring pizza and the boy
we will be happy

the odd sockery
do but mock me
as the lego bits
grind the bones
of my heels
faintly i smell
old orange peel

toys, stuffed pell mell
into ye old treasure chest
the piece of three weeks old pizza
you ain't ever gonna unring that bell

favorite teddy at rest on window sill
looking far from his best
and in his snake-arium, lies bill
the blue tongued lizard lazy and still
on the shelf beside, the books
of the boy wizard,
the one with the glasses

the bed barely passes
the status of made
and in the nooks
his father created
all sorts of findings
and keepings and
thingamabobs are laid

bless, in the corner a beanbag, sags
with the weight of my world
and his book bag, all snuggled up
with the tuxedo cat, whose motor purrs
like a harley cruising on by

the room a catastrophe,  in it's early stages
but  at the sight of them my ire disengages
and i stop still and thank the stars in heaven
that these two are mine, that they are happy
and safe and incredibly fine

sunday afternoon in the burbs
somewhat, wonderfully sublime

sitting on the steps
gorging on  watermelon
spitting out the pips

kookaburras laugh
a shepards delight sunset
the cicadas sing

evening star rise
and now the gloaming begins
time to head inside

it gleams
it glows
and refracts light
into rainbows
on the shadowed walls
flickering with the last fire
of this winter

this faceted crystal
lives in the amber lights
speaking of it's years underground
of the smell of peat and other organic matter
it talks of presing and pressure,
of waiting, of dormancy
of silence and solitude
of tetonic shifts, and little landslips

of the sound of pick and axe
and the rumble of machinery
the gabble of voices, the greed of man

it talks of admiration followed by
cleaving and faceting and grinding
it speaks of currencies

it speaks of love, of exicitement
and trepidation, of yearning
and of acceptance and joy

it tells of years of happiness
of washing up and of being held
in quiet embrace, it tells of nights
just like this,  sitting in front of the fire
basking in it's glow, making rainbows
on shadowed walls