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391 · Mar 2018
vigil
betterdays Mar 2018
and in the quiets times
between the ministrations
of those angels called nurse
i sit  and watch you breathe
pray for your god to bring you comfort
pray for my god to bring me strength
in this quiet love i hope i honour you
i hope i thank you for times
you watched over me and prayed
at mum's bedside...things are simple...
391 · Oct 2017
facsimile
betterdays Oct 2017
gotta, no gonna be like
aesop and his fable
slap a moral
on the table
talk about
old slow poke
tortise on his hike
up against a speed freak
hare  

zikes

this is harder that
it seems
like interpereting dreams

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

so here goes
follow the flow
stay in the know

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

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

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

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

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

done now with
her word spin
done now

gotta go do
as she say
take some action

go give a nobody
a kind reaction
some hugular compaction

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

go on now
be on your way



-fin
390 · Nov 2014
new order#8
betterdays Nov 2014
yet,
be not afraid

to wander from the path

and create new perspectives
390 · Jan 2015
and yet....
betterdays Jan 2015
this body electric,
has sung far too long.

now the fuse has blown
the lights have gone.
so now she stands in the dark,
the blessed, blessed dark,

slowly, she undresses
removing,
her stage show finery,
glitter and glam.
climbs wearily into
her favourite flannel pyjamas
and takes herself off to bed
with a nice cup of cocoa
...
and yet she remembers
in the quiet stillness
how desperately,
how completely,
he loved her....

and the scent of  flowers
and pine woods
fill the air...

the body electric sleeps now,
with tears upon wrinkled
cheeks...
389 · Jul 2014
so..
betterdays Jul 2014
so...... we going to fight
there is a pebble in your shoe
there is a pebble in your heart

let it out, make angry
word art... lighting up
the sky with firework
words and bonfire hurts

i stand and watch you fizz
and flame..... words like lava
leaping off your tongue
and wait for the rage to
subside....
then i step gently on  the embers as you cry...

little man your tantrums
done
time for a nap... too much
time in the sun...
and sometimes an almost four year old heart... just gets too full...and then kaboomsky...you just blow...
but you will be better soon...
i know....it's so unfair...
but now my friend...off to bed.
389 · May 2014
four
betterdays May 2014
four more hours to this
workday.
four more hours to the
weekend
four more hours to the
washing, cleaning,
cooking, planning,shopping,
four more hours, til i swap
this job for my other.....
god i am so tired...
really, not as bad as all this
just been a long week, and between au pairs...
389 · Jun 2018
the early birds and me
betterdays Jun 2018
here i am

9 degrees celcius
dragging bins to the curb
breath frosting clouds
feet cringing from cold earth
muttering quiet obscenities
trying not to inhale trash perrfume
looking up to see sunrise colours dance
waving to brave/stupid morning walkers
thinking early birds are overrated
hearing  the resident kookaburras laugh
thinking caffiene, caffiene,  caffiene

here i am
388 · Jul 2014
would that i
betterdays Jul 2014
would that i be,
lost for an eternity.
in the sparkle
of your eyes.

would that you be,
found for an eternity.
in the upward turn
of my lips.

would, that we be,
after said eternity.
still enrapt,
in the love
of one,
for another.
388 · Nov 2014
southbound...
betterdays Nov 2014
when i was young
i knew love.....
then  i lost it
left it on  southbound train
thinking
it, he would relent,
from the stubborn position
he, it had talked himself,
itself into, but that did not
happen...
i tried to find love,
i waited for his return
i asked for it
at the lost and found window
but nothing came of that

perhaps,
i should not
have been so adamant,
so stubborn in my views...

perhaps, we both should
of tried to understand
the meaning of love...
instead of insisting
that love was a
bargaining chip
with which we would
have the upperhand...

i lost a friend.... one with whom, i went through the machinations of making love....without understanding the creation
of relationship....is more than the pressing of skin...
left them
on a south bound train.. my
youthful arrogance....
and demands bound them
to the seat...
i never knew love...
i  did not understand...

i now stand often,
on the platform of the
station....and wonder....
writing exercise....
387 · Apr 2014
cloudtown survey
betterdays Apr 2014
"what do you miss most?"
i asked.
turning to my friend sitting on the park bench.
she replied,
with a wistful smile.
" the colours in a rainbow"

"what do you miss most?"
i questioned.
as i dug the garden over with my grandfather.
"the smell of rain on dry soil"
he replied,
dusting his hands against his pants.

"what do you miss most?"
i queried.
my old mentor as we sat drinking tea, before a roaring fire.
"the warmth of the sun on my back."
she replied,
snuggling further down into the cosy chair.

"what do you miss most?"
i asked my forever young sister playing on monkey bars.
"the feeling of the ground under my feet."
she replied,
swinging upside down.

"what do you miss most?" the kindly old gentleman, asked me as we walked together.
" i miss the sounds of the wind rustling the leaves."
we paused to rest in the peace and quiet place.



" but i miss my heart beat most."

i said to no one
387 · Jul 2017
away
betterdays Jul 2017
the mist of my voice
lays gently on the cold window
the sun is yet to shine
as i leave my comfort behind
still warm and fetal beneath
duck down doona's

i tell the house goodbye
and that i will return, anon.
and step forth into the frozen dew
sparkling on the winter faded lawn

once in the car, I sigh with deep breath
this is something that needs be done
but my heart falters at leaving the nest

for it is away i must go, to find some rest
it is to leave in order to stay, to be my my best
each year i take this small season of me
each year i go... go be alone in order to hone
my mind and shed dark blue barnacles
so upon my return my boat runs smooth
through river and wave, calm and typhoon

i retreat from this world and this world from me
i go find a place full of water and tree
and there i sit and sleep and walk,
very little do I talk, i do not perform
or  teach, i do not quest or overreach

i am but pebble in a river,
the water, washes and reforms me
i am but budding leaf, on tree
the sun energises me

I am snail, content,
within my fragile shell

I am quiescent, within my soul
386 · Oct 2016
mr ....
betterdays Oct 2016
he climbs aboard the bus
denying all offers of help


he rides most every day i do
he due to neccessity,
me more of a luxury,
the luxury being i can take part in
long, lightly alcohol, lubricated lunch discussions,
after  teaching class and then not having to decide
whether to drive or bus.

he is old, so very old,
each movement is both precise
and yet wavering, as he makes his way to his seat
then, as he thuds down,the bus moves off again

he rests awkwardly, the slight corkscrew in his spine
causes him to perch, more than sit,
the calves in his legs flexing constantly,
making adjustments, so he remains balanced
ever on the precipice...

yet he smiles, a wide toothy
grin, as he acknowledges
the crowd, most by name...
for that alone, he is a legend.

he is dressed in khaki shorts
double pocketed shirt,
one pocket for pens
and one for the pipe
that even unlit,
has an odour though not unpleasant,
it is slightly oppressive.

and across his chest the wide band
of the old leather satchel he carries,
often filled with books on a myriad of subjects
but sometimes empty bar an old thermos

he is the universities oldest student,
old enough to be father and grandfather
to those who teach him.
he has multiple degrees and a love of learning
yet to be assuaged, he loves the gathering of knowledge
the ****** and parry of intellectual debate

he is known as Mr Proffessor
and often has a group of his younger peers
set about him as he leads younger minds
down the oft convuluted paths of learning

but today he is an old man, on the bus.
trying to maintain his balance...
and I admire his style
386 · Mar 2014
circa; summer 2005
betterdays Mar 2014
standing in the cool of
the summer night,
the grass, lush dampness beneath my naked feet.

i want to grow roots down into this place

the stars, stammer in the sky
bright chips and slivers of diamantine, on an inked cloth.

i want to **** my heart onto this place

to the west, the ridge of  mountains, nestle with chocolate ease into clouds
of clotted cream.

i want to hunger from my heart, to feed and comfort this place

the lights of the town below,
gleam like a clowder of feral cat's, their eyes watching.

i want to tame this place

to the east, the beaches tide and sand, the white breakers
glisten.

i want to dive and delve the depths of this place.

the air is scented with orange blossom and jasmine and fresh hope.

i want to breathe the breath
of this place.

behind me, a half renovated
teak farmhouse.
inside, my new lover resides

i want to make this place home.

i am going to make this place,
this man, my home.
all this i did
and then we birthed
a family
me, he and mr just about three
and im'a lovin it all.
386 · Feb 2015
life....
betterdays Feb 2015
in my garden
a wren lies... dead
it flew with haste
from the lilac tree
and then fell
from mid air to the ground

a little blue black pebble
with soft downed contours
it lies motionless and cooling
as i watch....
half expecting the small beautiful beast to rise
...like lazarus and fly again...

...but no....
              and now i must go
pick up this scrap of god...
before it becomes a plaything for my cat...
385 · Apr 2015
three-step.
betterdays Apr 2015
betwixt me and myself
but not I
thoughts are
muddled, befuddled
and often obtuse

but I is,
concise and acutely aware
of the confabulation
within the world
of weirdly wild will-fulness
contained within the brain-pan
I shares with me and myself

I wishes it were different
but knows it cannot be
for they are co-dependant
the id of the three
just doodling.....lol
385 · Mar 2014
bleached
betterdays Mar 2014
the old pine table,
was scrubbed daily with
a mixture of bleach and
salt,
and then sluiced with clean
ice cold well water.

it had a felted softness
to it,
a wonderful tactile
memory i am still unable
to explain.

sat out on the balcony,
overlooking the beaches
and whale island.
it was an oval behemoth of
a thing,  
would easily sit
twelve adults
at a christmas feast.
but now just one or two.
excepting
when we arrive to vacation,
then a half dozen neat.

and on most mornings,
big broadsheet papers.
spread out, anchored down
by oranges and bannanas,
sea shells and driftwood,
teapots and coffee cups,
whatever was to hand,
scattered haphazardly about.

the rule was
if you took a bit
of fruit, or whatever,
you had to supply a new anchor.
so as the morning wore on,
fruit became books and toy trucks, teddy bears and cricket *****.

all presided over by granda,
as he worked his way
around the news,
spread before him,
like the hands of a clock.
changing seats,
iregularly,
with a sigh and a plop.
muttering to himself,
or calling out to gran,
news of suggested  import
or the specials of the day.

that old pine table held,
the world spread out,
for intelligent dissection.


i still can feel,
it's surface,
like rolling,
polished pearls.
.....no
...still not explaining it
at all well.
384 · Aug 2014
at the end of the day
betterdays Aug 2014
the day's breathe
runs thick in my brain.
a heaving mucoudial sigh.

words play tag and dodge
but will not stand still
prefering to run and trill.

the hum of traffic
soporforic....
and it
takes all of me
to concentrate on
the simple art of
driving....

i am at the end of this day
so drawn out and opratically
long...

i sit now, numb,
from all the academic,
angst and drama.
in the car,
in the driveway.

the home straight,
laid out, right before me.

the lights on in welcome,
inside husband and child
dinner for the table
the fires warmth beckoning


but still i sit
here ensconced,
in the quiet cocoon,
of the car, parked in the driveway.

where,
no one wants
or needs , a piece of me.
exceptionally long and difficult day..... not quite
ready for the second shift...
384 · Nov 2014
new order#14
betterdays Nov 2014
imbide the beauty,

let it place seeds

in your heart,

from beauty, grows beauty
383 · Apr 2019
living in the globe...
betterdays Apr 2019
stay sane
within the insanity
draw a line in the sand
make it straight, yet flexible
enough to withstand
the  rough winds of argument

watch the sand blow away
still the line remains,
a furrow on the brow.
a burning bridge
beacon to  the too dark night
burning fever, feverbright

stay strong as belief does
becomes ash and ash does
becomes sky, flying forth
as squiggles written on ephemera

stay sane, within the insanity
this brief, brief, briefest time
for once the line is
broken and sundered
and the reality cold, enters in

then the sad, sad, sadness shatters
the snowglobe world within

water on the floorboards
may be tears or not.

glass shards scattered everywhere
and ginger bread house lost

once the ball is broken,
it cannot be retrieved

gliitter once unfrozen
will not be tamed again.

you will find that stuff for decades
and remember the insanity again...
383 · Aug 2018
with one tiny paintbrush
betterdays Aug 2018
unwinding the dross
from my mind
makes things no clearer
but at least i see
the rapids before me

unpicking the stitches
from my heart,
makes it no less painful
but at least it lets
the infection out

taking the rocks
from my backpack
does make it lighter
but leaves me frozen, staring
at the signposts of my life

and how do i
get rid of the
etchings of you
off my bones
the tattoo of
your love inked
into my soul

how do i change
my essence
forever
mixed
with yours

it would be just
as easy to
paint the sky green
383 · Apr 2014
hugmugged
betterdays Apr 2014
it was pushing toward the midnight hour
here was me
struggling with words gone sour.
in to the lazee boy
i go to sit and "read".
turning on the light beside me
when looking to the ceiling
a shadow play in progress
i see...
a little bug being hugmugged
by an inky dinky foe
this little bug he fought
back he tried so....
very hard to leave the dinner table
but the inky dinky spider was more than able.....
to rug n tug the poor little thing,
into his pantry to...
marinate until spring.
so hugmugged snugrugwrapped spiderzapped
was the little bug
little mr inky dinky
was proper impressed with himself
as he confessed
to friends later at the pub that little bug
almost had me...
he had the heart of a grub.
some silliness for a sunday night.
383 · Mar 2014
can we.......
betterdays Mar 2014
can we start the....world anew
can we forget....forgo
the....(colour) blue
where do i apply to re
a do..(done).. over
world anew now!!
order on(e) up
can we stop....turn back...
the clock to before
the (my)...world stopped
turning.....started crumbling
stone....cold...iceaged...
can we just stop the world
please ... do not get
off(line/side)
canwe....cani... talk.... listen
(try to) ....explain?????
words don't come.....easy
back(for)lash(ing)
rework old refrain...disdain
my portions...keeper
do not maintain....contain...
innocence....(no)one can(is)...
does
can we not give...take blame
we both burnt bridges
got. ...caught... in flame's (f)ire
can we rewind ....unwind
desire unravel..
hate retire...
anger
....rework the paradigm
can we make....bake ...  the
world anew
aspect....ratio... payedforview designed....
  ....realligned for me...you
can we.... dare we ..must we
will we .....
can....you forgive me
i ....can...not....lose
again
experimental work
(at least for me it was)
betterdays Jun 2014
everafter
           they lived
                       happily

why,
because, they took the
time, to beat the wolf back
from the front door.

because, they caught the sky, as it fell down on them.

because, they sold the magic beans on to some rube from another town.

because, they decided red was just not their colour.

because, they kissed enough frogs.

because, their knight did not
get lost in the forrest.

because, they knew the words to bippety-boppety-boo.

because they liked miners.

because they did not develop
a sweet tooth.

because.......
            
there was,
                a time,
                      once, they
       wished..... upon.. a    
                
               ...moon...
this poem came from a prompt......once upon a time
and happily ever after.
(and is reposted, by mistake,
happily so......)
betterdays May 2014
there is lead in the sky
and the lead, spits and cries
and the birds don't fly.
they huddle wet,
on branches, of dripping trees.

there are tears, pooling
on the ground.
puddling, muddling,
flowing down,
to the craggy, creviced
incurvate creek,
which is growing, swelling
and about to breach,
boggy, bullrushed borders.

the water dragons, are fleeing upwards,
to sit with the birds,
in among the trees.

the frogs they are singing hymn to the great watergod...
as the leap and dance along....
to the rythmnic revival song of the pattering, puddling rain.....
time of plenty hath come again.
          come.....again.
flashflood after sudden storm..... and the frogs came
forth in ecstatic glory
382 · Sep 2014
the tines of time
betterdays Sep 2014
as the hands ever unseen,
push forward,
the tines of time,
i lie with eyes open,
but it must be said,
with a desperate desire
that they be closed.

i listen to the wind rail,
against it's perpetual,
homeless state.
fury has been it's nature,
this past long night
and has doubled
the occupancy of this old
king bed,
sprawled beside me now safely asleep,
is a tangle of blucat and small, but growing to fast, child
both resting, hard up against the lee- side of the man mountain.
all creating a purring, snuffling, snoring thing,
that has an equal measure
of comfort and annoyance, circulating within my brain.

outside the house,
something has come adrift, but not enough, to blow away and it bangs in an awkard thunking rhythm agin the side of the house.

in the bed it is warm
and slightly sweaty.
outside of the bed,
it is crisp and overcool.
outside the window,
the sky is lightening,
to a grey that portends...
a long day

i make my choice
and leave the warmth in search of, the first of,
far too many coffee's

and the unseen hands,
still move,
the tines of the
old grandfather clock.
ever onward, everforward.
382 · Apr 2014
Waiting
betterdays Apr 2014
Waiting for the taxi,
sitting in the front room. Dressed in her very best.
A small posey of blooms, favourites of his youth
on the table beside.

A sepia photo of a young
and blushing bride.
The groom tall serious,
all pride,
stands at loose attention. Khaki clad romance, captured before war's incoming tide.

He left for the front,
she stayed behind.
Waited and prayed
for her God to hide,
her young strong lover
from war's unwavering gaze.

Letters came sporadically, cheerful but underscored with fear.
Speaking of a future now held more close and dear. The telegram came to her
as she pruned his roses.

Her march of tredpidation now over.
Her life long walk of grief begun.

She stands now,
and his medals brave
clink, *****,
over her lonely heart.

For while, her ride has come, so she can remember
with others.
In heart, alone, she awaits still and true,
her strong young soldier lost in yonder blue
for the wives
on ANZAC DAY 2014
Lest We Forget.
382 · May 2014
getting buggy with it.
betterdays May 2014
there is a bug,
on the
windscreen,
hanging on tight.
they must
be
getting
the thrill of their
tiny life
we are zooming along
at  about 65k
irony is
the little bug
was
just looking
for
a quiet place
to stay.
381 · Nov 2014
Those are the...
betterdays Nov 2014
And it is what it is....
This life of mine,
Some days good and joyous
Some days fine,
And some days....
Everything is askew
and no matter
What I do....
The world is contrary.....
and unfucking fixable.....

Those are the days of...
chocolate and wine
Need a trolley full...of both tonight.....lol
381 · Aug 2018
troubador
betterdays Aug 2018
sing to me songs full of joy
songs that flood the dark
corners and crevices of my soul
with sunshine buttery and golden

sing to me of love requieted
of quests completed  with heros
homecoming to hearth and home
of reunions joyful and jovial

sing me silly songs,
full of nonsense riffs
songs that make my belly ache
from laughter, sing to make me smile
not only now, but for years to come
when i fondly remember that sillly song

sing to me, all the good and bright things
you can possibly think of, sing long
and sing loud, make the melodies dance
the boogaloo, the charleston and jive

drown out this sadness, drown out this anger
sing to me hope, sing to me love
sing me a future, full of joy
sing, sing,sing,sing,sing
379 · Jul 2014
one day....
betterdays Jul 2014
friday's child
out of place
on a tuesday

swimming 'gainst
the tide
wish it was sunday

just  losing grace
all discomfited
wearing hand me down
depression 'n blues

and a tentative face

friday's child
running from emptiness
and
just finding open space
and
a drought of happiness

sunshine, a mirage
on a far away horizion

but she keeps,
keeping on
knowing, hoping,
one day...someday....
for my niece... kayla
she is at that awkward
place ...between
child and woman...
betterdays Jul 2014
it is the end of the month
and the moths have
taken up residence
in my wallet.

so glad they can't eat
the visa card....
again an older piece...from student days...when caught
in the credit hamsterwheel
378 · Dec 2014
NYE2015(wheehee)
betterdays Dec 2014
the metal teeth
of this year's counting,
gnash and groan,
grating slowly through...
the final hours
before, their midnight demise.

the world takes one
last look,
one more reprise....

like the overbearing actor,
one more accolade,
one more encore,
dear friends, hold me in
your heart.... once more
before i am "resting" forever

old and weary,
the day stumbles
to his wake
of a billion chemical fireflies
dancing in the night
as the adoring public sighs

and rockets blast with
daring might.
people sing refrains of
old lang syne,

a blurting, blurring drunken delight..
a bachanal of intimate sharing of iresolute promises that are,
sealed with a ***** kiss

then... old man is gone...
and in his place
a fresh hopeful face
begins tick-ticking along...
happy new year to you all
I am ensconced in airconditioned heaven
32 storeys up looking
out over the Sydney Harbour Bridge....and will be here
tonight to watch the amazing fireworks show...
(family included) prime..
cost a packet....but it is another notch off the bucket
list...
Will more than likely,
be way too drunk to write tonite...
so all my friends and readers
weehee away we go...
new year...wishes for
inspiration and courage...
to write with open hearts
and read with open minds..
cheers beers
to  one an all!!!!
377 · Mar 2014
float
betterdays Mar 2014
god made beauty sing
when he painted myriad
designs on butterfly wings

delicate and so sublime
they float on by
graffitti artists of the sky
377 · Apr 2014
a poem about sunshine
betterdays Apr 2014
i would write
for you, sunshine
friend.
but it is just past
midnite.

i would write
for you sky, clear
bright blue.
but outside my
window,
stormy grey.


so i write for
you.
this...
as i go
to my slumber.

i check my toddler
boy.
who sleeps like
a snail,
*** in the air,
and feet tucked
under.
and glorious sleepy
face.

as i watch
sunshine
blooms
once again
in my heart
and the
world sings joy.

this, friend,
noah blue.
this sunshine,
i share with you.
response to poem from
tim emminger
cheers dude
377 · Mar 2015
all the signs say...Autumn
betterdays Mar 2015
the mornings are now cold
and we stay in bed
as long as we can

rushing through breakfast
stampeding to the car
wrapped in many layers

and then the sun finds
it's warmth and we peel
ourselves like onions

the washing lines
are full of clothes
flapping the in the autumn breeze

and the leaves
are turning into artwork
the days are getting short
I hear the sound of axes
in the fields the birds are leaving
flying up to the north.

all the signs say autumn
all the signs are true
another year is flying by
winter's coming soon
377 · Nov 2015
colour wheeling
betterdays Nov 2015
it is in the cool green edges
of my memory
that i see you
                            standing, talking, with other men
                            cigarette in hand, a hat cocked on head
                             all tall and strong and smelling of brylcream
      

it is in the deep purple
of my mind
that i love you
                                 remembering days stolen from a lost childhood
                                 beacons on shipwrecked love
                                 admist the heaving sea of a saddened childhood


it is with orange streaked red rage
that i hate you
when i can be bothered to hate you
                  
                                for parties lost, birthdays  fogotten
                                for questions asked and gossip whispered
                                for the belief instilled by lack of interest
                                 that i was not enough, that i was the problem


it is with a tired sky blue
that i forgive and recognize you
    

                                                as  a man who wished, and wanted
                                                but was unable to give and recieve
                                               a world of wonder and days of sweet wine

it is with white...i let your memory drift...into the dark  of your making

and it is to the bright welcoming yellow of my life
to be lived, that i turn and embrace....
an older piece i found again today
377 · Mar 2015
this way up
betterdays Mar 2015
fragile,
needing care,
impermanent,
not quite all there

standing
gently swaying
with wavering stare
hand held out
needing care

but garnering
indifference
and  misplaced disgust

what if that was
you or me,
or uncle alf
or sister beth

would you want
the world to walk by
deaf to the mumbled cry

these are people
just like us....
these are people...
give a f...

not just a ******* up
sweat stained buck
thrown at them
like they are muck
scraped off the bottom
of your shoe...

cause by god,
this might well
one day be you
seeking truth
and sanity
in the gutter...

fragile...so very fragile
376 · Mar 2014
artwork
betterdays Mar 2014
precipitate pontilism
art by small raindrops
painting the world a
cleaner shade of gray
this marled and stormy
afternoon.
375 · May 2014
mountain morning air
betterdays May 2014
i sit on the bathtub's edge
weeping
not from grief,
tho i still wear it's coarse haired, grey cardigan
but from the pain,
emenating,
from my recently reconstructed leg.

broken and pinned
in summer, to all intents and purposes healed.
it and me have been ****** into the pre winter cold snap
on the moutains,
it is so freaking cold,
my breathe splumes
before me
and my poor mangled apendage, with the livid scars, where the bone had silvered through
is protesting with
a ferocious, throbbing ache.

i have tablets, and have taken them,  but i am in here
trying to warm the air with
the water running hot from
the shower.
i cannot stand long enough to stand under the water's spray yet.

ben, sleeps still,
in the other room,
he is exhausted,
from bearing the grieved desolation that is Laz.
he could do nothing to help,
at present, no one could.
but tried so very hard.
so i leave him to sleep......

...and hope the pills kick in
soon.
374 · May 2014
once and everafter
betterdays May 2014
ever after
             they lived
                         happily
why,
because, they took the time, to beat the wolf back from the front door.

because, they caught the sky, as it fell down on them.

because, they sold the magic beans on to some rube from another town.

because, they decided red was just not their colour.

because, they kissed enough frogs.

because, their knight did not get lost in the forrest.

because, they found they liked miners, ***** boots and all.

because, they did not ever develop a sweet tooth.

because, they knew they looked good!!
it was all those other ducks that had body issues

because, they knew by heart, the words to...
bippety-boppety-boo.

because.......

there was, a time,
                          once, they      
      wished.....        upon..
                            ....­..... a moon

and the wishes.... they came
                   .....true.....
betterdays May 2014
sometimes
      when i put pen to paper
i know exactly where i am
going... like i bus following
a well driven route.

other times
the pen hits the parchment
and takes me on a grand adventure.... skittering all
over the place

those are the sessions i like better....
373 · Oct 2019
Smoke inhalation
betterdays Oct 2019
Heard today of the demise
of a couple elderly 78 and 73
caught in the malestorm
of a bushfire, unable to leave
the property they had  lived on
for more than 50 years...
they took shelter in the house
he built...only to have it become
their pyre ..they were found together
There is  poetry in this, love passion,tragedy, darkness and despair
and though these word do not come anywhere near describing the situation, it is my belief that these two people deserved some words written for them...
May they rest in peace...
There have been terrible fires in New South Wales over the past month and whilst 45 houses have been lost, there have been few tragedies...our firefighter's have been working night and day...this elderly couple was found today...in the burnt out shell of their home... May they rest well in each others arms..RIP
373 · Aug 2014
caught
betterdays Aug 2014
four twenty three,
antipodean time
and i am caught,
wide awake
between, my thoughts
and the sounds of
a snoring husband
and a cat purring
hungrily....
for an early breakfast.

i have a feeling,
no... i have a knowing.
this is...
going to be a long, long day.
373 · Jun 2015
found
betterdays Jun 2015
found, held loosely
in lovers arms,
while listening
to child's laughter

one muse, refreshed
by the words of kindness
spilt from the pens
of distant friends

poised to write
poised to live
poised to .....

the writer and muse
together again

found
thanks to all those who inspire.....
written in response to earlier poem "lost"
with thanks (in this case to nat lipstadt)
betterdays Oct 2014
was going to write,
about rain....
falling in torrents,
outside my door.

but i feel if i write,
another rain poem.
i may just drown...
in the wet wistfulness,
of it all.

then i thought to write,
about my family
and my home...
how we, while not perfect,
seem to muddle on through.

but on reflection,
that might be,
as boring to you
as it is to me...
it's been done,
to with an inch
of it's happy, humdrum
life.

i could write of past angst.
pour out my damaged soul,
like a child with a macbre
show and tell.
or i could write,
how i fought,
so very hard,
to recover my self

i could write about items,
of sentimental import,
on the **** mantle shelf.

perhaps,
i just string together,
some,
mismatched words
and call it experimental.

run some syllables,
five, seven, five, together.
claim it's a hiaku.

write a detailed description
of you,
as you sit reading
the paper,
hair unkempt,
more salt than pepper,
brow slightly furrowed,
glasses a'perch,
your battered nose

and the crisp rustling
of the paper,
the ink smudging, your fingertips and cheekbones

but all these...
words and phrases,
descriptive and thoughtful.

are really just,
redundant drivel
my mind sneezing,
syllabalitic snot....

is this repetitive...
guff and garbage.
the best i've got...
geez louise i hope not...
372 · Jun 2016
patience's child
betterdays Jun 2016
shadows fall
lengthen
and settle
into darkness

the only pool of light
one small window
glowing
golden amber

behind the glass
one woman
heavy
with child waits

looking out into
the darkness.

her name
HOPE
written 17.06.2016 in response to the vents of this week, the orlando shootings, the violent death of a member of the english parliment.
372 · Apr 2014
Something Borrowed.
betterdays Apr 2014
"The kind hand extends, feeds such anticipation. Today everything is borrowed. And it follows you everywhere"*

                  ------------
I borrowed,
my smile for today,
from my memories of us.

How many times,
my friend,
did your hand,
reach out to caress
and soothe,
my weary soul.

Countless upon countless.

Touches of love
and tender kindness,
that kept me sane.
When the black, black dog  came to my door.

For this
and so much,
more unspoken.

I thank you.

And in days to come.
When only memory is left,
to feed my grieving heart.

The touch of your life
on mine.
Will stand and lead me forth.
Napowrimo day 1
prompt; generated from a  bibliomancy oracle
and is taken from,
“OPEN SOMETHING NEW FOR YOURSELF”
by Sheila Squillante
my poem written after meditating on the
quote is for and about Sue my friend who has end stage cancer.
372 · Jul 2014
fitahw....
betterdays Jul 2014
what if
the moon was just the sun
after it had been peeled
and showing all it's pith
and whote underwear revealed.

what if
the stars are just the peephole in the sky
so that those that went
before us never have to
say goodbye

what if
the sea was just a teardrop
from some sad god's eye

what if
we are just ants in a science
project
for alien humanlogist
from the planet fitahw....

what if
this is all absurd...but true?????
371 · Oct 2014
post storm
betterdays Oct 2014
world washed clean
by last nights storm

except for that
one poor tree
four doors down
cleaved unevenly
in half

by a massive
lightning strike
still smoking
from the heart
of the gape-ing
amber-black wound

and the smell
of eucalypt oil
heavy in the air

the neighborhood
gathers
to see the sight
missed the house.......
but **** that tree
looks like a bomb hit it
369 · Mar 2014
momentary
betterdays Mar 2014
-------- 25,729,437--------
(give or take a few)
minutes in my life.
the number is profound.

but,

it's not that easy, to break a life down.

i'm sure there is a calculation, that covers the basics bits, work, eating, sleeping, abultions.

but,

to bring the moments to the minutes,
thats a vastly different thing.

how do you count the moments of brillance,
that burn bright on the horizon beyond and before.

those moments of pure kindness or blind and ****** ignorance that elicit change.

the joy of the moment,
the rage of a second,
the hours borrowed
in worry never yet, to be repaid.

how many minutes wasted,
or not fully tasted,
devoured to quickly.

those seconds we fumble,
in awkward silences,
or those we waste wanting more.

then the hours of breastbeating
or simply bleating.
are they lesser in importance,

than,

the days lost in thought,
or in grief,
time spent, begging for relief,
from a heart so, so, sore.

remember the weeks,

when,

we sent packing,
the fox or the bear, the lion and the tiger from fear's flimsy,
fragile door.

months of not belonging,
then the longing
and finally
the lounging & laughing,
when tickled to our core,

the tock of the clock,
when we
are too cold,or too hot,
or
just,
not quite right.

time,
that keeps ticking,
while,
we are sticking our noses, where
they are not wanted.

time spent watching from afar,
minutes of small talk,
hours of deep
and meaningful,
days
of young lust,
months
of expectancy,
years
of togetherness,
decades
of love.
a delineation
of seperateness,
eons,  
immemorial,
of eternity.

these are the times,
of my minutes,
i want
ciphered,  
into
the fabric of time.
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