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.

you and i
my dear one
have seen
so many
things

have taken
steps both
back and forward

have laughed
and cried
in many places

you have heard
my heart race
and watched me
sleep.

you know all
my secrets
but still
mysterious
you hold
your origins
within
the blue
twinkle of your
eye.

when we first met
for me i was
enamoured
instantly, lustful
of your graceful
beauty.

i had to have you
spent my last coins
but you were mine.

your glass so dusky
blue
washed by a million
waves.
encased in silver
filgree  
and a oak tree motif
hand linked chain

you are my luck
my blue oak
bought almost  
thirty  years past
worn most every day

i feel naked undressed
vunerable
if you are not with me.

just a chunk of sea glass
to some
to me
loves repository.
holder of memory,
rememberance and hope

bring the pizza,
pour the beer,
turn off the phones,
draw the blinds,
lets pretend,
we are not here.

we will be as quiet,
as mice in a church.
eat in the dark,
put the child,
early to bed.
mute the tv.
make love slow,
and silent,
lit by it's flicker.
before we dance naked,
one for the other.

eat cold pizza,
and drink warm beer,
with no one knowing
we are here.

and we would get up early
so early that the stars
would still sit high
in the dark night sky

we would drink milo
out of plastic cups
and eat oval arrowroot biscuits
spread thickly with butter

we would line up to go to the loo
one last time before piling into
the old car, sliding across bench seats
half our world packed into the boot

then we were off, on the old country roads
still sleepy for the first couple of towns
stopping at Jacaranda for a cup of tea
lukewarm, milky and sweet from the thermos
half a cheese sandwich each, and a fearful trip
to the draughty long drop toilet...looking for redbacks
the whole time, but only finding spinning daddy long legs

after that back into the car, for two hours of
winding our way down, the big hill,
listening for the clearnote  call of the bellbird,
watching for wallabies and wombats on the road fringe
and the bigger kangaroos, bouncing away
across the clearings...

at the bottom of the hill, Grafton a quick stop
to stretch our legs eat the cupcake,
used to bribe us into decent behavior up to that point
and another vist to the conveniences.
before the run down the coast,
past the big white resort
and into Brooms Head,
for a week of surf and sun
fish and chips, buckets of prawns,
frosty fruits and sunny boys
in tent and caravan,  
swimmers and towels,
we were tribal and free,
roaming the tideline
staying up at the campfire,
sleeping and waking
with the birds......
always such an adventure....
those idyllic days of summer

as the tea leaf's
sacrifice
their essence
to the swirling hot water creating
a glorious steam

i look at the camelia's
pink green and unruly
next door.
i can't help but, think.
they are in serious want
of deadheading....

I lay down
and let the green chlorophyll
envelope my soul

above, the blue eternity
of the clear Indian summer sky

at my left ear,
some small being,
scuttles about in the moist
hummus of the days decay.

at my right,
the silence of a rock,
quietly mourning
it's separation from the mountain

and underneath me,
grass continues to grow,
oblivious to the oppressive
weight I have laid upon it.
ever relentless ,in the search
for the  warm of the sun...

I smell the hope of the earth
as I lay upon it
and relax into the simply,complex world that lays beneath.
and it unquestioningly,
receives the stress,
that leaches from me...


and in the sky....a bird flies...
                                unencumbered.

slept in
awoke to the smell of pancakes
and the sound of little blucat purring.

sun shines through
scattered wispy clouds
is cool enough for slippers
and fluffy robe
but not yet a wood fire.

kitchen table set with
vase of camelia's bright pink
and snow white blooms
my boys busy flippin hotcakes
i pour coffee, and sit to watch....
this is my utopia.....

little boy and little
cat blue,
roar around the hallways
during the monster hour.

the man mountain
lumbers behind
in frankestein pose
intoning
"the tickle man comes for
you....
the tickle man cometh,
to tickle your rickles,
and grasp your giggles,
and eat your toes!!!"
in his deepest basso
profundo.

momma, sits on the couch
in a zombie like pose
as she waits for the clock
to wind out the hour

and in the kitchen
the caulldron bubbles
with "brains and veins"
on the go.

in my mind
i wax hysterical
and wane lyrical
but what you see is
is me drooling half formed words
upon humanity

in my mind
i flow poetical
and ebb noetics
what you see are gibberish
producing lips

in my mind shakespeare
my apprentice
longfellow, a dabbler
i am the king of rime

what you see...
an overzealous eejit
with a propensity to string
words together in an underwhelming
rhyme...

letters sit
in order,
line by line
at attention,
waiting for
thoughful reading.
a road,
of sorts,
to redemption
sitting, mulling
ruminating on
scripted worth.
engaged in
conveying thought,
from mind
to page,
to mind
again cyclical,
periodic conversely,
intermittent reoccurrences.

alone most,
are little
strokes of
graphite or
ink calligraphy,
mutterings of
little intonations,
phonectic sonances,
utterings, begetting
for their,
episodic isolation,
mumbo, jumbo,
gibberish as
birthing rooms
but together
ordered, united,
babble becomes
lucent, lucid
oratory of
inordanate worth.

fingertips,
twitch itch and burn
with need

need to touch
torch-hot flesh
to feel, white-hot soul
ooze through thin-skin membrane

toungetips rake softlips
stealing murmurings
of heart and head
leaving desire
simmering  there instead

yearnings, deeper delvings
desperate dionysion delusions
draining staining steaming seeming
never ending mind bending soul rending ***

stealing silent sombulent kissses
of fearful guilty farewell
trip tip-toeing doors silently closing
need hosing, shamful moseying away
from who the....what the...oh hell!

fingertips tapping drumming
hunover mind blown but still hummin
no excuse away from home and lonely
awaiting the bill, cash only,
cause credit be evidence of crime of illicit time

now despondent knowing heart-sore
bad to the bone core, never wash away rime
dang, stuffed up to one's own detriment
balancing on earth-quaking, slip-sliding
no-place, nowhere to be hiding, mudsliding firmament
thinking deep, dark, stark stupidity rules
now just me the jester and the fools
all counting the cost and consequence
of one night, tispy cheap drunk nasty, nasty  thrill

scintillant bodies flicker
blink and fade in a  darkness
beaming in charcol waves

indigo trees rustle and sway
in tribal dance, as the sea
beats out the metre
on the hard packed sand

on the wing, dark birds
cry lust, death and desolation
and mice write wills and testements
on dry dust paths, before signing
them with a squeak of suprise

in the creek, the platypus rises
and subsides with a quiet splash
surprised by a large form drinking

the frogs write and sing deep bass  arias
with the cicadas and crickets providing chorus
and amongst it all a high pitched perping
from what beast, I cannot recall

we pass now from summer warmth
to the crisp catching cold of autunm nights
darker for the rain cloud weather
making the moon an erethal wreath
if seen at all...

out off the coast a patch of luminous blue
gives of wonder as bio luminescence
holds a small patch of sea in it's thrall

in the morning more leaves
will colour, fade and fall,
the circle continues
from day to day...
                        simply heeding nature's call

I remember my mother's
black patent leather court shoes
so shiny as to be reflective of my soul
as I stared at them from the floor
of the church, laying between pews
memsmerised by hymns of god's glory
and shiny black shoes


I remember my mother's
black patent leather court shoes
with the crack across the sole
as she put them on to walk the mile
to work, caring for other peoples
sick children

I remember my mother's
black patent leather court shoes
as an adult I sat across from her
dozing form and stared at her feet
malformed by hours of standing
in heeled shoes in operating theatres

I remember, the year we got new shoes
and she had her's patched and repatched
I remember the sighs of relief
as she took off her shoes after a long day
and placed those weary feet into sheepskin slippers,  
bought yearly at the mother's day sales..


I remember these sacrifices
and more as  I help the old lady,
who is my mother with crooked back
and shuffling legs from chair to table
and back again..

I remember with gratitude
the quiet fierceness of her love
I remember my mother's
black patent leather court shoes
and all that they represent...

gotta be like
aesop and his fable
slap a moral
on the table

talk about
old slow poke
tortiose on his hike
up against a speed freak
hare' barely all there
acceleration to spare
race don't seem fair

just a joke

but then the hare/rabbit
dagnabbit!!
takes a **** of
the green
juju.....whoohoo!!!
and when he awoke

the race was done
and the slow poke
helmut headed amphibian
had won...

hare standing  around
stunned
tortiose doin the happy,
i shined your ***!!!
shell shuffle

that enoughful......

yikes!!!

this is harder than
it seems
like interpereting
dreams

better,
start again...
find a new refrain
gotta make an
original stain
gotta use my incredible brainy, 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 out there, boxside
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

go on now
be one your way

i am all sharp,
pointed thorns,
this morning.
like a rose far past,
the glory of it's gentle, summer bloom,

i am decay, atop,
a stick of spears.
all bloated,
with dismay...

at time past,
and beauty lost,
great is the fear,
of new beginnings
and the loss of all,
i hold dear.

just cut me down,
for kindness' sake.

throw me, into the dark,
so i can quietly break...
down.

then with time, my hubris
will become earth's humus

and become,
of some small use,
to some one.

words swim, now
like minnows,
against a tide.

sleep beckons, now
like warm autumn leaves,
with a clover scented  breeze.

dreams invite me, now
the thought,of soft cotton
pillows, excites me now.

now i have, a need to be,
sombulant and snoring,
no longer poring and
pining
over,
so many  poetry lines,
so many poetic thoughts,
so  exquisitely fine.

now i must, allow,
the words to recede.
and succumb to the body's need.

so to bed i must, now.

for tomorrow,
again i read,
diversity in talent

but the same,
in overall breed.

g'nite poets
and thank you,
for narrating
the wonder of
my dreams.

what days are these
when we sit to ponder
lifes big and small mysteries
with tea brewing
in the ***
and biscuits crumbling
in our hands

we sit and watch
the colour leach
from trees
and grass wither
underfoot

we gather
old clothes and blankets
to give to those
whose houses
are sky and ground
whose airconditioning
is frost and wind

we dread the winter's
count and the summers
harvest of those elderly
left frozen and unfound

some lose just little bits
who needs fingers and toes
some lose more and more again
we puase to remind ourselves
a life is a life no matter the choice
of the living....there is a purpose
to be found in each soul set upon
the ground

so we gather small comforts
to be bestowed on those
who live harder and meaner than
ourselves  and then sit in front
of roaring fires and suppose
our good deeds become us

yet we have treated but a symptom
of the cancer that is fed by greed
we have tried to answer need
but while we give a pittance
with one hand, the larger
beings of this land,
take with both, leaving
nothing but grist and sand
and lives with little
have a little less

it is hard to live
on crumbs

harder still
when the
big end
of town
is blind
and numb

to those who
are suffering
they do not see
the social buffering
blinkers their sight
and so continues
the cycle

whilst blankets and swags
and soup kitchens  all help
something more is needed
to bring the homeless, home

the leaves are pretty this year

it's past midnight
and my thoughts is just
fuzz, lintballs and
cotton candy
rolling around like
tumble weeds
across a vast and barren plain
that purports to  a working
brain.
i am so very far beyond
myself that i am forgetting
who i am....why...

it is grant writing season
and i have used my quota
of words ...

so just visualize
something wonderful,
off to the west over there..
while i sleep over under
this tree here....
and if i am quiet enough, maybe i will come back,
to me.

then the carniva,
will begin again
tommorrow...
sonetimes real life is
such a grind...

The verdency has long been bleached from the grass.
It is now hollow straw and chaff.
It soughs and rattles it's
sorrow in whispering distress.

The livestock, ***** smudges
of skin and bone.
Stand listless, under the stick
bare branches, of the ghost gum .
Waiting for the rumble
of the feed truck to come.

The dust swirls, red fine
and irritating to skin and eyes.
The only creature to thrive
are the buzzing horde of
flies.

The bore pump clanks to life
and the water allotment
flows.
The sheep arise and drink
the trough, bone dry.
Before resettling into hungry
repose,
under the white ghost gum west of Gundagia.

This is drought, this is the
wait for rain, this is the daily
struggle, the farmers lonesome refrain.

All but the sturdiest stock
sold, shot or long gone dust,
to the unforgiving heat. Nuturing the best,
saved from starvations
questing hold.
To rebuild the farm
and complete Job's test.

After the rains have come,
all will be good again.
And if they don't come.
Doesn't matter, soon we'll
all be dead.

you smile, in your sleep,
as i crawl into bed
and i feel, so loved...

as we sleep, you reach
for me and draw
me to you
and i feel, so loved...

when you leave, the bed
you kiss my shoulder,
or my breast
and i feel, so loved...

i just hope,
you feel the same.
as i wrap myself
around you....

you are, so loved...

I am here
sitting quietly
in the corner

reading,
absorbing,
day dreaming

I am alright
well as alright
as one can be
a month and a bit
on from the death
of a parent.

There is much to do
a life to get on with.

But there is a quiet
in my soul, not harmful
or depressing, just stillness

Like waiting for a train
in a sleepy country station
it will come when it comes
until then just sit and wait
drowse in the sunshine
enjoy the view,
remember love.

Perhaps soon the train will come
and I shall return...

today i had a day
no valleys, no mountains
....just walking, across
the plains.
grass waving, gently to either side of the dusty,
not oft used track.
sometimes, a single great,
old oak,
or a stand of birch,or gum.
a pond or creek,
but mostly, grass green, through to dry, fawn.
as i walk along...
but still,
i stumble at the end of the day .
a misplaced foot,
on a tuft of  adventurous, exploring grass....
and then i look, to the endless, blue,umbrella
of the sky,
and pray, for gentle vale
or hummocky hill.
as i ,
walk this path,
of the not,so straight,
but definitely narrow.

you leave me abed
with only the echo of your warmth...

my heart, sleepily bereft.
but my body, mindful
of opportunity stretches,
rolls over to sleep a few hours more.....

before waking to start the cool winters morn..

tis
a
shade
past the middle
of
the night

tis
quiet
with the
exception
of the pulse of
the waves
and
your breathe
whispering in
my ear

tis
time
for
all good and sane
people
to be asleep

yet
i
am
awake
pondering
life's
questions
and
eating a mandarin,
juice
bursting with citric
sweetness
running down
my chin

tis
slightly
absurd
yet
slightly
decadent
staring
into
the depths
of the night
with the
taste of
mandarin
on the tip
of your tongue

tis
one
of this
insomniac's
quiet
joys

tis...tis...tis

have spent this morning,
counting and measuring
thoughts.....

they are like,
little exotic birds,
that have been caught,
in an ornithologist's net.


are there enough,
or are they in decline
do they have enough
weight,
will they fly,
if, or when,
i let them go?
or will they wander around,
in circles.
dragging, a broken wing
behind them...
will they sing, a cheery heart-warming song,
or will they, croak and caw and cackle.

or will they,
fall lifeless from the net
and lie, dead on the ground.
to frail, to cope with having,
been caught, counted and measured.

i am but one leaf
not important me
i just gather a little sun
and a few breaths
when it rains, a catch
a drop or two.
one leaf, not important me
but as a part of community
as part of a tree...i help
the world ....i run the world

i am just a leaf,
lying, dying on the ground
not important me
just decaying rotting
fibourous bit of dead tree
not important ******* me

but as community
as mulch and compost
i help  protect the tree
and i help feed the world

dayumn!!
i am leaf
and
i amaze me....

today, my friend,

teach me in the ways
of joy,

i have had lessons enough
in sorrow,

i do not desire to learn the ways of anger.

so please, teach me joy.

i promise, i will learn,
with thoughtful, thoughtless abandon.

i enter,
entranced,by the aboreal entrance of the lush and
verdant place,
in which you
choose to exsist
the mist, smelling of
earl grey tea and
ginger cakes.
beckons,
me forward,
thru the curlique trees,
with lemon and limedrop
leaves
and drifting clouds of,
bright sunshine flowers.
in my wake my footprints
become little ponds with
goldfish toes.
ahead, i see you,
all shades of green
swinging,
lacksadaisically
to and fro...
in a hammock,
on a hummock,
between two aged, sandlewood trees
and in your hand,
you hold an island
of purple sand,
and polka dotted,
umbrella trees.
at your feet,
a crooked street
of pastel, pixie condo's
all curves and swerves,
with mushroom roofs
and teardrop windows.
your voice,
like that, of a finely,
strung cello
sings songs of welcome
to my jubilant heart
and i stop and think
you are a curious fellow.
i sit myself down,
with care
for the pixies fair
and soon fall asleep
to the lullaby of the aforementioned cello....
...alas when i awake
your no longer there
and i wonder if
you were,
just the aftereffects
of too much cake....


.....but wait
did i just hear
a pixie,
giggle,
a smiggle
up there,
behind my left ear.


...i so hope
              that i did....
                                don't you?

lover of mine,
just wanted to
let you know
somedays
you are'nt my other half ,
you are my whole.

those days you are the
keeper of my soul...


but then my love,
there are those
DUMB MAN days,
when you struggle
to be a quarter...

just being honest....

with ya...

this a DUMB MAN day...
get it together....please

let go the words
like seeds,
to the vast and
windblown
sky

let them settle,
where they may.
some may flourish,
take root and be...

a happy little flower,
a great oak tree.

some may lay dormant,
until the right season.
some may become,
a life's new reason.

some may fall
to ravening birds
some may fall
ans flourish
yet never be heard.

and sadly some may
wither and die...
without ever understanding, why....

we as poets,
truly are,
just the sowers of seeds.

to the winds....
to the sky,
let your words go,
let them fly...
to some say, adiue
see you soon.
to some goodbye.

but let them be...
borne on the wind
...to make poetry

my words are ungracious
and spill forth today
like mewling puke....

it astounds me....
that we celebrate
landing, badly i might add,
an overpriced
piece of mechano
on the backside of a space rock...

while.....
there are people
dying... right here....
on earth....from...ebola cancer....and other diseases

it astounds me....
that one person,
can get paid, 20 million $$$$
for acting in a ****** movie
while....others beg for change and sleep rough
under park benches....

it amazes me,
that  so many in the world
cannot read or write
and do not have,
basic and i mean basic
sanitary facilities....

it confounds me.....
that wars are fought
over race and religion....

it scares me...
that my son, will grow up
in a world where safety is
far less of a gaurantee...

it saddens me....
that i am as guilty
as the next person
of passing by
oe looking the other way
become too busy, too be
involved...in other peoples
pain...

my words,
ungracious
and hypocritical
are but the useless prattle
of a ranting raving imbicele
mere  spit upon the winds
of a word in turmoil....

but come on...
should we not try
to fix this world
before discovering others

treeshaper and huggiver
lived a life of comparative luxury
on the sandedge of the whale road

knowledgespinner lived with them
they were three, happy souls

in a comfortbox, with a nannexe
for  lifeknitter as she gathered
her olderyears...

they had two furlings
one tuxedocat, who hunted air
one longdog with boundless energy
and little understanding.

they did daily things,
but were happiest
when daily things,
were done
and the could
be together as one

fambily..

this cup of tea before me is
fragrant grace, in liquid form
moments of thought, betwixt moments of action
the license to gather wool
to ponder questions both big and small

this cup of tea holds
memories, lists, dreams,
to much sugar
the work of may hands
ties that bind, to family
to friends and associates
ribbonroads of love that lead
back to those who have gone before
the drip ends of soggy biscuits
strength to carry on...
the calm within the storm

this simple cup of tea can
make a sad day bearable
a long meeting acceptable
a car ride an adventure
a picnic delightful
a long night, shorter
an awkward conversation easier
a bad cake more palatable
a good cake exquisite
a stolen moment precious

this cup of tea
made from leaf tips,
water and heat
is but a simple tisane
that can help cure
a multitude of  ills
this cup of tea
is humble but mighty

this cup of tea
is exactly  what
I needed right now...

mister ant,
on that rubber plant,
carrying a load of cheese souffle.

found on the ground,
fallen from dinner plate
and landed on kitchen slate,

please, do enjoy your plunder
from down under,
wooden table

we suggest it be paired,
with a reisling after airing
if your able.

we hope you enjoy your meal
for your dessert,
we have some fresh apple peel.

need to write
something
to soothe
my soul...

write now of
skies, the perfect blue
of the smell of salt
tantalising on the zephyr breeze

write to ease
a heart so tired
so mired
in daily crud
so stuck in this viscose mud

need a day
far away
from the
maddening

a day in the green
and verdant places
see no other faces
hear the stream
make it's way
from source
to sea

need a day
to follow path
to pond's
to be tickled
and embraced
by young palm fronds
to watch nature thrive
need this badly
to survive

need a day
to recover me.

half formed thoughts,
half finished lines,
breakfast  half eaten,
left on the...

half asleep,
half awake,
half dressed child,
starting today...
a mistake.

let us rewind,
to, when we were
all still abed.
then when the alarm
rings out
snooze it
pretend we are dead
at least to this
half made greyest day
and turn away
from this half formed mayhem
of  harried reality

go back, go back,
to the land of dreams
for today,
the better choice...
no half sown seams to burst,
hems to trip on,
clothes, that will not zip,
the zip on that set of pants that i must fix
no bad hair, no external rants,
about work incomplete,(half done).
no thinking rude thoughts,
about stinking heat swelled feet.
just cool linen,
pressed against my tired cheek
.. and an island
deserted... with cool breeze
and
a fridge with filled with
chocolate eclairs
and iced coffee ...
a big squishy chair...
utopia ....
see i am halfway there..
but
halfway here also
and the bell has rung.
time for these...
half @rsed musings to be done.
phones to answer, emails too
reports to analyse, lectures to
prepare,
here i am
half an hour
into the day
and already...  way..
too tired to deal....
so position.. my clock hands... at..
half way past... i don't care.

*******,down, sue
even from the grave,
you suprise....

i open the door to a knock,
two delivery men.
one burly, one stout,
stand on the threshold.
with a letter and a box.

the letter, from your solicitor
said.....
this is your bequest to me....
okay, i got a box of stuff....
nice, but then i read more...

you have bequeathed to me, your office, contents.
entire and intact....
the delivery men ask me where i want it put...

i say in the shed out the back
there....
so now an hour later...

33 boxes , computer, desk office chair, three foot mask
making block, and  various
posters, painting prints and
other items of theatre practitioner's paraphenalia,
sit in piles,
ordered and hapahazard,
in amongst ben's benches, tools and lathes.

and me,
i sit in, the old red leatherete, institutional,
easy chair,
holding the sack of paper and teabag infused garbage,
that came with your office.
entire and intact...

i am both laughing,
at this absurdity
and sobbing at the fact....
that this office,
will evermore,
not have,
the integeral piece,
that makes it whole,
....entire and intact...
for you my friend
....are gone
and not ever....
coming  back.

table grain
worn to
soft smooth flannel
under many hands
bleached, bleached
to opaque memories
of tree

stories held within
each cell
birds at nest
leaves in flight
each year
slow deaths
new lifes

now repository
of tableware
keeper of daily cares
slab of timber
dressed and washed
bleached, bleached
still somewhere within
the memories stir
of breeze and rain
the touch of feather and fur

tea ring stained,
and portwine blurred
babies teeth marks
gnawed into wood...

taken from place to place
granfa's table, time for grace
grace and memory
clear the table time for tea

do I remember these things clearly
or is this just fantasy

i slip into
the embrace
of the sea,
this morning
and it,
welcomes me.

the salt,
carresses my skin
and the cool water,
captures my mind

i swim out,
past the breakline
and into the green

who knows,
what swims beneath....
when i dive
i see nothing,
but seaweed
yet there is,
a whole world
down there...
watching,

as i stroke,
my way back and forth across the cove...

the worries of the landlocked cease,
and i am...
at one...
with the rythm...
of my body,
as the water,
slides,
past each and every,
skincell,

it is like...
weaving liquid silk,
into the weft,
of my tattered soul ...
and in doing so,
renewing vigour
and purpose.

the sun rises,
and the surfers come...
at last i am done....
and leave the water,
slipping quietly
back on to the sand...

and back into the less fluid
being of me....
patched....and embroidered
ready .....for another day

red pen in hand....
i critique people's thoughts
and dreams

six years at university,
to become a god....
who moulds minds
and delivers future prophecies, ready for unwrapping.

who creates bell curves,
of fail to high distinctions.

that the undergrads,
follow like dancing, pavlovian dogs...

the posts...have slipped
the leash and ...
leave thoughtful piles of...extruded work, in the academic yard.

six years at uni...as a dog
nine years at uni ...as a god.

it is amazing,
how the garnering
of parchments
and strange hats,
can transpose a person's world.

the new cat
is a collector
he steals
ointment tops

and stashes them
inside my workshoes

he like to walk around
with lego people dangling
from his toothy mouth

he steals my boys jocks
and ***** socks and makes
nests of smelly goodness
behind the reading chair

he is brazen, within his world
dragging a washcloth out
of my hand as I removed
make-up leaving me
panda- eyed and surprised
as I watched his awkward
tripping get away

we believe he has kidnapped
Beanie Z the zebra
but cannot at present find his lair
negoitations are ongoing...

must go....just saw him slink past
with the dishcloth......

what is hate?
if not a toddler's tantrum,
wearing hobnailed boots....
and stomping about.

Just a note
to say, thanks
for the many years
of enjoyment

when I first met you
I will admit I found
you a dry and boring
old stick

It took a while to get the knack,
to be enamoured with your style

but once converted, I was, a fan
and read you by midsummers night
in and out love, through tempests
and battlefields, with friends, foes
and witches,
on balconies, in shoreditches.
upon islands where all seemed familar
but in such a confusing way.

Through battles and histories
fact and fanciful.
I walked withyou and  
your word play
at my heels like a dog...

sometimes with clarity
and sometimes befogged.

Your words dear friend
have so often been apt...

Tho I sometimes wonder
if you knew the effect
your scrawl would have
as you sat and wrote
making it up as you went along,
I wonder if you thought your
words  were whisperings in a wind
there....and then gone.

And now you are famous,
world reknowned.
A bard no less
with the Globe at your feet

Yet to me you are a friend,
your words comfort, and inspiration
in a world unstable...

So again I say,
Thanks for the plays
the sonnets and things

it made a difference
more than you know

but just to let you know...
I still haven't got the knack
of writing in iambic flow....

upon the thorny cane,
of a rose's trailing bush,
walks a lady bird.

all dressed in orange-red
n' black....
she toils in a bustling way,
to the very tip of the wood
and then after a moment's
thoughtful balancing....

she alights....
incogurously beautiful,
as she all but hovers,
in the warm rose scented air.

and then she sets her course,
for who knows where
and zig zags her way...
to over there...

happiness bumbling
along on glossy spotted wing