Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
618 · Dec 2014
we all heavy....but
betterdays Dec 2014
can we be
friends?
brother & sister?
kin?

can we
carry,
eachother.

broken or whole,
intact or damaged.

and let's be honest,
none are wholly intact
and all are,
brokenly damaged.

but,
be that as it may.

let us,
carry
eachother,
for we are,
(what passes for)
humanity.

let us carry            each other
across the wastelands, through the high waters,
over mountains,
and
through valleys,

until,
we find the place
of
  joyful reconciliation.
          

can we do that,
people?
can we
put the *******
aside
and
do that?
618 · Dec 2014
balancing the scales
betterdays Dec 2014
ten thousand joys,
both small and big,
sit behind my lips,
in the crinkled crowsfeet
corners of my eyes
and fizz, fizz, fizz....
like sherberted,
fireworks,
within my brain.

ten thousand sorrows,
curve my spine,
scratch at my heart,
and sit as,
tears unshed...
in brimming dams,
behind my eyes.

ten thousand hopes
rush like oxygen
along ...
the arteries and veins.

ten thousand wrong decisions,
grind at my joints...
and make my knees,
click and pop,
in this muggy weather.

ten thousand right decisions
stare back at me
from your eyes
so like mine....

and make me...
count the joys,
forget the sorrows,
live the hopes....
and strive..
to make the best decisions
i can....
and forgive those that,
i have stuffed up...

ten thousand...
i love you's,
will never be enough.
Written for my son Tod.
Inspired by the writing of Jack Kornfeild;
We are  all beset in our lifes,
by ten thousand joys
and ten thousand sorrows.
Open your eyes
and become a witness
to the mystery of incarnation.
Let your story move on.
It is never too late.
Open your eyes...and see...
life differently...
Jack Kornfeld...
betterdays Feb 2015
here be i
sitting in my chocolate boat
floating in the sea of tea
off the point of
the cape of big hopes
sailing fo the isles of little dreams
when the marshmallow
sharks attack...
so i being an intrepid traveller, take out my
peacock feathersword
and tickle their foamy gills

after much hilarious giggling
they, the sharks cry nuncle
and swim off to play in
the garden of the anenomes

and i drink frothy marshmallowy chocolate milk for afternoon tea...

                                 suweet!!!
some silliness for my son
while stuck in traffic...
616 · May 2014
a small boys hug
betterdays May 2014
it is amazing to see and
feel the healing properties
of a small boys hug

my little man, and his god father, laz,  are walking hand in hand....tod full of love...and little boy concern
is  touching laz's wounded
heart..

earlier when we first met back up.. tod said..
"lazly.... sorry oozly(his name for sue) went to heaven but
she can pat bobalob(their deceased cat, a beautiful  persian thing) anytime she wants now.....and you can get a doggy now".... and hugged laz tight and tighter
and i will love you bigger than the sky and kissed
lazly on his crying,laughing
eyes....
before hopping off lazly's lap
and saying "come with me i will show you where the blue tongues hide"...
and still they wander around
our friend's garden.... this is the first time since  sue's funeral ... i have seen life... in laz's eyes....all because of the bumbling  condolence and love of a little boy.... with a golden heart...
616 · Apr 2015
mixed messages. ..but true
betterdays Apr 2015
these things I know to be true...

behind the clouds,
the sky is blue.

if the grass is greener over there;
on the other side of the fence...
then someone is wasting water
in this drought.

if everyone is keeping up with
the jones's .
why are they so unhappy?

two wrongs don't make a right,
but four lefts make a square.

the sun will come out tomorrow,
but so may the clouds...

life is full of schmucks,
but if you're in luck.
the  schmuck you marry
may have some bucks.

there is, true love
there is, higher ground
there is forgivness.
you can find useful things
in the lost and found.
chocolate can be good for you.
you have to feed your soul.
and yes all that glitters
is definitely not gold.

there is no true way,
to grow old gracefully.
so make the best of it.
count each and every day
as a bonus....
                   for that is what it is!!!
615 · Aug 2014
sunday morning high
betterdays Aug 2014
here i am,
cold winter,
sunday morning...high.

my drugs.....
a predawn lovefest
lots of, little boy
giggling n' smiles
bannana berry pancakes,
made by my satisfied guy.
blucat purring at my feet.

and the sun,
lazily peeking in

god i love
the sunday morning high...
and no hangover neither....
615 · Apr 2014
a little to the left
betterdays Apr 2014
i'm feeling a just little to
the left of sane today,
don't quite know what it is.
but it feels a little like
that itchy spot in the middle of your back.
you know the one ya just can't reach to scratch.

the day started good..
now a smidge of paranoid and pinch of misunderstood is make making me feel
less than i should
if i had to colour me right now,
it would be a deep grey, indigo blue.
perhaps....
i am just getting a dose of manflu(strange as i am a woman-girl).
but no it's more than that.

i feel rundown, runover, squashed flat.
bummed out busted and outright flustered
yeah adding a dash of that. now i am on a roll down a hill going fast.

nothing of import has happened to make me feel this way.
no arguement, cross words, crisis or dilemma has crossed my path today.

i am out of step,
stomping on toes,
counting to ten,
to save someones nose,
from my tense and tightly clenched fist.

the way that i'm feeling
one of two things could happen.
every body else could...
shuffle to the left a little
to align with me (yeah like thats gonna happen).

....or if thats just a hassle your going to need to:
step aside as my progress,
is now furious
and my wake is wide.

make your choice
my toes are a tappin
i no longer
have time for this lip flappin....

....boom thar she blows!!!!
614 · Apr 2015
riddleraddled
betterdays Apr 2015
banana driven
to drive one bananas
backseat driver
lodged on one's back
insipid thief
taking bite sized pieces
of one's soul
leaving you feeling less
than whole..
confused about one's role
grinding, prancing,
either way can't stop dancing
riddle-raddled fiddle-faddled
muddle minded ....
listening,
to it's whispering....
takes a terrible toll.
prompt :
write a riddle poem...
notes: the answer to what am I?
the monkey on one's back....
. ..but then you guys already
knew that.
betterdays May 2014
insurmountable
undefatigable yet
sitting lost for words

my friend you are here
beaten broken and alone
your choice created this

your ******  pride made this
clusterfuck happen  again
you need to hop down

off your tall pristine
pedestal of hurt hubris
and apologise till

your stupid tongue bleeds
then apoligise once more
and hope she listens

then spend the lifetime
making sure she knows you love her
more than that stupid.......
overheard (the general jist...the bloke did'nt speak in hiakus) at the pub... never did catch
how he stuffed up.  but it must have been big
610 · May 2017
as the years flow
betterdays May 2017
small shy smiles
laughter hidden
behind hands

a brief hesitant touch
turning into  a caress

watching as they walk away
not watching as they return

hiding heartbeats
by moving quickly
just out of reach

i remember young love

small touches
with great meanings
coded messages in small smiles
laughing out loud mouth wide
when spooning is its own pleasure

holding hands and tracing scars
saying i love  you, hearing I love you
as part of everyday conversations
learning to love through hateful times
knowing you can break but will not shatter
knowing the pleasure of knowing their pleasure
finding thousands of ways to create love
working through the boring bits
knowing the others heartbeat by rote
watching them walk away, welcoming them back

this is my season of middle aged  love
I was watching young love in the quad at uni and well remember the insecurities involved...I much prefer this middle aged love where while there are still suprises..the is the comfortable knowing of each other's ways...and wants
609 · Mar 2014
colour me blue
betterdays Mar 2014
colour me blue
                     ........now,
                             ..not ***** or lewd or suggestive.

colour me blue
                  ...... now
                                ...not glum
or gloomy or...  
                        woebegone.

colour me blue
                   .....now
                          ... not cerulean or beryl ...
                         or cobalt...
                              ... not indigo or ultra marine or azure

colour me blue
                       ....now
                                ..... agave tequila blue     ....now

                  please bartender....

colour me  blue.
608 · May 2017
streetcar musings
betterdays May 2017

I find comfort here
when my heart sighs heavy
as it does often now
as I  watch my mother
fall in upon herself
as she wanders in
a non direct line
toward the end of
her mortal coil

I find comfort
in the words
of others
whose day
was distinctly
different from mine

those who revel
in first love's  bliss
or are enraptured by
the antics of a bird

and those whose days
though different in ways
have a similar seam of sadness

we pool our silent tears
and make ink weep
for us, as we smile
for those we love

or have loved

so this missive sent
to you all....is one of
heartfelt thanks
for the many kindness'
you bestow on a stranger
607 · Apr 2014
twitching
betterdays Apr 2014
my cat has dreams.
while sound asleep,
his little grey legs,
flex and run.
his ears ***** and tail lashes. he chatters that funny little hunter's cry.
sometimes i watch him
and smile,
thinking in his dreams,
he must be a panther or lion on the savanah,
or up a jungle tree stalking his dinner,
as does, a big sleek animal roaming.

some mornings,
when i wake.
from a deep sleep,
of half remembered dreams. i open my eyes,
to find my little cat watching me.
i ponder,
whether he attributes dream's meanings,
to my, nighttime
twitchings too.
607 · Nov 2014
panacea...
betterdays Nov 2014
found...
to be,
accepted,
for one's own self.
at last to be found
and taken from this storm,
this tumultuous **** storm  
and given, a place of refuge...
in the warmth, of another's
                                 heartbeat.
606 · Jun 2015
shopping cart blues
betterdays Jun 2015
lists, hustle, bustle
no parking and a cranky
little one....
white knuckled derby
on cart with shonky wheels

dodging packers, shelf stackers
and half the universe(ity)
hungry, tired need to be fed
stuck behind an old couple
could not be worse

no checkout chicks
just the self serve aisle
****** going to be here
for a long slow while

home at last
take the freezer bags in
the rest left in the car
until we break the fast
lasagne in the micro
"someone's momma made it"(???)
bag of salad on the side
so we get some green
"okay troops dig in"

finally all unpacked
stored and ordered
now for my reward
ten minutes of poetry
and a big block of
chocolate sin.
shopping on payday in a uni town
is always a trial...especially in winter
but came home and after dinner
popped onto hp....and found a wonderful set of poems from woody... and thus this came about
606 · Sep 2014
miss lucy's hands
betterdays Sep 2014
her hands
once strong
and beautiful

now frozen
into gnarled
and sculpted
tree roots

by arthritis

all bent
and knobbed
aching joints

thier skin
marred with
wrinkles
and spots

stretched
taut over
aches
sagging
inbetween

nails
kept
trim

her hands
almost
but not quite
useless

is that
how
she feels
within.
my mothers friend.....
once a fine seamstress and
winner of medals for
exquisite embroidery
now in a nursing home
unable to do the simplest
of things...
her once dextrous
and clever hands
"gnarled clubs at the end
of my arms"(her words)
605 · Jul 2016
....and millions
betterdays Jul 2016
i lie quiescent
listening to the conversations of bees

and the roar of butterflies as they
begin the chaotic whirlwinds
of strife

this is a moment....of nothingness

when my eyes are closed to the rat race

when the green green grass..

......subsumes me

and i am peripherally,
at one with myself.

mother to all,
mother to none.

i hear the ants
tunneling beneath
and the bugs flying above

the earth speaks and moves

and i listen...

the sky smiles,
the tides greet the moon

and I am but one small heartbeat

                                                 ...............among millions
605 · Mar 2014
i am. (madge)
betterdays Mar 2014
i am,
the spoon left in
the icecream bowl.
i am,
the towel on the
bathroom floor.
i am,
the toys in the cupboard
and more.
i am,
the vase with bright flowers.
i am,
the left over lasange
in the fridge.
i am,
the dinosaur doona
that snuggles your boy.
i am,
the bedhead that
watches you sleep.
i am,
the old clock
on the mantle,
wonky time i do keep.
i am,
cotton and lace knickers,
jocks and striped socks,
jumbled up in a cedar drawer.
i am,
toothbrushes and bathplugs.
i am,
the tattered, striped hall rug.
i am,
pictures of two, then three.
i am,
the couch, the oversized tv.
i am
the desk and the books.
i am
the mirror that looks
old and faded.
i am,
art projects, created
and afixed on the wall.
i am,
coffee table
and
featherstone chair,
none too stable.
i am,
walls of teak
and roof of
colourbond steel.

i am
house and home
and if i could speak,
well, it would be
downright surreal.

i am,
comfort and warmth.
i am,
refuge and rest.
i am,
old and creaking.
i am,
heaven blest.

i am,
haven,
from lifes storms.

and i am  more,
you made me
this way,
with love,
you and yours.
the old teak farmhouse that has been in my husbands family for years
we call her "madge"
for the first of their line
604 · Jul 2014
it's just a dream
betterdays Jul 2014
in my nightmare,
i walk across plain,gibberous
of melted blue grey glass.

in my nightmare,
the voices of the
four winds whisper,
words fetid and foul,
of love lost
and left behind.

in my nightmare,
the sun scowls
and rips the water
right from my lips.

and i walk on feet,
of bones stripped bare.

and i search,
horizon to horizon
but see only,
blind hope mirages,
fading away.

and my voice echoes,
in my calamitous mind,
calling names of kin and kind.

and my skin sloughs from
my flesh, to sizzle on the ground.

and inside,
the cage,
of xylophone ribs.
a wizened walnut heart
no longer beating,
to ordered time.

and my skull,
now, a hollow drum
of rattling, mutton-headed thoughts,
constantly bleating.

in my nightmare,
i am laid bare
and found wanting, needing,
longing.

in my nightmare,
you are not there.

in my nightmare
there is...
no one else, anywhere.

in my nightmare
i am alone
        all alone....
                      and that,
    scares, the **** out of me!
this was an exercise written from a prompt
thankfully i have not had
and gonestly hope to never have this stark, dark dream ...gone bad...
just flexing my wings and writing outside myself..
603 · May 2014
the vigil
betterdays May 2014
sitting by your bed
waiting for the waiting
to cease

my, heart a lump,
within my breast.
watches for your beat
barely discernable and frail.

so many things left unsaid
misunderstood, misread.

but there is love
mother to child
child to mother
there was love

you fade, each breath
a small farewell
each tear i shed a plea for
forgiveness
as i wait and witness

there is love and forgiveness
here carrying one home
and another to release
a burden .... forgiven.
written for a friend whose mother passed away... posted with her permission.
in hopes it may comfort others
603 · Jun 2014
sweat
betterdays Jun 2014
one beaded drop of sweat, traverses the canyons
and ridges of his,
finely muscled back
slow ..quick.. slow
in rhythm with his .....
scintillating movement
i am transfixed,
by the little bead's progress
hesitant to portend
it's destination,
as it wends it's way downward.
i want to halt...
the glistening jewel's journey with the tip of my tongue.....cat-like,
lapping at smooth milk
but that would be.....




........a bit weird.....
i expect the young god cycling, before me in
the spin class may think me odd
if i leapt forward and licked his salty back....

...but an old girl can dream!
602 · Apr 2017
incommunicado
betterdays Apr 2017
along the lace-edged surf
I walk looking for message bottles
but today the sea is silent
602 · Apr 2015
slanted light
betterdays Apr 2015
Winter listens, listens.
Meanings, breathe imperial
Tis difference.
When like –
When the it –
When it listens.....
Tis it, the difference
Winter like scar, comes,

He the Landscape
– An –
We, the breath,

-NO-
When Hurt,
goes, –
We imperial none
We hold - are seal,
are afflicted lights

    -The Distance -
    ...of the us...
    – None listens –

Where it holds hurt,
it comes as,
Cathedraled Despair
Any listens – '
Tis –
the goes, '
tis of the us  - goes,

Distance On light,  
But comes, gives us  –
Death -
of certain slanted despair,

None listens - goes,

We find the Distance Of it –
That a Hurt,
Any meaning –
Heavenly Meanings,
Teach us Hurt,
The like of-
tuned,
affliction,
shadows,
imperial despair.

look-teach-look-find-listen-look,  

Send imperial light,  
Shadows of  light
Any Heft- Any Slant -
Of  their affliction,
scar-differential.

Sent like winter
– An –
heaven
None on hold,
goes,

There is it  – There is it -
Shaft of hefted light
Sent slanted - sealed compassion
falls from internal, elanic height.

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●
napowrimo2015
prompt:
using an Emily Dickenson
Poem..
rewrite
into a new piece.

Original poem:

There's a certain Slant of light,
BY EMILY DICKINSON

There's a certain Slant of light,

Winter Afternoons –

That oppresses, like the Heft

Of Cathedral Tunes –


Heavenly Hurt, it gives us –

We can find no scar,

But internal difference –

Where the Meanings, are –


None may teach it – Any –

'Tis the seal Despair –

An imperial affliction

Sent us of the Air –


When it comes, the Landscape listens –

Shadows – hold their breath –

When it goes, 'tis like the Distance

On the look of Death
betterdays Apr 2014
once upon a clock
my house was but a pile
of cards
dealt badly to me
or so i thought
but as time rolled by
riding a mossless rock
i was inclined to think
i could rebuild my deck
using a straighter arrow
and some crazy glue
and make a  cosy nook to
theorize and dissertate
on the new and better
portion, for to sit on
my plate.
for as the wind blows
it can bring fortunate things
of gilded dust and dedelian
wings.
sonetimes it is the choice that matters.
and somtimes it is ok
to just sit on the dock
and watch it all blow away
but don't watch kettkes.for they are just introvert and shy... now the toaster however
is a pop up kinda guy.
ok so now this garden path is leading somewhere a tad weird
down past the zen all calm and white mountains
to the quirky and a little bezerky secret garden
wall and locked where all the gnomes have ned kelly beards, and the lions are dandy and a titch randy.
the dragon snaps are snippity and the roses
are just **** posers and the camelia's would **** for a good cup of tea.

but enough of the garden tour,
we needs must be giving attention to the
matter at hand tho sleight as it be
we have a house of cards to rebuild
a free flow of metaphoric idiocy before i go to bed..fully aware i probably should have gone to
bed earlier ...before i let go the hound of bad mixed breed metaphor
hope you enjoy the sillines.(mistakes and all)
600 · Nov 2016
been a week
betterdays Nov 2016
it has been a week
a big week
full of turmoil and upset
goverments dying
to be reborm

people dying to be
something other or else


words spinning, spitting hate
words tripping, traveling around
creating hope and seeding love

flotsam and jetsam
landing on shores
both foriegn and known

big thing going on
going down

...and yet you still have time
to sit and rub my feet
...and I still have time to let you

life continues.....a pace
600 · Sep 2014
SAFEkeeping
betterdays Sep 2014
the bellRINGS
                     tinitubular
sending curlique vibrations
             of sound unseen
but felt at the very  heart
of the core
            and then there isJOY
floating around in moted
                          DEFIANCE
small smidgens fall like        
              MANNA
on the thirsting ground.
   and in this simple action of grasping at  INSPIRATION
we the poets
                    hear
                         the ECHOES  
                of lives unlived
and see the beauty of        
                               DREAMS

yet to be broken
                and in that
                        small moment
we are the KEEPERS of the
                     world  
WITHIN the bells that are
                              RINGING
an experiment...in format
and flow...
betterdays Dec 2014
"She speaks poinards and every word stabs"*
Much Ado About Nothing
                            Shakespeare*

Her voice, a silken cord,
wrapped around your neck

Her intent, harm,
a slow lingering death
by rememberance
of her disdain....

By the point of her tongue
You are lanced,  again
and again.

You would not think her
an asassin....
of the highest decree,
as she sits prim and proper,
taking tea.

But stray from the narrow
path she sets..
and slow scandulous death
will beset you.
Make no mistake...
She is out to get you.

Her tongue a poinard,
Her mind, a machination,
camouflaged with coy,
polite inclination.

Her body, allurement to
ambuscade.
And then the death of
a thousand cuts begins.

Be you male, female
or mixed gender
she does not discriminate
the sharp tongued assassin
lives to win...

To cut you down, slice by
slice, by slice..
That is Madame Gossip's
much loved vice.
as part of Frank's wonderful challenge...
i took this line from Shakespeares Much Ado..
(i have been preparing text for summer residential schools)...and applied it's eloquence to the queen bee
problem my niece is having
whereby shechas been targeted for obe of those whispering cyber bully campaigns by her local queen bee....fortunately
she andxhercgroup of friends are smart enough to not become victims.
but it made me think on words as weapons...and thus
this offering....
599 · Nov 1
Another day
betterdays Nov 1
One more to add to the collection
Piled up in stacks
of memories ,
good, bad, indifferent.
They loom large like a hoarders playground..
Teetering on the edge of remembrance,
Akin to a child arcing  on the up curve of a swing in motion all joy and suspense...

The oldest of days
So compressed and worn they have become mere scraps
Postcards withe messages written
In ink  faded, jaded
Like ether riding a zephyr  they pass through your mind to tiny whirlwinds from days left behind.

This day different from any other, as are they al, closes now awaiting it's
place upon a pile
All so tall now
It was a gooday another one of love, laughter  action and rest, commonplace by many standards..

But we have  learnt
to take each day and polish it like gem.

And accept it as a blessing ..

Before resting
in order to walk
into yet another day
Been a minute peoples , a bit rusty but here is my first one in a while
599 · Aug 2014
dyi art
betterdays Aug 2014
mango yogurt, spilt

down my indigo t-shirt

cotton, fruit, abstract art
599 · Aug 2014
the good ship pinot noir
betterdays Aug 2014
Captain's Log,
rough seas this morning
as we sailed into
Port Hangover
first mate Asprin taking double shift
as is galleymate Coffee. Unable to make headway against megrim winds.
Also having difficulty navigating nausea reef,
may need to run aground
on Throwasickie island
as vision is becoming blurred.
Put present difficulties
down to attack of tannins, whilst sailing
wide red wine sea,
last watch.
an older work... but appropriate for this morning
after sinking a few too more than i should last night....
could some one stop that banging in my head...oh it's my heartbeat...nevermind...
betterdays Apr 2014
today i would write,
of the mundane...
the weak tepid tea
place before me.

today i would write,
of the unmatched...
the pile of sock,
singular, but legion,
that grows,
but never lessens.

today i would write,
of the humdrum...
the bills that tap, tap, tap,
incessently, at my brain's
back door.

today i would write,
of the wearisome...
the washing, ironing
and other weekly chores.

today i would write,
of  burdens...
but at present,
i have little, to none.

today i would wait,
(im)patiently...
for the morrow to come.
for then,
i would pen...
happy joyous tomes.

but today i write,
of the mundane....
for it seems,
some one, needs must,
give them fair airing...
for the world,
is not all,
loving, lust and
written, with nat's poem
"too many poems here"
in mind...
hope you enjoy
596 · Aug 2016
M.....is for.....
betterdays Aug 2016
mesmerized by minutiae
am now a mermaid
on the mainland
mindlessly milling about
without
control of musclebound legs
both manacled and free

minor mishaps and major setbacks
mirror the inside maniacal mentality
currently managing me

making frankenstienish manners
a mockery of the model citizen
I purport to be...

mild dyslexia, myopia, melancholy
hormonal changes,  missing ******
mindless weeping....throwing spanners
and all manners of fits
.....not to mention drooping bits....

madness beckons, second...seconds
each day an adventure in
crazed endocrinematic revelry

so tired and weary,
living the life of bleary wide eyed misery

good news though...
those in the know
say it only lasts
for three to five years

menopause.....give three flippin cheers

mercy...please
594 · Jun 2016
pierced
betterdays Jun 2016
little ***** and rings
of metal move
as he talks

three studs,
on his eyebrow
wander like a slugish
overfull caterpillar

the bullring ring in his nose,
condenses with each breath
of the frigid  winter morn

and his earlobes swing and dangle
with blocks and spheres
of a dark wood like substance

I ask him, does that hurt,
he deigns not to answer.....

We get on with the matter
at hand, his idea for a thesis;
with regard to dramatic reflection
in Shakespearean adaptations

He speaks of Othello, Richard III
and Romeo and Juliet....
the use of water, sunglasses and mirrors

I ask if he believes there is 70000+ words
in his exploration of reflection....
all the time watching the metal caterpillar
try to escape the forest of his eyebrow....

He sighs, and the bullring mists over
the ears lobes waggle and waft around.
He states not really sure......but he likes the idea
I send him off to look for other plays
Shakespearean or not that he could include
in this work.....and to come back in a month
with a precis and chapter plan....

He leaves, shoulders slumped, muttering
and I think....I may have added  one more peircing
to his intellectual life
594 · Jun 2015
paper crowns
betterdays Jun 2015
first footfall
on dew laden grass

oh to live life that way

without constraint of past
with out baggage
to weigh down the step

each day a new beginning
each day a fresh horizon
each day a life unto itself

what a dream!
but with short comings
no anchors, only paper crowns
betterdays Apr 2014
ok, things are getting better!!

got my ducks all waddling
in a row.
my tin solidiers standing
to attention in a line.

my cats all in pyjamas and spats...(gotta tell ya that one was a bit tricky).
also put mittens on those
curious kittens.
don't want them dying,
ya know.

the mutt, is busy looking for
nuts.

and i made the elephant
comfortable in this small room.  
he is now, chatting with
the paper tiger,
over by the fireplace

my fish swimming happily
in their barrel.
and the bees,tending
busily to arthritic knees

so almost all is well...

but sheeesh!!!
my geese are running around pell-mell
and are likely to give
the mittened kittens
a fainting spell.
all that,
honking and flapping about
mother goose going to hell.


so....... now......
the ducks are wandering
tin soldiers, planning
a gruerilla wafare attack.
the cats now  naked
****!!!
how did they,
get out of those spats.
the mutt still looking
nothing, will stop that
fool dog, those nuts are,
looooong gone.
elephant is embarrassed,
the tiger squashed flat.
fish, floating, not swimming.
now food for the cat.

and the bees and their
knees are creating
stinging, verbal retorts.

....as for the geese
and the mittened
kittens....
they have, commandeered
the black forest torte
and are gulping it greedily
down.

so... it is certainly not me,
no siree,
who is  in charge of this madhouse mind,
in this mindless town
of mine.
not me,
who wears the king's crown.

you will find me,
the fool......
down by the pool,
....sunbathing...
when all this weird ****
is going down..

**nothing to see here,
move along,
nothing to see....
what can i say just some mental doodling......
594 · Oct 2014
fishkissing
betterdays Oct 2014
it is sunday morning,
early....
the boys, still asleep
the nanna,  still asleep
just me....
and the recently fed,
but hoping for more,
blucat shadow,
walk in the garden,

leaving imprints in
the dew laden grass.
i make my way,
with murping shadow
to the fish pond.
we, sit upon the rocks
and watch the koi,
glide smoothly by...

i slowly introduce my
hand,
to the still night-cool water and wait....
for the fish kisses.
the blucat is entranced,
eyes intent on the slow moving tails,
ears forward and twitching....

overcome by
such blatant tempatation,
he makes a swipe
at the gold and black  
goodness.....
and in a flash.....
they are gone ....and he,
is left sheepishly licking
a wet veleveteen paw....

back to me....
not wanting to
see me laughing
.....at his foolishness.
he has never once caught at fish....but does not stop him
trying....lol
593 · Aug 2014
nastursiums
betterdays Aug 2014
from the rust,red soil,
the nastursiums come.

first as tendrils, spiderlike
then, the little, disc umbrella leaves.

green and expectant,
in the sub-tropical,
late,winter sun.

and soon the riotous ladies,
come with skirts of colours
bold and joyous
resplendent in the party wear

then, they will run and skip
in rampant dance,
over rocks, tree stumps
climbing up the old fence.

with pepper in their tongues
and cheerful smiles.

they are one of summer's, most happy boons...
and soon and soon,
they come,
from the rust red soil
                               they come...
just coming through now....such happy little plants
593 · Nov 2014
starlet
betterdays Nov 2014
sadness
seeps
silently
from
beneath
her
lashes
spreading
salted
w­ater
down
her
cheeks,
sighing
she
swipes
the
offending
sorrow
aside...
smiles
­and
steps up
into
the
startling
bright
spotlight
to
sing
the
saddest
of
songs
......
592 · Apr 2014
morning.....now!!!
betterdays Apr 2014
the disquiet...
of the morning,
awakens me....
the magpie's squabble...
the wood pigeons.... cloying...
.. cooing love song..
the raucous, cacophony... of
the kookaburras ....as they sort out .....todays..... territorial hierachy...
........... all proclaim
morning has ......broken
.......in a sleep shattering... way
but... still ...today.. i try to eke
out ......a few more winks
....a few more.... .....moments....
of.... semi-conscious bliss
oh! .......... to .....close ....my eyes
and ....dream some more...
....but no!!!..... the cat
........is having
....................none of that.....
the birds are up...
and he........ housebound....
is hungry..... hungry...***..
betterdays Sep 2014
my left foot,
is the one,
that now drags
yet my right breast
is the one
that has begun to sag
it's just a matter of balance
you see.

i have what i want...
and
sometimes more
yet
still i whinge
and whine, like a bore.

i am loved and blest
with husband, child,
a cat and, the rest.

but still somedays
i know...
i have failed life's little
tests

and somedays
i am way, way,
short on zest.

they tell me
i am,
peri menopausal
and that may well explain ....some of the above.

my hair is graying
and my waist ....
best not mention,
my waist(overound).

and to be honest
there are days,
i feel like i am fraying
around the edges.

but not,
going to complain
at least,
not loudly
for that may give
the impression
i'm vain....
and really i'm not...

i am just a....
middle aged mother
slowly....losing the plot.
at least that is how i feel tonite...
*my left foot drags slightly
when i am tired due to nerve
and muscle damage sustain
when i broke it at the start of this year.....
as to the breast sag....
apparently thats normal....
i got it checked(as you should with any changes to
your *******) it just happens sometimes....go figure.
591 · Apr 2014
unconchsious thoughts
betterdays Apr 2014
a calcium carapace,
sits upon the mantle's shelf. dreaming of the sea,
craving water and salinity.

pretty trinket ivory white,
a  plump smooth bubble with cafe au lait dotted curve, leading to,
sensuous convex lip,
scintillating burnt caramel
hue.

what lived in such a
palace of the sea.
what graced the interior hall.
did it wonder,
at the beauty of it's home,

or did it only see,
the weight of the walls, pressing in.

does the palace discarded
on the shelf dream,
of saltwater
and former self.

or is it an inamate relic,
of an unregarded time,
with out measured reason, unresonating thought, unrimed.

does it know
                 it is
                 beauty sublime.
napowrimo day 18
prompt: write a poem of/ about seashells but not necessarily the sea
(a list of sea shell names were given) the shell referred to in this writing was not on that list but is i am informed an australian shea shell
"EATONIELLIDAE "
'Crassitoniella flammea"
with out of the ordinary colouring on the shell-lip.
590 · May 2014
hope floats
betterdays May 2014
hope floats
on the gossamer wings
of beautiful dreams
and stings sweetly, exquistely so,
with thoughts of better things.
as you sit, quietly and cry

hope is, undeniable,
to believe you have none;
is like, holding your breath,
eventually,
you have to come undone and take....
a great gulping mouthful
of fresh air.

we all hope, we all breathe,
waiting for, something
on wings of gossamer,
to alight and  let us live anew......again.
betterdays May 2014
the demidiety
of the household,
demands
the sun....
he craves for to bask
in glorious heat....
and have,
the world adore....
his corrugated, gargoyled  blue-grey skinned beauty.
as well it should...
he is....
after all....a rex....
of the mau, bast,  line.

and me, his  loyal
human factotum....
i am here to....
           open the blinds...
gus....cantankerous ....in the
cool autumn morning...as only a cat can be....
588 · Feb 2015
Variations on variations
betterdays Feb 2015
" I would like to be
the air that inhabits
you for a moment only.
I would like to be that unnoticed & that necessary"*
    Variations on Sleep
                 Margeret Atwood


to be inhaled
into your essence
to become your
breath in this world

to  inhabit the marrow
of your soul

is but a dream

for we are,
different components
different aspects

needed to compliment
needed to inspire
the pthers aspirations
needed to question
the motive
to mobilise the heart
to gain forward momentum

we do not subsume each other...
we are become,
to one another
catalysts
gunpowder and fuse
lit.....to make the world explode...

we are not each others breath....
but,
we are each others,
reason
to breathe...



What do you dream of
my love...
I watch you twitch and murmur....
are you a big brave hunter....
or something less ferocious...
tis no matter to me....

i love you and if you could walk me dreams with me
you would know that there
you are a gentle hero
it is my belief that poetry
should make you feel....and think... birthing new understanding of oneself and ones surrounding...
these then are some of the thoughts that become progeny of this snippet of Margeret Atwoods  work.
587 · Jun 2014
god suite(#3)
betterdays Jun 2014
looking for unique
consider the platypus, god's blueprint for strange
586 · Sep 2014
the standoff
betterdays Sep 2014
i come home
to
a mexican standdoff
of
sorts

on the inside
of
the window
the
little blucat
with
firebrush tail
and
arched back

facing off against

the big
busterfer jones
tom
from 3 doors
down

black
and white
persian
moggy
more than
twice
the size
of gus blucat


pressed
up
against
the outside
of the glass

normally
the
best of buds
but
there is
a
new girl
in town
and
she sings
a siren song

so it is
bared claw
at 3 paces

as i
put down
my keys
there is a
muted
thump,
thump.

they have
rushed
each other

forgeting
the magic
of glass

and now
as i
finish
r.o.l.f.ing

i see
they
have
retired
to their corners

with that
was'nt me
that did that
dumb thing
look

as they
wash their
paws
with backs
speaking volumes
and eyes still
crossed.
both cats are neutered
but still
in spring they dream....
585 · Oct 2014
the ancient speaks
betterdays Oct 2014
old.... still,
kind,  
strength steps in,  
new paradigms to be created
all in long, past passion

yet still able,
yet ever will able,
to grow wisdom,


they...out there beyond
find new a rythmn
and  purpose
is it to be....

on all varigated,
arangements..... a new twist
perhaps....
some order, to the paradox
of the aboves.

what our...
never-ever-never world
should be,
we are a realm of
be all, end all, have all.

elephant's, we are to faded parchment memories.
the  mouse within,
loves a quiet,
realm of the wise....  
and careful, considered...
thought

but you...you....
fall beneath the thunder
of my steps...
in vain attempts,
to gain insight into
the hyperbole of my elephant's spinning dance

and the back scratching monkey's  never silent thought's
initiating as they be,
into the colour spectrum
of the latest...
popular...populace, fearful fancy.

be quiet as needs be,
says the mouse
the world will...
awake to wisdom,

spend fruitful time...
awaiting the calm to break

never is it above strength
allowed
the roles, the gifts,
we are given.

be  in on the  elephant's  new rythmn
and far above the monkeys purile, speculation

need, need, needs,rememeber awlays... quiet, desperate passion,  
and to fall gently
beneath the winds of change

be, find, do,
the extra-ordinary
see the kindness in the eyes
of all you encounter
and unfailingly,
return
the hopeful glace

burn, burn the oldest order
set the worlds,
infinite whorls......aright

and then
sing the stars
to sleep...
in the purple,
winkled, wrinkled hours
of the calm and pristine
shadowed span of the night.
584 · Mar 2014
The Day of Sue.
betterdays Mar 2014
She stood,
at serene attention,
her frailty forgotten.
face made alien,
to most, by the nature
of the disease.

Oh! but the smile,
beamed lighthouse bright.
as she brought forth her
frail hand,
to recieve the parchment
paper. Her Doctorate.
The soft hat glowed,
velvet, indigo blue,
in the autumn sunlight.

The crowd that had, expanded to twice it's normal size,
for just this special person.

Stood in a wave of love.
and the graduation day,
became,

The Day of Sue.

As we whooped and hollered and stamped and clapped,
the tattoo, of our loving respect.
As tears streamed, unchecked,
down one thousand faces.
She beamed and bowed
and left the stage.
One last time.
this was hard to write,
my friend and mentor Sue
recieved an honourary doctorate from the university where she works
and truly the whole crowd stood and cried she is a most
beautiful person and beloved teacher and mentor to many
she has terminal cancer
and the university wanted to
honour her contribution.
she taught theatre studies
this was her final university
commitment.
584 · Jun 2014
from me to you.
betterdays Jun 2014
it has been, some
seven months
since i started writing
here seriously..

before that a couple
of bread crumb poems...

so this i would like to say...
to all who care to see,
this place,
has become a sort of
nesting place, a home
of the thoughts, that
rattle around inside of me.

i feather it with words
strung together,

some like, gaudy paper chains.
and some threads of a deeper colour, grey, black, indigo blue...

some have the scent
of  an autumn morn,
smokey, salted and crisp, some of musk and lover's after bliss
others sweet reminiscent vapours, wafting from my past...
a few of, the little blucat
and his human toys.
most of love and life,
and the blessings,
that are my boys,
pebble and rock
oak and acorn...
my hope and daily joy...

i string these threads
and weavings up..
for all to come and see
and to those who do
i will for ever grateful be.

i thank you for giving
my words wings to flutter
and fly about...
thank you.... all who read, follow and comment....
it is a wonderful thing... to have your voice heard....

i have written elsewhere,
but find the community here, wonderfully supportive... so thank you
584 · Jan 2015
bumbling....
betterdays Jan 2015
in the house of bumbling,
frogs jump sidways
to avoid the talk
tense
with the things
unspoken....

in the house of bumbling
birds mime joy in silent cages
waiting for  life to smile...

in the house of bumbling
ants march in straight lines
hugging the walls
leaving poisoned crumbs
behind...

in the house of bumbling
the lizards no longer lounge
but busily repetitively clean
the cowebbed dark corners

in the house of bumbling
spiders have no parlours
****** no flies
they now knit cardigans
and read the words
of the wise


oh the house of bumbling
is a place of curious wondering
and sometimes is found
stumbling
in the reccesses of my mind

where and whence
it goes
when not residing with me
i do not know...

perhaps you may have
the delight
of the house of bumbling
staying the night
and removing the seriousness
of the plight

the one in which
you fight boredom
in the dark reaches
of the lonely night....
just some wordplay...
at work...
random word selected by
choosing book page line word  ie pick up a book go to page 117 count down or up to line 8  across to word 5
that word the theme or central word in your poem
in this case the word was
bumbling....such a delightful
word....
give it try.....it is a great writing exersice...especially
when feeling unispired.
Next page