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411 · Dec 2014
apathy for free...
betterdays Dec 2014
there is a beggar,
in my town.
he is the most,
generous man around.
with soft harmonic blues,
and gentle souful smile,
he gives, away, for free.
cups of apathy,
and scraps of disinterest,
to all who just, pass him by...
betterdays Oct 2014
the length of the write....
varies with the vagaries
of the topic and  type.

the time taken,
is often time....
forsaken,
forgotten,
forgiven.
a pause,
a rest.
stolen,
from a busy life.

the inspiration,
the notion,
the intonation.
sometimes,
a slow burn....
sometimes
a conflaguration

for me,
there is no formula.
no ritua.
just a pen
and a scrap of paper.

for me,
it is a brain,
just letting go,
giving up....
word flow

flotsam and jetsam
driftin along,
caught in the framework
of  creative phenom....
and given to me,
as i wander along.

thats why
punctuation,
does not figure.
just workin,
the beauty of
the words.

stitchin rhymes with
non, appros, de rigueur.

making words dance
on sprained syllable ligaments.
******* with thoughtful
ligatures.
spread with inspirational
linaments.

not needing,
the lime light.
but wanting some
bright candle work,
for to illuminate,
the process of the precepts,
to the multitudinal few...
who see through...
the intricate footwork,
to the stumbling
fatigue underneath....

sometimes long
and wordy,
sometimes succinct
and brief

but always, always,
with purpose...

sometimes mine
but often left
up  to you...

the reader.

thats how i do.....
the why.....well ...
thats a deeper story....
best left for another day
thanks for reading
now....on your way!
411 · Jun 2014
godsuite. (#7)
betterdays Jun 2014
of all god's great works
it's eagle and albatross
who inspire winged awe
411 · Mar 2014
pondlife
betterdays Mar 2014
clarity ...
clear ..water ..view
....to the pebbles
and ..green ..pond life....
..fronds..
that sway  ..gentle..
in the current
...mezmerising the eye
hypnotizing ...the soul
..the koi  ..glide
....cruise
like .....teenage boys
........in first cars
lapping.... endlessly..
round..back..round
                                 ..until
the ...food .......hits..
            ...the water's...
surface....
             ....then
they are            ....glutinous
         ....fury...

....the little blue cat
comes ....to watch this show
with ..calculation ...inherit..
in..his eyes
..he wants ... wants...wants.........one ...of those ..big..juicy fish...
but.... they ...are to quick
.... for him....he has tried...

.....the pond settles
the ripples fade...
the fish ..swim ..more sedately
now..
....and the frogs ...skim the surface..
........to gather...... the insects
disturbed ...by the earlier...
maelstrom..

clarity... returns
                     the frogs ...begin
their nightly.... choral
as we.. turn and ...walk
into the house
...led by a ...hungry ...
little grey cat...
part of our nightly ritua
411 · Sep 2014
death of a leaf
betterdays Sep 2014
one small leaf
set adrift
from the tree

torn asunder
in wind rain
and thunder

battered
by
life's storm

now balances
pecariously
on table's edge

not yet ready
to become
detrius underfoot

waiting
daring,
demanding
to become
just another
fond,
frail memory

pale
green
perfection

unblemished
bar the untimely
amputation

each cell
delineated
in cellular beauty

taken
far too
young

sometimes
you gotta
hate

natural
selection's
descisions

sometimes
mother nature
is dumb...

crushed
but
not defeated

they
leaf brothers
and sisters
will but
carry on....

for they
are
young and hopeful

ignorant
but
strong

one death
can be absorbed
and lost in living on

the tree
will
stretch
ever upward

for that
is the
tree's

everlasting
song

seek
the sun

seek
the sun

and you
can never
go wrong.
410 · Mar 2014
a sticky mess
betterdays Mar 2014
o **** you
little coffee cup
why did you
have to go
and commit suicide
your life
was so full
you had it all
rich
sweet
well loved
called upon as
friend & confidante regularly
and now
having leapt to
your demise
you are just
a sticky mess
on my slate floor
i weep for you
409 · Aug 2014
mayhap#1
betterdays Aug 2014
sloth is a sin they say,
but mayhap,
it's just busy... on a heavily
medicated day
just thinking ...
409 · Nov 2014
a mere cicatrix
betterdays Nov 2014
found,
one heart....
slightly scarred,
but willing to
give love another...
chance, a twirl, one more go
at letting the balloon float...
upon the winds of,    
                        happenstance,
to find the fickle creature....
                              called love.
again a nonet
408 · Nov 2014
to walk in my shoes
betterdays Nov 2014
for me
between
the points of A&B;

there is a world
of meandering serenity

of roses to be smelt
and duly admired

of love and laughter
to indugle in

food to be desired
and consumed with
gusto

words and their meanings
in which to become
joyfully mired

synapses to be fired
by moments so wonderful
they can not be described

by kisses, short sweet pecks
or long langorous invitations

by studying raindrops
and watching things grow

in spending moments
finding the sun
becoming one being
in tune with so many

from A to B

never a straight line
for me...
so easily i stray
off the path....
so easily  i sit
and listen to the worlds wonder
i am a daydreamer....
through and through.
408 · Mar 2015
tis,
betterdays Mar 2015
tis time
to let the words
tumble mumble forth

tis time
to let the laughter
gambol and play

tis time
to let the tears
slide down my cheeks

tis time
to sort the boxes
that contain your life

tis time
to dwell in memory
of many precious days

tis time, tis time.
yet still I procrastinate...
408 · Mar 2017
lessons in irony#1
betterdays Mar 2017
the little black lizards
scurry away
to hide under rocks

bettles and bugs
squat inside their
carapaces
snails in their shells

the novice hunter
is out and about
large pawed
and excitable

he jumps and scitters
catching leaves
and grass heads

while the birds sit and watch
tuxedo boy.....the new devon rex kitten...has not got the hang of stealth yet....
408 · Oct 2014
here's the thing
betterdays Oct 2014
here's the thing.....
no one has chained
you to the chair,
put your head
in a vice,
glued your eyes open,
turned on the computer
and is forcing you
to read this poem.....

or indeed any one elses
work either.....

if you don't like my work ....move on
if you find everybodies
work sub par.....
consider this revealation
it might be you....
not the forum.....
that has an issue...

words and the artistic placement of them.....
is or at least should be an activity open to all.
not just the elite....
i am of the... live and let live,
school of writing.....
we all start writing,
from the bottom step.....
and we all have posted work
that may have been roughly
crafted....
indeed i have and on ocassion it has trended......
whilst the work i spend time
and love crafting gets a smattering of reads....that's
a poet's lot.....
or at least this poet.
and we all know....
that no matter
which site we post our work....
there are issues
we live in an imperfect world.....
so let's be kind and generous
even when giving constructive cristicism.....
heh!
just a venting.......
no offense intended.
407 · Nov 2014
new order#12
betterdays Nov 2014
know there is order,
within the order,

but it makes plans
calamitous too.

sometimes the path,
is an easy stroll,

but the mountains,
you see,
are not there,
just,
for the view.
407 · Jul 2014
the traveller
betterdays Jul 2014
the blood dries,
to a rusty brown red
and the thumbnail,
throbs in time with
his heart.

and his heart beats,
more slowly these days.
he has left all passion
and excitement behind.
...along with youthful memories.

now,it is contentment
is the simple things,
he seeks ... and finds.

the stars above his head,
a full belly,
a tot or two of scotch.
the feel of the sand on
a deserted beach
and the roaring-rumble
of ole betsy,
the harley softail.

he rides on this road
of gentle discovery,
with a smile of grace.

now as he waits,
for the sun to fall,
into darkness.
he puts the throbbing
and torn thumb
to his mouth.
and tastes
the coppery blood.
saw a old and grizzled biker,on the side of the road, ******* at his thumb...on the way home.
406 · Jul 2014
truly
betterdays Jul 2014
truly,
in the
big picture.
we are,
one
and
all.

a
vapoured breath,
set.
upon a zephyrs tail.

one point
in a pontilism
painting.
a
single
dot,
staining
the canvas,
beautiful.

a
solitary
sliver of silicon,
seeded
into the beach's
sandy dunes.

a
nanite
navigating,
a
nano second.

a  
glimpse of glory.

a miniscule moment.


truly,
this
is
what
we
are.

but
we believe,
that we
are,
the centre,
the axis
the
revolutionary
point.

and
that,
we may
well
be

can we not,
be,
all this and more

that is
our
conundrum
we are nothing
and
we are all.
405 · May 2014
feelin' it.....
betterdays May 2014
tonight as we settle in
the sky a lavender- grey
twilight
seems ancient, eons old
but then again...maybe it's just me
404 · Jun 2017
alurum bell ring
betterdays Jun 2017
sentient beings scream silently as
society simply seeks an illusive dream
as sombulant walkers
we sigh away the seconds
unable to sift significance from
the silty slurry of sordidness
sad to say....but sorry is not safety
safety is no longer the sucurity blanket
at which we suckle as we sleep
we the sentinels stumble and slip
on the ****, left out to dry in the sun
and the sinisters snicker
at our slack jawed  stupidity
404 · Jul 2016
be safe
betterdays Jul 2016
into the deepening night
I gaze

my eyes bright and searching
for you

as the moon rises I sigh
and turn away

one more night.....
apart

one more day's waiting
til my heart returns


into the night I gaze
403 · Apr 2017
fingertips
betterdays Apr 2017
her fingers feathering the dark  magnolia leaves
stroking the foilage like it were a housecat

his fingers wrapped around the taped raquet handle
in a firm yet dexterous grip, waiting to enter the fray

her fingers deep within the loamy soil
communing with the larger whole

his fingers  testing  the grain of the wood
looking for the sweet spot, the soul

her fingers  raised to lips, creating  a mask
thoughts to the rest of the day

his fingers  poised above the computer
awaiting the spark to flare

her fingers in the tresses of his hair
asking for more connection

his fingers playing across the rise of her breast
answering all her questions

her fingers, her hands hard upon his shoulder blades
seeking the length, the depth, of him

his fingers, his hands on her ****
fullfilling their need

their fingers intertwined
as they sleep....together
Napo wrimo.2017..... a couplet poem
403 · Jul 2017
sing
betterdays Jul 2017
singing love songs
to one he will not meet
living pipe dreams
he can not complete

how can I make him
understand the gland
required was removed
whilst he snored

tux the cat,
singing love songs
to a lonely moon
like a flippin loon
There is out in the garden a little girl cat,
swinging her hips, thinking she is all that
Little does she know the tuxedo bro, she wants
is all growl and song...no show, but they sing
and sigh and carry on... young love in the suburbs
403 · Jan 2015
the god of heavenly light.
betterdays Jan 2015
sometimes the god
would fold his wings
                  
kenneth slessor*

sometimes...
the god would,
fold his wings,
so as
to look less
terrible...

for when,
he stood,
with wings
outstretched,
spanning the heavens
width,
the strain...
of holding the stars
aloft
would show upon his
face,

a grimace of agony,
would crease and mar
perfection's smile.

so, sometimes
he, the god of,
heavenly light,
would fold his wings
and close his eyes,

so as not to see
the stars,
fall from the skies
and the dark night
encompass the world....

at these times
he chose, to be deaf
to the cries...
of the lesser beings,
as he rested from
the weight of might...

then resolute
he, the god,
of heavenly light
would stretch out his wings
of a mottled indigo hue, gather up
the stars and begin anew...

for what else is a,
god to do?...
kenneth slessor...an australian poet...
this quote comes from "the five visions of captain cook"
402 · Mar 2014
blown away
betterdays Mar 2014
once was twinkle

once was star

once was nova

bright and ever
brighter

but the gravitational pull
            you exude

is more than dark matter

it is all

light, dark

and the spectrum

in between

but soon i know

i will become

a super-nova

or  nova- remnent

gases, broiling, blowing,

glowing brighter than the sun

then distortion, explosion

blazing fire burning flames

flaring foils & spares spurting

  i am become

fury and death

      a star
on the implode

unstable,unable

to hold form

i die

and fade and fall

and become

dark space

within the forever night sky

that fills the place
    behind my
shuttered eyes

my love i am gone
     blown away
             by
  my need for you.
402 · Aug 2014
entire life in one pond
betterdays Aug 2014
life in a pond
small magnitudes
at work

all those minute lives
living large and long
in an enlarged puddle.

oblivious,
to the immensity
of the beyond


inception to deriliction
and the decay that
nourishes after
the whole cycle
in the same watery place

i so think that there is
something, quiet wonderful
in that...
402 · Jul 2014
i forget myself
betterdays Jul 2014
sometimes i forget
the beauty of my life
when struggling with
issues
when locked into gear
when busy is only my
morning cup and the rest of the day frantic
when weary and fatigued
my socks and shoes
i forget that there are colours beyond black, blue
and beige.

and then you come knocking
on my hearts door...with
a bunch of red,orange yellow and pink gerberers
and a goofy smile.

and i remember my soul
and the goodness within..
and i remember your soul
and the goodness within
and then i look at the world
and love the beauty,
and the tragedy too.

and i smile ......
at the potential
of the world
within all it's craziness
and me within it
within all my craziness

and i think, time to get on
with it.... no one else can
401 · Jun 2014
just one step
betterdays Jun 2014
it was, just one step.
not looking the right way,
at the right time.

a screaming hissing dragon
sound...
and then kaput!
i was down among the dead.

sitting in a room,
walls bloodred,
and decorated, tickertape style,
with all the things,
i'd left unsaid.

there was one window,
through which i saw...
what my life could have been.
if not, for an, unlucky draw.

there was no door.
and the floor was tiled,
in regrets and tears.
the light, filtered through,
a crystal chandelier,
of my fears.

i no longer sleep or wake.
but yet, am suspended
in this nightmare state.

and every afternoon,
at, four seventy five
the red eyed god.
checks that i breathe.

and always, he says
just before he leaves.

if you, had looked both
ways,
this would not have
happened,
you would have seen the bus, that left you, squished and flattened

and that,
is when it registers,
once more....
this is hell.... i am dead
and here forever....

and the red eyed god,
laughs and says,

are n't you clever!!!

he then leaves.

and  i remain,
wishing i could,
replay that moment
again
when i step down,
off the curb
in front of a bus.
going to some
unknown suburb.
i know..another death poem
doing them from prompts
to stretch my mind.
401 · Sep 2014
fingerlime
betterdays Sep 2014
the citrus caviar
of the finger lime
is introduced to the
tongue

where the spheres
of sunshine and
pale green love
sit tingling.

until upward
pressure is applied
by the tongue being
placed against the roof
of the mouth

and the jewelled sacs
burst, releasing their cargo,
all **** and refreshing,
evoking a fine summers day
with just a hint of,
exotic islands in the aftertaste

and a desire,
for more delicate,
citrus love...
400 · Nov 2014
smoozefest
betterdays Nov 2014
the voice,
sultry, smooth...
like warm cream
sings, songs
of sad acceptence
as we drink,
our gaily coloured
cocktails
and talked
of small
and always,
insignificant things.
his breath warm,
insipid, sursurrating
upon my ear

the l.b.d.
still has power....
to attract.
the wearer
however
is far past ...
bored,
with the swirling,
synergies
of the academic pond.

......too many barracudas

and the voice
sings on...
tonight...swam laps
in the pool of academic
conceit......now time to
shower and clean off the slime....
400 · Apr 2015
waiting for rain...
betterdays Apr 2015
the metaphors,
I  read today prove
to be depressing
my fault,
... not the writers

as I sat searching
the grey blue sky,
early this morning,
it's despondent nature
slipped quietly into my soul

and now I am mooching about,
waiting for the inevitable cloudburst.
as my mother was wont to say,
girl,there will be tears
before bedtime.
400 · Jun 2017
duckling love
betterdays Jun 2017
you mumured love
into my ear,
that made me glow

those words made a home
as they echoed in my my mind
they painted walls a warm blue
carpeted in a lovely angora white
moved in chairs, tables and
a big feather bed
those words warm and encouraging
had a family, that follwed them about
like little fluffy ducklings, bring a smile
to my face

they expanded their homstead
to make my heart large and welcoming
and those duckling words grew up
and flew from the home in my heart
out into the world, to give love

you mumured love into my ear
and the whole world changed..
400 · Oct 2015
Daybreak#1
betterdays Oct 2015
dew laden flowers
sing love to the morning  sun
blucat sits washing
new series...will attempt a poem each morning for a week/month at roughly same time
400 · Jun 2014
..25..
betterdays Jun 2014
twenty five syllables,
make up this poem.
i  checked them, for
poetic correctness.
just, to be sure.
a pinch of satire to start the day......
399 · May 2014
first day jitters
betterdays May 2014
first day back.....
and i am faltering,
creative flint is drenching wet.
no spark of inspiration here.
end up comparing myself,
to the ghosts in my head.
as i stumble through the steps of the well worn dance
feeling out of step....
hearing a totally dirrerent song......
take a breath... while the students prepare short pieces based on emotional key words....

mine at the present FEAR
there is fear in my heart...
that i have lost
the unameable thing
that makes
teaching a joy.....
and in that joy i
become a good.... no great
teacher.....
is it lost or buried??....
i go back and watch....
with growing delight
at the sorrow, joy, anger
and love
that parades before me in different guises.

at the end of the lesson,
a group of students
come and chat,
these are students
who are new to me.
amongst the chatter
these breadcrumbs thrown  unknowingly to my frail heart....to my sparrow id
freezing on the winter branch
"we really liked the class,"
"that thing at the end way cool".... and "glad we took this option"...
my little sparrow heart
flew down and gobbled them up...
and the flint began to dry..
i may be okay yet....
this is  mostly a free flow brainstream thing, ordering thought and emotion
in Jan i broke my leg (badly) at work and had been off or part time (office duties only)until today, when i went back to practical teaching ..... i do about eight to ten prac sessions a week
along with lectures and for the third years small group
tutorials.... it was so hard...self doubt almost had me by the throat... a class of first years i did not know and unfamilar with the way
i build a session...
a particularly hard start.
  ....but i think.... i will be ok....just need to stick with it...tommorrow a betterday
399 · May 2014
god's eye .......
betterdays May 2014
the little brown sparrows,
perch on the barbed
string fence,
feathers ruffled and puffed
against the cold, of the morning air
they knatter and gossip away among themselves.

they know nothing  of the sorrow of this day..

the thought comes to mind,
why would they care,
god's eye is upon them,
as they bask in the sunshine.
i sigh and crumble a corner
of my toast and scatter it to
the ground.
even god needs a hand,
in the practical aspects of caring, sometimes.
as the sparrows dart in to consume the crumbs,
i smile at their squabbling
antics....
and come to understand why god loves to watch the
tiny little things.
399 · Mar 2014
a little blue
betterdays Mar 2014
grey is the day,
bleak is the heart,
rough winds bellow
and sadness stirs.

the little blue cat,
burrows
under the doona,
rejecting the light.

i turn and leave,
for work
wishing i was,
a little blue housecat.
398 · Mar 2014
dillydallying
betterdays Mar 2014
procrastination,
the unenviable task
being rescheduled
398 · Dec 2014
oasis...
betterdays Dec 2014
poems, poetry, words
are but mirages, today
wavering,
on a distant horizon
nebulous, yet so enticing

and i,
the thirsty traveller,
caught out,
hatless,
in the sandy dessert...
397 · Jan 2015
damn it!!!!
betterdays Jan 2015
argent light signals the new day
far to early for this befuddled mind...
a few more hours sleep
please.....

but no.....cats to be fed
humans too
washing, cleaning,
baking all sorts of things
need doing....

but the brain says no
stay in bed....
the body feels encased
in lead...

today...
i just don't want to play
can't i just warm the bench
sit on the fence....

the cat is trying to sit on
my face....so i think the answer is a resounding
NO.....

**** it....
396 · Mar 2017
dichotomy
betterdays Mar 2017
as i drive to work today
i see the detruis of thebig rain
piled up on the kerbs

great heaps of garden trash
leaves and broken trees

and in front of me a council
team with a log chipper
pulls up at one of the larger heaps
and begins to decimate it
bough by bough, it rumbles
through the mechanism
that cuts it down to mulch
and throws it into
the back of a following trailer

whilst the practical part of
my soul applauds their productivity
the whimsical nature loving earthmother
cries..for the birds and possums that
just lost the family ranch
395 · Jun 2014
sad....and blue
betterdays Jun 2014
oh woe is me!!!
have pity, cruel
and heartless world.
the sky now fallen.
my sadness, unfurled.
i sail,
upon a ship of abject
misery.

i sit at the helm
and weep
and cry
and moan
and mewl,
til, my eyes have
run out of
wet, n' salted fuel.

now, those who know me,
are wondering why,
me, who writes happiness.
is having a hysterical cry.

if i can but,
bring myself,
to tell you why,
you must be generous,
of heart, and not say fie.

my big, catastrophe,
bigger than you know.
is a death, in the family...
they have lingered long
and been, a dear friend.
but this morning i went
to see them and they
where gone!!
and oh dear me!
what an embarassing end...

it is,
sad,
beyond,
sad.
i cannot tell a lie.
here its is....
in all it's badness

*my jeans done died
i had this pair of favourite, faded blue,white jeans.
had them long enough, that
they had come back into fashion....had them longer than my husband, my present job.
they knew me,
so well and comfortable too
i went to wear them this morning, as a pick me up treat....
and lo and behold,
they fell apart, at my feet
the crotch,
had frayed away
and if i had worn them,
my smalls and privates, would be saying a cheeky, g'day....
so i am sad
and an old friend has departed.
but at least
it happened in private
and not at work,
when i farted....

i tonight,
will give them,
a burial, in the duster bin...
and then drink to them,
with tonic and gin.
fare the well,
my faithful denim friend
consider this to be...
your heartfelt eulogy.
395 · Mar 2014
ink #1
betterdays Mar 2014
i have an obsession,
at present
with the concept
of
ink to paper.

the embodiment of
imbuing fibreous materials with tinted liquid,
by way of sharp pointed etching,
in flurries of creative osmosis,
to create,
imprinted strokeplay
is to me fascinating.

perhaps i need to practise
the art of calligraphy,
but my penmanship,
the epitome of
the word illegable,
makes that thought
a quixotic notion.
not worth pursuing,
unless this is my
opportunity to
tilt at windmalls.

it may end badly.
but so what,
sometimes,
that is the fun of finding
out the parameters of
ones limitations.
394 · Nov 2014
new order#15
betterdays Nov 2014
many journey to
enlightenment,

but

all take different paths,

all do not end,
at the same place.
394 · Jul 2014
the it girl
betterdays Jul 2014
she stands out,
in the crowd.
it is not.
that she is,
taller or shorter,
or indeed,
particularly beautiful.

it is her,  "joy de vivre"
that, carefree love,
of life,
that draws your..
eye and heart.

she is,
youth and laughter,
a memory,
of kinder days
those that wear,
a sparkle and  smile ensemble.

she is,
the girl
everyone befriends.
she is,
the girl that is
dilligent
and always ends,
each day with
a thankful sigh.

she is,
grace, and  life's
dance personified.

she is,
one of many students,
but by god,
she is sublime,
as an actress.
as a student,
a bit flighty.
her grades,
a bit hazy.
but, she smiles
and the boys,
just swoon
and the girls,
well some
of them, swoon too,
the others, just follow
in her wake.

she is,
seemingly oblivious,
to this power,
and thus it grows,
mysteriously.
but her joy,
is pure
and unbroken.
so, like moths,
to the flame,
they gather about her.
there is one every year
or so... these mysterious girls
or guys that seem to have it all... an almost undefinable aura that attracts people to
them.... it is fascinating to
see...
394 · Oct 2014
at the Zbarr...
betterdays Oct 2014
lingering singles mingle
and mope

drinking links to hopeful
smiles
projecting mute desire
over sugar salted glass rims

as feet tap out the panic driven rythym of hormonal
need

whilst in the small room
lodged in the corner
of the eye

the single bed, beckons
with obscene familarity...

one more drink....
for the long walk home.
394 · Oct 2016
a dozen poetic men
betterdays Oct 2016
there is a man of
gentle genteel nobility
who writes in quiet
anonimity
words that give the
soul wings to soar

an the is a rough and
ready workman
who writes his life
warts and all
with a pen that
drips literary gems

there are a couple of young guns
ready to change the world
one poem at a time
and one has nailed
the knack of the pithy rhyme
the other a thinker
gears grinding all the time

some, two or three, at life's end
or at least on that very  street
that share wisdom, the art of writing
both joys and defeats
old soldier's in the war of rhyme
defending the bastion
against the tyranny of time..

then there is the man,
such a clever soul
that deals almost soley
in wit and folderol
his pieces have
such a rollicking style
and always cause a chuckle
and sometimes leave you
rolling in aisles

one who delves into
the art of the rondelle
his mastery of the form
keeps me underaliterary spell

I know of a man
to whom sonnets are bread
to him, I take off my hat..
to write iambic pentameter
just does in  my head!

I find myself three shy of the dozen,
not of wont but becuase my head is full
of the many  worthy scribes that could fit the bill

each man who writes of love won or lost,
each man who puts pen to paper
and has paper tossed, toward the round file or floor
each man who writes with simple eloquence
of what is out side his front door,
or inside a turbulent heart,
who tries with words to explain
the workings of life..
or the tumult of his brain.

could take a place in this dozen.
has already become,
one of this glorious coven.
he, who takes letters,
syllables, jots and tittles
and creates swirls of alchemy,
magic to the souls of readers
and to the hearts, cartograhpy
maps of fairy dust and well could be

so to these nine, and three more again
to all men who have placed the sign
'writer within these brain walls'
on their heart and in their minds
I thank thee all

Your work has been, an inspiration to mine...
I love the fact, that this is a place in which male poets can find a forum, for their love affair with this art form..I have written somewhat obliquely  (I hope) about some of my favourites...but have included the notion that it is everchanging roster...
and for the women out there...there are so many wonderful women poets as well...and they have their own accolades in my heart mind and in some cases on paper as well
393 · Mar 2017
repose
betterdays Mar 2017
wandering into the sun room
with a small question
I find my boys in repose

the acorn, lies across two beanbags
as though he had just
finished a marathon and collapsed
for want of air all legs and arms
with a fringe of needs to be cut soon hair
affordung his face privacy
he glows with youth and promise

my oak, rests sprawled in the old mamasan
hairy legs akimbo, one deck shoe on, one half off
he has sat on one hand, wedging in between cushions
the other dangles off the chair's rim, long fingers hanging
his shirt has ridden up to show tanned trim stomach
with a surfer's bleached snail trail leading to a darker hairline
his mouth slightly open as he dreams his bulldozer dreams
his hair long and now slightly thinning  curls in the humidity
he has not shaved for days and
his stubble a dusting of silver and gold
his lips are a tad dry, but still so inviting

I turn and leave them in repose
my question forgotten
393 · Nov 2014
new order#13
betterdays Nov 2014
a cup of water,

drunk

with a grateful heart

can be,

ambrosia to the soul
392 · Apr 2014
sunshine's harvest
betterdays Apr 2014
today,
this morn,
the sun shines through.

all the doom and gloom
may conspire and gather
at my back.

but,
today,
this morn,
the sun shines through.

and in it's argent glow,
we will love and play
and dare to know,
joy, unfettered.

because,
today,
this morn,
the sun shines through.

and
bears with it,
the great hope,
of a, better yet
tommorrow.
written while sitting in the warm autumn sun watching my boys big and little build sandcastles on the beach.
there is my today and my tommorrow
such love,such love.
392 · Apr 2014
time
betterdays Apr 2014
time..

is the best gift
i have ever been given

time..
to see life anew

time..
to love and be,
beloved

time..
to see my baby grow

time..
to know what seems
insurmountable is not

time..
of joy unaccountable,
but well remembered

time..
of sorrow etched  
like milestones
on my brain's
memory cortex

time..
in between those markers

time..
to soar
with creations grace

time..
to quietly sit,
adoring his face

time..
to savour hearty food

time..
for a cup of tea
and a natter with friends

time..
to walk upon a lonely shore

time..
to laugh and tickle some more

time..
to write,to read,to learn

time..
to dance,to sing

time..
to bring perspective

time..
to see

time..
to wrest with ideas ginormous

time..
to stroke a sleeping cat

time..
to figure out how to be me

time to
wonder at it all
time....

time....
time....
for just,
about
        ......everything
392 · Apr 2017
nocturne of hope
betterdays Apr 2017
the world winds down slowly tonight
coalescing into one  small house
on the cusp of something
we sit and watch the flickering
of other peoples bad news
and pray it does not become
our own

we keep in constant touch
with each other, the golden boy
sleeps with head in my lap
the father lays his hand
over mine and exerts gentle
reassuring pressure
the tuxedo kitten, sensing
our restless souls, moves from
person to person seeking
to comfort wish his two kilos
of wrinkled scrawniness

it is a time of waiting
and watching the small
screened phones, willing
them to carry positivity

it is a time of  cups
of lukewarm tea
and half eaten food
starting at sounds
and praying
to gods long losr
or forgotten

the night continues
to crawl, toward the day
the phones remain silent
we sleep in fitful dozing
snatches, with the blue glow
of reruns lighting
the huddled of  love

at 4.02 the phones buzz
and we answer,
with trepidation
the news is cautiously good
the surgery complete
the nephew, still with us

we sigh, with gratitude
as the sky begins to lighten
Napwrimo 2017....write a nocturne

I wrote this peice just over a year ago, when my oldest nephew had been in an accident and had to have lifesaving emergency surgery.....it  encapsulate the wait for news ....good or bad...
Note that after another 6 surgeries Will is recovered and a much more cautious  young  man...
392 · May 2017
milk
betterdays May 2017
milk thick
with clotted cream
not conversant
with homogenization
sat it a sqaut blue
earthenware jug
in the coolness
of the foodsafe
with the pan of water
cold from being ice
below, the soothing drip
part of the melody
of the old kitchen
along with the slap of dough
on the slice of marble
cut from mountainside
in a counrty old and
across a sea of troubles
tibits of sweetness
handed down
for consumption
dough and flour dusted hands
leave imprints on cheeks
and warmth in hearts
in the oven thick ginger bread
rises bringing hunger
to stomachs already full
as women talkand bake
and solve the problems
of the world, banished now
we sit on the step, out the back,
the sun warm on our faces
waiting, waiting, waiting
for a slice of gingerbread
hot from the oven
and a glass of
cold, fresh, creamy milk
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