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11.9k · Jun 2019
miles mean nothing
betterdays Jun 2019
miles mean nothing to a heart that is pure
words penned in grace, sent to ether
give heartease to the overstretched
sowing stiches of understanding
in tapestry threadbare

little suns and stars
shining bright in love and hope
from face unseen and adirondack chair
gives strength to one down, from down under
allows grief, the words needed the abilty to care
for these simple gifts, no payment required
from the heart open to care...
in response to a beautiful poem" the dirge of memory" gifted to me by Nat in a million..
7.8k · Apr 2018
betterdays Apr 2018
her ring sits on the mantlepiece
worn thin on one side
that dull warm yellow
that gold sometimes takes on

i remember it cutting into my hand
as she held it tightly as we shopped
it was bright and shiny then

she used to wear it on her  longest finger
after dad left us, she left it off for awhile
and then wore it on the other hand

it was tight on her workworn hands then
she took it off again before she went into
this last home, but kept it locked in a security draw

now it sits on the mantlepiece, waiting
for me to find a safe place for it
for it is the little bit of my mother's spirit
that will one day be part of my son's  wedding ring,
One of my mother's requests....incredibly, poignantly  beautiful
6.4k · Oct 2014
betterdays Oct 2014
them in
then send
them away
fostered and fed
kindhearted souls
read and wish
to have a
the hard hearted world
poetry bleeds
little loves
5.2k · Apr 2015
the lovebirds cycle
betterdays Apr 2015
words fall
like hapless fledglings
tossed from a cliff edged nest

with much screeching, squawking,
countless feathers lost

and then an awful thump
or hopeful, glorious flight

first love is tachycardiac love
all adrenaline, sweating palms
and stutter-stumbling sqeakings,
ungainly gropings,
when not with you, mopings
unrealistic hopings
for happy ever after endings,
breakings, bendings,
awkward mendings,
repeated leavings,
repented lovings.
heartfelt givings,
of broken hearted rendings.
of time stolen from life
tearing, teasing,
tantalising teamings
crying, begging,
pleading strife
and then,
the metaphorical knife
cutting, slashing,
wordblow bashing,
screaming, reaming,
end to loves life.

til eventually, words fall,
like old birds leavings
to settle, unremarked upon
at the base of the tree of life.

first love's loss, is slow dying.
arrhythmia to flatline
in a multitude of laboured breaths
and long lingering sighs.
a loss of warmth,
from breast and thighs
and water copious,
falling from red rimed eyes.
sobbing, murmuring,
don't know whys?
from lips turned
bleakset skies.
as one settles firmly,
into black dog muck
no longer able to give a f▼ck.
tucked in tight to sadness,
lost all sight of former gladness,
caught up and shackled tight,
to the badness
around and around,
the carousel goes.

at last,
the blessed silence,
as you die
one of many of....
                    life's little deaths
prompt: write an anti-love poem...
not sure whether I met or muffed the brief....... but it is the first piece I have written in a fair while that had an easy rhythmic flow for I am considering it as a crack in the big white wall that is the creative block that I am battling with.
betterdays Apr 2014
i love you,
fresh from
the shower.
glistening and wet,
smelling of aftershave.
"coolwater" by davidoff.  often aslo sandlewood,
goat soap, from the local
farmers markets.

i love you,
dressed up smart.
in a brook's brother's way
dress pants and shirt,
blue linen vest.
johnny walker silk bow tie,
untied is best. then your twist,
(not as original as you think)
converse skaties, no socks
and  bone bleached cuffs,
turned up.

i love you,
in your work gear.
just come home,
you smell of sweat.  
clean and healthy,
always wood shavings
caught up, in your
unruly shaggy hair.
cargo shorts and
that have seen,
many days of worksite wear.
size elevens in your hands,
those big feet and freaky toes
bare, ******* in the air.

i love you,
in board shorts and rashie.
rushing into the surf,
hand in hand.
with the energetic bundle
of love,
to which we gave birth.

it is not as though,
clothes made this man,
but boyohboy, you, frame them well.

it s the heart, the chuckle
the hands, the philosphy,
the clever, erudite, caveman,
the downright,
man-dumb bloke.
that endears, your heart to

it is, that you really listen
and take the time,
to make me feel and be,
phenomenal, wise, sensual
and beautiful beside.

i love you,
best, in my bed.
moving slow and sure,
undressed, silk and velvet.
as we express,
the reality of our love
and whisper words,
well known,
and cry to heaven above.

i love you,
then, here, now and eons
even after the worlds
memory of us,
is  nothing,
dust upon the breeze
our love,
will carry, forth
stardust on heaven's winds
and cries of our love and ecstasy
will birth worlds anew
4.4k · Jul 2014
naughty bunny
betterdays Jul 2014
there is a mote
of dust,
in my eye

it comes from
the dust bunny's ***.

i caught him, copulating
under the couch,
with two odd socks,
while the lego man watched.

he, in guilty panic,
shook and shed,
his lint everywhere....

i caught this bit
with my eye
the rest i collected
with my nose...
4.0k · Mar 2014
doof-doof in de dandenongs
betterdays Mar 2014
Ethel echidna
had a date wid Pike,
a fiiine!
young hedgehog
who be doin' the backpack

she got n' egg
ya see bout a rave
up in the mountains
in a black cathederic cave
doof doof in the dandenongs

d' message said
up dee track
where the ding dongs
don't dare follow
round d' hollow n'
up the back

Ethel she preened
and she polished
the dreds down her back,
clickety, click, clack.
painted her claws
a fetching shade
of orange neon
all watched on by
Pike the backpack peon

then to the doof
dey departed
at a fast shuffel
leaving behin
barely a ruffle
in the burrowed air
they followed
d'directions to
d' right section
dis dey knew
by d' sound of
d' massive party
goin down

on payin d' dosh n'
getten d' mark
off dey went
inta the fray
***** boy mumbled
"woyhoy gotcha!"
when he saw who
was providin
the goodmuse vibing
up ona stage
Jagger the emu
was a struttin'
with Ringo the dingo
on drums an bongos
while Hendrix
the numbat riffed d' strat
an  Entwhistle
d'frogmouthed owl
grooved on his gibson
wid ***** left stage staring

Ethel got bizzy
check'n out the dancefloor
lookin for bling or moves wid a sting
perhaps a little ******* headbangin

well down
at the southdoor
trouble was brewin'
foul words
was spewin between
d magpie n seagull crews
till the bouncers,
kanga & roo
hustled dem
all outside for a brew

up near the stacks
Pheobe the lizard
was flashin
a matchin
frill n grill ensemble
while Stan, her man
was fillin his bill
at the buffet table
as only a pelican can
at the grub bar
sat the kookaburra trio
Max,Tom, Deccy
havin a speccy
at tha lady
cockatoos n' galahs,
givina chuckle
at the bruhaha
they had created
comin flyin from
near n' far to this
surberb n spectacular
festival of fauna
"tho hot as a sauna
best dis year sofah"

jus inside
d' recovery corner sat
Horn a blue tongue lizard
feelin a bit pukey n' flat
den dere was
Kayla n' Jac
a pair o koalas
who now be zonin
from d eucalyptus
dey been a chewen

outaback time it's awastin
with dis watchin n waitin

Ethel hit the floor
she booggied,
grooved or h-banged
she got a big crowd,
given her ground
to shake
her dreds around
cause dat girl
is dangerous
wid her dredlocks man,
to which Zach
the one eyed wombat
can well attest

Now not bein a dancer
***** got lonely
so looked upa chat
with the rest
of d' backpackin crowd
he swapped recipes
for green brownies wit
Boomer the orangatang,
harvest spots wit
Goth the friutbat,
Hamish de otter,
quiet de globetrotter,
did giv ***** some tips
about surfin rips
furder down de coast.

so dey shimmyed
an dey shammyed,
dey talked
an dey squawked
till d' old sun
came out to play
den dey wandered
and dey wended
back down
d' track to d' town
to sleep d' day away.

as to our Ethel
and *****,
dey crawled
inta their bed,
they cuddled
an dey clicked,
dey kissed
an dey snicked
and dey
blew dey
selfs away
3.9k · Apr 2014
betterdays Apr 2014
joy in the eyes of a child
love in my lovers touch
pain in the old man's walk untold
wealth in the gamblers game
lies in unrepentent eyes
compassion on the face
grief beside the grave
story before the glory
tale before the fail
epics everyday


are the words
of the way

we live our lives

waiting forever
to become

enough to speak
3.8k · Aug 2014
betterdays Aug 2014
the rain has come
first in thunderous
clould burst
big fat pregnant drops landing
labouriously on
the dessicated dirt
leaving craterous footprints
as evidence of a
glorious dance

more fall to the cloud's internal beat
a steady rhythmic fall
into the mudpit dancehall
that once was dry dusty street

the rain has lessened
now wavering
between drizzle and mist stragglers late,
to raindance fall ball.
3.5k · Apr 2014
pink tears
betterdays Apr 2014
my father died alone.
in a car by the side of a busy road.
a young couple,
returning from a day at the beach found him.
they thought he was asleep,
he had, had a massive stroke.

i went to his funeral.
as a stranger
and heard the eulogy,
of a man i barely knew.
we had been disparate
for over twenty years
and before that sporadic
at best.

i did not weep.

five weeks
and two days later after breakfast and feeding the cats.
i went to open the front door. to begin my days toil
my hand on the lock began to shake.

i broke,

i just broke.

and fell against the door in keening, sobbing, rending sorrow.
i slid headfirst down the white painted surface,
opening a cut against the doorbell.
collasped in on myself, huddled into a heaving heap,
pressed into the corner.

i cried pinktears.
all that day.

i stayed in that corner
staring, crying,
beyond thought,
beyond comfort.


beyond .. .

at that point in my life
i lived alone.
with the exception of my cats.
my misery, abject, so complete. so dark, so ink jetblack, so bereft of life, so remote from love so deep in repression, unlocked. so ferocious in attack, so outrageous in it's anger and sense of defeat had hold of me.

i had lost myself.

it is with pure hearted certainty.
i say these two furry little souls.
with plainitive crys of need and slinking warmth, curling heartbeats and insistent nudge of feline body.
saved my shattered, tattered, beaten soul that night.

i got up.
i fed my friends.
and then went to bed.
turned inward on myself
for two days more
this was my path.
cats fed.

i gave no thought to the outside.
to the phone calls,

my apathy bordering catatonic.
i was locked in chains in stygian hell,
inside my head.

they broke the lock.
my two samaritan friends
and found me
a weeping shell.
guarded by two hissing cats. shocked beyond words,
they instigated help for me .

this was my descent into clinical depression

my acsent
back out of the bomb crater, triggered by my fathers death, was arduous and long.

two days heavy sedation.
two weeks close observation 3months at a sanitorium
years of medication.
months and months of dedicated therapy.( i still occasionally do therapy.)

crawling over jagged glass feelings
and rusted tin memories.
that would lock my jaw and break my back.
through slime and muck and crap.

i would crawl,
mentally, forward
and then fall away.
it was, excruitingly, painful.
but also,

redeeming and liberating,
to fight my way up,
to open new doors.
to learn new ways
of thinking, seeing.

another 6 months,
a completed PhD
and an eventual move
of towns.
had me standing tall.

re-invented, restored more complete than before.

that is my history of depression

now eight years on:
i am no longer on medication.
(5years free weaned under Dr's supervision)
i met, married and had a child with the love of my life.
i have great career doing mostly what i love.

i am no hero, just a survivor.

i have a small ragged scar at my hairline,
a rememberance of less than betterdays.

i want no sympathy,
my life rocks.

i live life,
with love and gratitude,
in the forefront of my being,
each day an adventure.
some are blazingly good,
some mediocre
and some are bad.
but always,
tommorrow, is a chance of sunny.

i write this to encourage
those in the mental fight
with this disease.
to show that, there is a bright, enduring light.

and to thank those,
who guided me toward,
it friends, family, doctors,
and furry ones.
this work is now a couple of year, old. still doing fine.
3.3k · Jun 2014
betterdays Jun 2014
you are home,
hungry, tired and
after, a week away.

my world
is once again

my heart sighs
in quiet relief.
3.3k · Mar 2014
the tourney
betterdays Mar 2014
if you drill down,
past the hair,
flesh and bone.

into my mind
where the ego
and id  reside.
then turn to the left,
and follow the i.q.
down the alley,
you will find
a place.

where on thrones of
cogitating thoughts,
king big questions asked,
reigns in conjunction,
with, queen yet unanswered.

they watch with interest benign,
over a field of  an eternal tourney,
split roughly down the middle
by a chasm quite wide.

on one side
of the gorge is arrayed,
the banners of philosophy.
at the vanguard,
the epistemological knights;
plato, descartes, ferrier,
kant, hume,spinoza
and bosanquet.
the major forces ride beneath the banners, of their schools of thought.
followed by the lesser lights,
and those,
obscure or forgotten,
who walk at the rear,carrying the gear and
to set the tent poles.

as to the other side,
that is given to,
the seminaries of religion;
bhuddism, taoism,
islam, hindu, juche,
rastafarian, sikh, diasporic, parsis, tenrikyo,
judaism and christianity
with all its clans.
they array themselves in cadres,
according to belief.
and to the rear,
there rides,
an interesting guerilla band,
of intertestemantals,
about 3 or 4 hundred years wide.
these are the few who are  accounted for,
when god spoke nothing,
or perhaps
a lot but the message just got lost.
they number in their disparate clan,
alexander the great, ptolemy, the hellanic masses, seluecids, maccabeans, hasmoeans
and pompey the great,
not all, but the noteworthy.

across the divide,
by arrowing thought
were fought rallies of acumen
and battles of wit
and occasionally,
a persipacious fire was lit.

but there is one more player,
to mention.
the great hulking ******,
who for want of gumption, and get up and go,
sat crouched,
(quite uncomfortably so)
on a spire.
made of mediocracy,
cemented by woe,
in the iddle of the rifted abyss.
unable to decide
with which team to go.
another 3word writing
3.3k · Apr 2017
the world wide web......
betterdays Apr 2017
we create worlds
here on the internet
connecting we those
we will never see

chatting over virtual
back fences about
children, cats, recipes

we meet those who
have similar views
and those who don't
discuss things of import
show sympathy with
sad faced emoticons

we wish each others pets
happy birthdays with
cartoon characters

we share our art, music
and photography
then there are us poets
who write our hearts
for others to see

it is a melting ***
of thought and culture
of the full spectrum
of ability.....

it is a place of secrets
or exhibitionist excess

it is in many ways a wonder
and many ways a curse

the internet, really
just like the bottom
of an old ladies purse
full of useless lint and
used tissues, but if you
ferret arond long enough
you will find a dollar
or a hard candy
betterdays May 2014
an hour ago
  as we lay your coffin
          in the red brown earth
a mob of kangaroos
        bounded  by
                down in the vale
at the bottom of the hill.

amazing in their strength
and synchronicity
               the thunderous noise
a more than, fitting goodbye

the world itself ... resonated
with one last joyous round
of applause..and then a quiet

sue, whom we buried today,
was both an actress and teacher of the theatrical arts.
an unexpected.... but amazing
final farewell.
3.1k · Aug 2014
betterdays Aug 2014
our love making
early this morning
was slow and exquisite
and made me think of moss
all green verdancy and
gently enveloping moistness

always close to water
the ultimate source of life
simple but enduring

green earth velveteen
a soft place to fall

but then....
it may have just been
the feel of your soft scratchy
against the tender skin of
my inner thigh

either way....
thinking on it now
arouses me....again.
again... again.....
betterdays Mar 2014
as i sit here,
eating yet another
bowl of trifle,
that is rabbit-like,
in it's ability,
to seem neverending.

my thoughts lollop,
with leperorine grace to,
and his box of bunnies
multipying and multiplying.... infinitum...

another spoon,
to my mouth.
the sun's gentle rays,
sparkle through,
jellies translucency.
as tastebuds swoon
at sweet sugar's mango rush.
synapses hop and pop within
my head....

and in my mind's eye,
i see flopsy, mopsy,
cottontail..boy  and paul.
(not peter..copyright laws)
cavorting with fibonacci's
1,1,3,5,8,13,21....and so on.
playing leap frog, in a hedge
they play and add and hop and
in an unending  trail,
spiraling off.... into the west,
in a sweet smelling lavender haze.

at this point, i'm now thinking...
just, how much sherry did
aunty beryl put in this magic

if i am honest with myself  
and with you as well.
i will open my heart to confess.
to three new,

believed abstractions:

after all these years(47)
i am still enamoured of beatrix's
cute little rabbits
(but i must still claim
miss jemima puddleduck
as my  all time favourite)

fibonacci's numbers still rule
(what an extraordinary mind
this man owned and used
to the betterment of man kind)

and three;
....much more prosaically..
you see...
i fear i am having a moment of
metenoia ....
with regard to the trifle...
and the amount of it's delctable

i can now clearly
and a tiny bit queasily,
what it is  to be a glutton!!!
and i find repentant thoughts
of never again will i eat so much...
(in one sitting)....
are stomping on the rabbits.

(fortunately the rabbits are
getting out of the way....
...quick little fellas aren't they.. rabbits were hurt in the filming
of this imaginary sequence...)
written post christmas
2.5k · Aug 2014
betterdays Aug 2014
you, you little
lighthouse of love
your gap-toothed smile
sent out over a bowl of
brown butter porridge
guides me away from
the reef of workday despair.

your hand in mine
so small trusting
and divine
brings me back
to the path
out of the dark woods

your cheery wave goodbye
keeps me swimming
through the murk of
the tedious day

and that welcome cuddle
at the end of the day
brings me back to my
home harbour...

you, you little
lighthouse of love
my bearings
my light on the hill
shine on, shine on
todd my four yr oldjust smiled at me....all full of love and today...
i can...
2.4k · Oct 2014
betterdays Oct 2014
sitting all the way
over there

me sitting all the way
over here

inbetween us
a tabletop lake
of frosted silence

all that remains
the question

who will go
ice skating
2.4k · Sep 2014
betterdays Sep 2014
tea leaves
drift off the
to rebirth
scalding hot
in the cheery
little blue
betterdays Nov 2014
best way
to describe him
charlie chaplin
wearing stan laurel's
black and white suit.

black hat, white gloves
funny walk..
does not say much
but forever making us laugh

he is just not sure,
why that tail thing
follows him everywhere...

loves the blucat...
the blucat tolerates him
but is warming by the hour

he is tod's new cat...
the blucat....gus  is
geting on and prefers
to sleep...
timothy tuxedo
(he was going to be captain wrinkly drawers....but sanity
prevailed...can you imagine
standing at the the back door
and calling that cat..)
until he drops...
this will be a good thing

once tuxedo boy stops living
in the bottom of the shower...
that is his prefered quiet spot....
timothy tuxedo is our new
devon rex kitten....will try
to get picture soon
2.4k · Apr 2014
gotta goldfish
betterdays Apr 2014
we got a goldfish,
for my little boy.
a tank, some coloured grit, three plants not two,
must practise goldfish fung shu.
all the water testing guff
and of course a filter.
a sunken ship
and a treasure chest .
we paid the pirate...
and took our ***** home.
so we set Bruce.
( for that was the name chosen).
up in pride of place on sidboard.
the list, above,
was positioned after meetings of commision. water tested to the highest degree,
filter fizzing, wizzing,whirring.
Bruce swam in his bag
in the tank,
for a time as instructed.
then released to a slightly larger freedom.
he swam and swam,
golden scales a flickerin.
we, (that being, mr just about three and his dad)
fed him, watched him poo, and eventually,
read Bruce,
a bedtime tale or two.
one fish, two fish by Dr Suess went down a treat.
the little man then,
was bundled off to bed.
thoughts of Bruce left our heads.
the evening lengthened.
we retired to sleep the sleep, of ignorance it conspired.
for in our planning we forgot one thing.
a devon rex cat,
who has a bath weekly,
a penchant for tuna,
no top to the tank.
so we thank the lord
for Bruce. however,
brief was his reign.
now we introduce
to you....
Murtle the turtle
who has a glass pane,
sitting above her head.
just in case......
the cat likes, turtle soup.
betterdays Apr 2015
Easter Saturday morn, turned out to be wet and forlorn
no matter the weather we're  cosy n' warm, together
Two sleeping felines intertwined twitching
                                                       ­                tails n' noses
One Nan, with knee rug, knitting bag full
                                                                ­        of wool n'lollies

One Mama baking up treats, whilst,
                                                            sing­ing bad operettas.

Then there's me and my Da,
                                                  creating a blanket castle
A mighty fort of fabric n' cushions, chairs n' tables

No other place I'd rather be this soggy, rainy day.
I am a forteener.... and a forteener I will stay.
prompt: write a fourteener poem....I chose to make one with some wordplay involved.
Please note I chose to write without iambic pentameter. (often seen in fourteeners)
betterdays Sep 2014
i have been attacked
on another poetry site
because i found a
baby plagierist....

it is of no matter
a storm in a teacup...
i only mention it here
the logic of the this cyber ****,
was so very ludicrious.

among the swearing
and none to inventive ways
i should go **** myself
was this little gem....

"and stop using a dictionary
to make yourself look smart"

now...i am honest in saying
none of the ranting had affected me up to this point....

but this...just left me...
       .... rolfing.....

as not that part of
our the dictionary
not one of our basic tools.

anyway..just thought i would share this
as an example of the genius
minds that take up trolling.
2.2k · Jan 2017
betterdays Jan 2017

night air barely sighs

bodies lie far apart
on sweat damp sheets

tuxedo boy sleeps
spread eagled, legs asprawl
on wet shower tiles

the god child
twists and turns
in superman ******, under
mosquito-net blown by fans

outside small things
bathe & scurry through waterpans
placed on fast dying grass
and larger things drink
gulping mouthfuls from the pond

and we all await the breeze
and the small hours of the night
when the temperature drops
when the air cools enough
so as not to stifle breath,
anger minds, open lips
leaving hurt behind

Record night temps followed by hot still days...air con not cutting it..
2.2k · Sep 2014
betterdays Sep 2014
one eye open,
jackhammer in brain
....appears to be blucat

i see,
my hangover
has not....
diminished his,
need for food.

one eye closes,
drifting off again,
my head, so heavy...

one eye open, again.
staring up at,
a wrinkly bald blucat belly...
his front paws, on my forehead
backpaws, top of my chest.
still purring...
so not,
letting me rest....

thy name is....
hungry kitty.
.....the thing that annoys me
is ben was up...
he had fed the dang cat...
but he, the cat.... wanted more...
2.2k · Oct 2016
albatross days
betterdays Oct 2016
dragging forth a smile
i stand before the storm
of teenage angst
set down on worn carpet

we are in the eye
at rest, becalmed

but just for now

soon the winds
will blow and crack
and the seas
will roil and seethe

and from the mouth
all things vile will
spout and spew

and I and my albatross
will rue, having awakened

but I will smile
even as the albatross
whimpers and hides

for my smile
is my defence
this incoming

of hormonal  soap  opera
that is  this class
of seveteen teenage
pains in my ****
this farce of bed hopping
and sloppy breakups
followed by anguish
and x rated make ups

all played out before me
like reality tv

and I and the albatross
smile and stand
thinking ....
one more semester
I am gone from this land.....

My albatross and I ... can take to the sea
One more semester...then a years sabbatical...
2.1k · Mar 2014
darkside of the cogs
betterdays Mar 2014
Time rolls
its mossless stone
slowly tonight.

It is as though the
has lost it's

Seconds have become
thirds, fourths, fifths.
So slowly does
the smallest hand
move upon the cracked face.

Minutes no longer tiny minute things.
But now gargantuan wedges
of pie.
So large as to feed
history's poor twice over.

Hours are unpowered,
flacid flat balloons
without breath or form
smothering all thought.

The grandfather clock
in the hallway
has embraced senility
and no longer
completes it's
around the
captured sundial.

It has now given itself
airs and graces.
Believing in heart and mind,
and cog and pendulum,
to be a jazz percussionist
banging, tapping and ringing
in an off beat tempo
somewhat lacking in
basic rhythm.

So time runs
with the scatterd
predictabality of the Tardis.

Bigger on the inside.....
Slower on the darkside
of the  grandfather clock.
betterdays Jun 2014
it seems, my words
have lost their allure,
this morning.
and i am too fixated,
on vainly scrawling.
to see
the crafts of others,
floating on the river poetry.
i am, hands to the oars, rowing against,
a beautiful tide.
to attain a mooring,
on the inside of a thought. what would happen,
if i.....
let go and read just
one or two poems
from other,
weary skullsmen
and made comment.
it mayhap...
nothing, but then it,
instead of poetry,
decrying a dying state.

the poet in the other boat,
rowing silently,
for a moment, or a lifetime
is encouraged to,
greater acts
of creativity.
just maybe.....maybe.
2.0k · Jul 2014
crazy cat lady
betterdays Jul 2014
oh dear god!!!
help me, please
i have just realised
i am a crazy cat lady
of the virtual kind
...on pinterest...
i own
one hundred and three
and still want more....

please dear god...
help me
save from myself...
and this
compuction for more cats's
consecratation to my virtual feline nation
continuing attraction
to cute kitten paws

i have had a thought

at least they don't shed
cat hair, in the wardrobe
drawers ...
or leave unpleasant gifts
on the laundry floor....
i don't have to feed them
let them out the door
so when i think about it
i mose well
have more

call me the
catlady sublime...
with apologies to the little blucat.
and to those who love cats just a bit of fun.
1.9k · Apr 2014
potato love
betterdays Apr 2014
crinkle the chippies
wrinkle the bag
savour the salt
you're now a potato lad
buy the chippies
bag after bag
don't bother
about the belly sag
you're now a potato lad
wonderous flavours...
to be had
don't you worry
if your skin has gone bad
you're now a potato lad
cholesteral rising,
have trouble prising,
your doubled in sizing,
couch potato spread.
no, not you  
you're a potato lad
don't worry bout that,
at least, a third of the
world is morbidly fat.

besides my man,
you don't need to cry.
they went organic,
buy, only happy, free range kipfler joys.
they reduced the fat,
changed the taste.
and now your favourite
chips, are too
expensive to buy.
so my boy, you,
no longer can afford...
to be a potato lad

*here endeth
the unhealthy
potato lad
napowrimo day 10
prompt; write an adverstising

as you can well see
my jingle turned
feral on me
and became
a comment
a wry look
the adverts
with salsa
1.8k · Nov 2014
how to be polite...
betterdays Nov 2014
we walk the path
set before us
we walk
into the known
and comfort of
just once
i would like
new worlds
some not so bright
and beautiful..

to tresspass in
an unkown jungle
of acerberic words
and roaring truth
would be and adventure

to kayak down
the rapids of
neighborhood insanity
would be a refreshing

but once again...
we walk politely
in single file
around the zoo...

all well manicured
all maintained
secrets locked
within gilded cages

will that be one sugar
or two...
and keep off the grass
now.....that means you...
1.8k · May 2014
warp weft and weave
betterdays May 2014
We are mellow.
Having spent the evening exploring the threads of friendship.
That had come adrift of warp, weft and weave.
Time and distance had
silks, snag-tagged-torn,
on the bustling-busy,
hectic-hustling of work
and family.

small, gap-rip-rents
in the snug comforter
that is... the wonder of us.

Us, so many secrets woven. So many, nights of tissues and sobbing tears.
Darning in daring exploits. Cutting away knotted,
fear-angry-scream-fighting feuds.

Cutting work, for days of delight and nights of desperate yearning.

We used anything at hand, rough wools, pieces of string and twines.
To weave a blanket,
to hide us from life's storms.

We were,
so young, so strong, recklessly-brash,
and braveheart-fools.

And now, time and age,
has softened our work. Felted and fuse-melded,
the fibres into a beautiful entity.

That we store-save in the heart's cupboard,
of special and precious  things.
It is an heirloom of sorts.
We bring it out,with occasional, humble-grace,
to be dandled and stroked with reverence.

Caressed and cossetted are our memories held within the abstract weave.

We are the dwindling
of a youthful exuberance
to the wild winds.

So now, we are grateful to be curator-custodians of the retrospective nature
as we augment-append
and reiterate-repair.

A new thread here,
and tatt-stitch.
My son and your twin girls, squeezed, splashing
into your tiny bathtub
big-grin-giggling in the gurgling water.

Our future, here and now,
is the brightest of silks,

Our past, mellow and yielding in,
the luminent opulence,
angelically-asleep in,
the other room.
1.8k · Aug 2018
ties that bind
betterdays Aug 2018
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
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
1.8k · Apr 2014
dimble dumble's day
betterdays Apr 2014
dimble dumble,
caught a, thimble thumble
of precious morning dew.

dimble dumble, took his thumble thimble,
full up to rimful.
on his nimble rambull
wooly stu,
careful not to lose,
a drippity drop
of the delicious dew.

they flimble, flambled,
up and overed,
down and undered,
till dimble dumble,
with his thimble thumble, filled to rimful,
on the wooly rambull... came to stumble.

his face a crumble,
as the rimful,
roamed and overflew,
the thimble thumble walls.
a dribble drabble did scribble scrabble,
down the rambulls hide.

dimble dumble
chewed his bottom lip
and cried.
"do not fret my little pet, look there is still enough inside"
wooly stu decried.
"i'll be more staid,as we ride our fortunes, soon will be made."

so,dimble dumble
and his rambull crew,
with thimble thumble recovered,
from the tumble.

on they skedoodledaddled. being careful to protect the remaining morning petal's dew.
after a while, time,
flew with dove like grace and dimble dumble,
with his dudes came
to the the very place, of the rimble romble rumble
and royal rapture rap parade

dimble dumble
and rambull stu on bended knee
and really humble
presented their
thimble thumble
not quiet full to rim still
but delicious and felitious morning dew
to the king awaiting
his purchase and perview.

before its spoiling,
it was boiling,
his kettle singing,
songs a ringing,
to the beauteous,
but not so bountious, morning dew.

dimble dumble
watched the
thimble thumble steam
and bubble blip away.
hands flipping flapping
nose jinkling wrinkling
as the fog blew,
his way boiling dew,
tea leaves darjeeling
with daphne blossoms
was the flavour of the day.

dimble dumble
with thimble thumble
empty now
and too, wooly stu
caught a peek of teacups platinum
holding royal blossom brew before the butler,
with a silly stutter,
sent them on their way,
with dimble dumble
all a fumble,
with a thimble thumble
of goldenboldens,
as his hard work's
reward that day.
napowrimo day 22
prompt; write a poem for a child, it may rhyme it may not.

a poem for my boy Tod,
with themes inherit
always keep trying
hard work pays off.
1.7k · Aug 2014
the camel poem...for dp
betterdays Aug 2014
colin, was a camel
who liked to roam

a two ****** fella
sort of brownish yella
decidely cool and mellow

had an eye on the road
always moving forward
albeit at a somewhat leisurely pace
and always with a goofy
smile on his face.

never looked back
and that's a fact
often found straying
from the beaten track
never in lack
of a kind word or to
incredably pragmatic
in his point of view

when asked his opinion
on the world today
stated emphatically
ya just gotta hope
and pray....that
and stay outta
the big boys way.

colin the camel
who liked to roam
had eleven big brothers
who stayed at home

colin was wise
most were twiçe
his size
and the rest
had habits
that attracted flies.

so colin kept
more than one step ahead
cause if they caught up
with him
colin was dead....
the camel comes ...
just for you dedpoet
a friend.....  for your camel
1.7k · Aug 2014
e-scentually good
betterdays Aug 2014
there are some things,
that just smell so good:
corn freshly shucked, potatoes roasted in campfire coals, carrots fresh from the ground, then washed   and stovetop roasted
basted with butter
and lavender honey.

the nape of my toddlers neck,
that clean fresh hopeful little boy smell.
coffee, straight up, freshly brewed
caramel warming,

passionfruit, strawberries, citrus any type, zested. freshly planed fennel curls, mint crushed for a mojito, roast lamb and rosemary gravy.

the smell of planed wood in the palms of my man's hands as i kiss them. frangipani, coconut tanning oil,
earth newly rained upon. popcorn popping, chocolate melting,
jasmine, orange blossoms,
a grove of pine trees.
warm gingerbread and mulled wine.

salt tang on the morning breeze.
the smell that lingers after the lovin.
garlic and ginger in a hot wok.
salt tang on the evening breeze.
prawns all sea salty and
a crisp cold beer.

sandlewood and citrus aftershave lotion on your smoothed cheek.

nectarines, apricots,
a yellow juicy peach,
freshly bitten.

apple scented shampoo daphne & lilac my nana's smell,
bay *** newspaper print and palmolive soap,
my pop's study.

rose petals crushed.
earl grey tea,
toast just before burning damper and cocky's joy
crisp fresh linen warm from the sun.

so many scents, so many smells...
these are my favourites please feel free to add your's, as long as it's clean
and above board.
damper=camp fire bread similar to soda bread
cocky's joy=goldensyrup.
1.7k · Aug 2018
tea leaf
betterdays Aug 2018
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
1.7k · Jul 2015
chlorophyll dreaming
betterdays Jul 2015
jaded by this world's jealousy
I covet only a field of young wheat
in which to lay and
watch the lemon-lime
seed heads sway in the wind.
to hear the sussurant whispers
as the heads, heavy with potential
rub one to another
in a constant  dance.

feeling the earth warm beneath me
the smell of growth and verdancy
pungent in my nostrils.
contemplating chlorophyll and photosynthesis
. ... and cell structures
watching a olive green grasshopper
crawl up the stalk of the plant and
balance on the head, before leaping
into the field,
absorbed within the
shuffling hues of green.

melding with the rythm of the ants
as they march and
marveling at the butterflys dance
green, green,
seeding into my self,
growing little tendrils of life....
that tickle my weary soul and
etch a smile upon my face...
1.7k · Jul 2014
the choices i make
betterdays Jul 2014
in the middle of the night.
when your snores,
snorts and grinding teeth
serenade, my fancies flight
i choose, to love you....

in the cool of the dawn.
when you, leave your
towels on the floor
and your beard's
shorn-shearings, in the sink,
but kiss me gently, as you go
i choose, to love you....

at noon, when i open
my lunch, to see the gingerbread,
gone, replaced with the
words from "our song."
i choose, to love you.....

and at the descent of the evening.
when, instead of putting
our boy to bed,
you fill his head, with dragons and monsters
i choose, to love you........

and when i say,
i choose, to love you............
....... i lie.......
              there is no choice....

i am yours,
the end of....
1.6k · Jan 2015
all things are possible
betterdays Jan 2015
in my child's eye...
it is possible,
for a frog, to choose to fly.
a dog to dance and
cats to swim.

it is possible,
to build a castle,
up into the sky.
to converse with stars.
for elephants to drive,
tiny cars.

it is possible,
that the world,
is without sin
and washed clean,
each morning,
which is to be met
with an insouciant grin.

it is possible,
to befriend the child
you just met....
no matter what creed
or colour.

it is possible,
to forgive
and live,
without regret
and to sleep
at night
without any stress.

it is possible,
at that age,
to know ....
a dollar found upon
the sidewalk,
is a treasure
of great proportions,
if made into,
lollies and shared,
with friends.

it is possible...
that fish can write stories
and possums delight

it is possible to count
a monkey as a friend.

it is possible to ride
kangaroos and
adventure to Timbuctoo

it is possible,
to love spaggetti
as much as your mother.
to make the new kitten,
your brother.

it is possible,
to love your dad
even when he is silly
or mad...

all this is possible...
                   ....and much more
when you are just,
one year, past four...
                      ...and you have a
sunny, lovable disposition
and the world has yet to
find the time, to revise
the freedoms of your amazingly beautiful mind...

            it is possible....
        and in many ways
          so very probable...
writing this while watching
my boy Tod make more new friends.......and create a city
from sugar packets, cultery .....and salt and pepper a brunch picnic..
God kids they are just amazing...
betterdays May 2014
three o four
there's a flock
of big brown moths
flapping at the door

they wish to see,
what the insomiac, me
is writing on my pallet
of white electricity

they thrum and they
fight to get to the
seven by five square
of light
that is my dark of night
insanity, rewrite.

sorry i must go,
the cat, has heard,
the feathery noise
and now sits poised,
ready to strike
and that will be
a darkside calamity...
of possible veterinary proportions.
1.6k · Oct 2014
betterdays Oct 2014
eyelids heavy
grey day
red inked fingers
shuffling papers
words at play
bell curve unhappy
coffee cup empty
temper short
brain yelling
abort! abort!
day three, marking....176 essays....
1.6k · Apr 2014
Vale Mickey Rooney
betterdays Apr 2014
goodbye, Mickey
gone to the great big
Boystown in the sky

you were my saturday
you, Spencer Tracey
and 20cents of mixed lollies
in front of the old b&w;,T.V.

your angelic smile
and cheeky bad boy ways.
one day i was going to
marry you.

but then life changed.

today, when i heard
the news
i went back to that time
so thank you Mr Rooney
for those simple days
vale, vale.
mickey rooney passed away today
after a long illness.
1.6k · Dec 2014
betterdays Dec 2014
she bleeds,
hard and dark, bitterwords
and angry scowls,
from the depths of her lazyboy chair.

age has stolen
her laughter, wit and compassion....
pain is her worldy possesion,
it blinds her to all else.

she used to laugh and smile and i miss that, so much,
and i wish that, my boy
would have those memories
but we have become,
the whipping boy,
to her frailty,
her scroogelike attitudes,
her impatience to,
be done with it all....

this is my sacrifice,
my burden,
willingly, lovingly,
shared by my lover and child...

but, oh! somedays,
it is like,
carrying a bag,
of sharded glass,
that pierces my back
and stabs at my heart.
1.6k · Dec 2014
the convict church
betterdays Dec 2014
and defiance
for this
old church
so far far
and on
the pews
so narrowly
to the
was the
place to
was the
and on
the cobbled
their marks
their way
back to
the convict
the hell
of each
and every
a church, built by convivcts
from floor to ceiling
the convicts were penned
in pew boxes the pews themselves...less than six inches wide....
the convicts etched there unitials or marks into the brick cobblestones...while "praying"....
these marks are different to
the brickmaker marks inset
into the clay bricks made to build walls etc...these marks
were made to help tally the
number of bricks made by
each convict....
we stopped at this church
as we make our way home from the history gives it a sad and austere feel...
1.6k · Mar 2014
caterpillar thinkings
betterdays Mar 2014
ravenous ....
...i watch..
the caterpillar
.....munch the leaf..
..edge to spine
in a systematic arc....

with a... squirm and
an inching motion...
he moves ......all energy
concentrated ....on ...the...
mouthpiece..... *******
...cookie cutter.. nibbling... mouthfuls....
...always ...just.. one ..more......

...willful ...energetic...unstoppable....
...obesity... for a cause..

...i wonder... what
wonderfully... beautifully..
..exquisite ..flutterful......
thing .....will this fat
wrinkly ****......become....

i turn to go inside.....
....i have a hankering...
for some.... green grapes..
1.6k · May 2014
jungle gym joy
betterdays May 2014
two small children
bundled up like
michelan men
scramble around
the spider frame
monkey bars
their breath
little puffing billy clouds
of i think i can
as they play and race
each other to
the platform
an slide in
exuberant joy
down the red slippery slide
i smile at the ability
that most children have
to find and capture
this joy...
and savour it.
1.6k · May 2014
good morning, mr wren
betterdays May 2014
good morning wren
sitting at my
breakfast table.

you.... in your fancy
duds and plumage.
...all the while
your wife at home,
in .....beige brown grey.

you want my toast
.....just the crumbs
yes... it has been a hard
couple of days.

you'll dance and sing
and bring.... beakfuls
of happiness my way.

please ...take the crusts
and if you must
...the corner of the
pastry too.
as i know it is more or two....
that are waiting,
at your ...table

but, rush now, mr wren
the attention of the cat,
you've caught..
and he is willing and
....almost able to make
your wife a widow.

fly wren

but...please do.... come back
1.6k · Mar 2014
betterdays Mar 2014
feelin lazy today,
so you get what you get,
turn the page
move on
learn from your mistakes
be brave
face your fears
footloose and fancyfree
don't run with scissors
stay a while
catch more flies with honey
wrong way turn back
a stitch in time saves nine
when i was your age
no rhyme or reason to it
high road or low road
polly want a *******
click, click, boom
first past the post
i 'm just a smiling sunbeam
barrel of monkeys
to thine ownself be
thank you
what doesn't **** you
hand in the cookie jar
never seen the like
flat out like a lizard drinking
not happy jan!
take a bex and have a good lie down
sunshine and daffodils
slip, slop, slap, put on a hat
life passes by in the blink of an eye
chip on your shoulder
take note
laughter the best medicine
kindness warms the cockles of my heart
if you can't be nice
you did not just say that
umm, ahh,
now you in trouble
quiet now i am watching tv
do not cry
don't spray it, say it
do not tell mum
it was'nt me
hava mint,
go to your room
do not pass go do not collect one hundred $$
all the world's a stage... merely players
wanna play
go away busy
want to come over
can i kiss you
it's a boy
what a whopper
please i've seen better
do i know you
the dog ate my homework
who now
why am i here
put your clothes on
what goes up must come down
life goes on
is my *** big in this
stop the merry-go-round i want to get off
i need a dollar
tea anyone
she had a goodlife
how much
every things coming up roses
what pink pigs flying overhead
snap, crackle, pop
one sugar or two
in case i don't see you
good morning
good evening
and good night
take a bow you've earned it
with appropiate thanks given to all
1.6k · Apr 2014
of acorn and word
betterdays Apr 2014
as the oak is always the acorn,
so the poem is always the word,
no matter, how decimated       the tree,
no matter, how faded
the word,

inside resides, the tree, awaiting  the catalyst.
inside resides, the poem,
awaiting the esprit.

always, the essence remains,
always, is the outcome, foreshadowed...
etched in, by a code,
known, only in it's base intricacy by one...
the creator.
napo wrimo day 25
prompt; write a curtal sonnet.
this is as close as i could get to the prompt
not quiet there tho...
i have difficulty writing
in rhymed schemes
always is the price
one pays for being a spontaneous writer, i suppose.
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