hush,hush,
you clamouring crowd.
if you all scream at once,
you will never be heard.

form a line....form a line.
be patient, not loud.

oh, you little thoughts,
be not annoying or proud.
you will all get,
your turn,
even, if it be at three am,
tommorrow morning!
so! that is what  insomnia
is for....

that is when i
have the time to even
the score, to clear the
slate.

so please, don't yell
and make a fuss.
just bide your time.

and please, please,
do not disturb
the moment of,
blessed silence
standing quietly over there.

form a line, form a line,

one thought at a time,
maybe two.

oh, for crying out loud!!
you would think,
my mind is a zoo!

you float
so lightly
upon the waters
of my soul

and when
in the sun
brightly
iridescent
do you shine

sometimes
you hide
whisper quiet

often
found though
in the strangest
of places
putting smiles
on sad faces

always in reach
for those who
extend their faith

light as feather
able to lift
the heaviest
of weights

like a smile
from a friend
or a sun shower
always welcome
especially  in
the eleventh  hour

intangible, you are
the small flame
that starts big fires....

unthinkingly
                     i wrote you a
christmas card....
it was not until i went to address it....i remembered
                    you are dead

it is now going on nine months
    ...      .....since ....    .. .....

but still i find you
                    just about
                          everywhere

and now.... what am i to do with this **** christmas card....
          sisterkin....i miss you...

death...  on gossamer wings
alights,
on my bed head
to watch with......... disgust
and rude dissappointment.
as i open my eyes
and greet the dawn of
another day full of potential....
summarily for us both.

this is the ....9862nd time for this
particular ritua.... there are other rituals with a higher
number.... but this one is important and not to be missed.
for death.... this is but the
start of his working day ...
as he trails behind me, in anticipation ....
watching and waiting for my
demise....
as i grow old his blood grow thinner.... greyer ....
but to his task, so grim....
he is chained .....and full
well knows that..... in the end
he will not ever... be denied.

besides it could be worse
he could have been cursed
to have as his prize.....
one of those centenanarians....
but then this one is sanguinely
stubborn....drat it may still happen ... and that would be
.....tragic... for you see...
.....the deaths that follow them.. the old... old.....
are now..... nanoscopicly
microscopicly minute
... in size

so now to explain....the way it works.....(as seen inside this .....................quirky brain)
is this..... when born..
.....death looms big and large.
as you grow garnering fear
wisdom and years..... it's size
decreases.
and one other thing death
......is one and...... is many

one, final call gifted to us all.
many, differing ways and
needs.

so.... we all have somewhere
in our blood... our brain our
eyes.... in our home and our surrounds.
a little bit of death
waiting........  to be found
he is patient and through
the many, many ...many years of his existance.....
not one has he lost.... forever
although some miss the early
call.....abscond.....refuse to fall at first or second sounding..

when your time is done ......
he will be waiting... on
wings of gossemer dark
and forthright...

for you and i...til then..
he flys close by
as we ....whistle our days away
frustrating this deaths play
.....for early completion

what is your shadow?
if not the conglomeration
of memories...
you drag through your
days.

apparently...
i have ...been told
i write organically
....from the soul.

spending my words
on healing...
on feeling.... empathy
....and seeding thoughts
sublime...

i am not sure... if ...this
is indeed...what i do..

it is what i feel,
i recieve.... from the
majority of you...

...when i write
the thoughts just
flow...
i do not sit and ponder
and construct....
....mostly .....i do not ....reconsider
but.. often leave the
punctuating marks....
to just before i deliver

i mostly.... do not capitalize
and is because it breaks
the flow...and then when
done....
well if honesty does now speak.....
i suppose it is my laziness
that keeps my poems in
the lower case...

i write... what is ...at that point me....
.. a reaction to what i feel
and see...
and i write.... to play...with words and thoughts.....
to have a voice.... to have
say...
but.... mostly and most importantly... i try to write
each and every day...

it is my... small voice
..in this ..crowded place.
it is me....
just happy to be....
...addicted .....to poetry..

my jaw aches...
with words unspoken
thoughts weighty
and pendulous
swing back and forth
in my calamitous mind

but still i smile....

back taut, muscles creaking
counting to ten, a million times

that little voice, that normally whispers
rocking away on  
a decibel high

but still i smile....

cause..
while i smile,
you have no idea
of the train of misery,
i am bringing
to crash your style.

you think, you done got
away with it...
well honeychile,
you be wrong by more
than a mile...

cause still i smile...

as i array an army
come get you guerilla style...

and when...
the stampede,
all done and over
and you be scraping
yourself up off the floor...

guess what....
i'm the one that's
gonna be smiling
all the more...

and you can bank on that
baby......for sure...for sure...

we will .....go.... to the woods
...soon... up on
..the mountains fringe...
that is ....where.... nature....
has placed.... it's great ..............demarcation line......
                                  where ...........the rat race ...ceases.......
          ...to exsist.....
                                   where......
the quiet just.... eases ..into your soul...

and ......
              your soul changes

first.... with momentary bliss
as.......you turn off.......
.... the technology
but... then you.... want....
                more
and... so you.... slow your step ... ....watch the wind.... in the trees
the birds.... over head,
...lizards ...in ...the leaf litter..
...undergrowth                                  a lady beetle ...bright jewel ...on your coatsleeve....
                       .......and that is when
..you sigh....
.......and truly let it go...
let it all drop... let it all behind
and.....
              i see my love
                          ........the world
.....roll off your shoulders
here ....in the woods...
....among the trees...

friday, lunchtime
first week back at work

all i wanna know
is will anyone notice
if i take
a three hour nap
at my desk???

...and then head home

on our way home
driving through driving
rain and sleet
soft rock eighties mix
saving us from talk
Lazlo sitting in the back
lost in himself.... he has decide to travel for awhile
and is borrowing our R.V.

he closed up the house,
fostered out the indoor plants, gave the garden care
over to neighborhood friends, the carkeys too.

it has been a long battle,
and he just needs time...
that is not accountable to
anyone.
he has agreed to touch base
once or twice a week... but
other than that, he has no
plans.
l have to believe he will be okay... a good sign is he has packed his cameras and  laptop so will continue to
film and write as and when he can.

we ben and i are aching to see our boy tod....he grows
moment to moment these days

we are coming home....
driving through driving
rain.

the thought comes to mind
laz is running away from
a broken home, hoping to leave grief behind....

o, come let us go....
to where the sidewalk ends
and verdant green grass beckons....

lets us dust the cement shimmer,
from our soul
and swim in water's clear,crystal, cleansing blue.

we will turn our back
to the city,
with it's loud
demanding voice
and listen for the whisper
of god's natural voice

as he speaks, in the wind, through the trees and
as he murmur's love, via the song of the bee's

we will forget,
the colour grey, and remember, the glory of
the rainbows spectrum.

we will shed,
our adult snakeskins
and become
the innocence of our
child within.

so come with me... i pray,
to where the sidewalk ends

hold my hand.. it will be grand.
as we step off.....
into the long forgotten land.

amid the disco beat
shots rang out
and stilled the dancing feet

and as the panic rose
heroes stepped up
and gathered those
scared and frightened
in the throes of despair instant
and acted despite america's
continuing  woe.

hate lashed out again and again
thinking the battle won
but whilst there was death
there is always more love
and love again to win
this infernal war

to those who have fallen
and to those who mourn
those inconsolable angry and forlorn
i give the love of not one but many hearts
and to america i pray for a new start

one of understanding and not hate
one in which love has the highest place

tuxedo boycat
has learnt the art
of the early morning
tap slap

when one slumbers soundly
only to be rudely and roundly
awoken by the none too gentle
smack on the nose, by a catpaw
often not smelling like a rose
accompanied by a yowly growl
of a starving kitten cat
who has half a cup of chicken
kibble already awaiting in a bowl

but desires wetraw mince
and company to dine...

oh to have the confidence
in  desires like that
of a four pound kitten cat
and the knowledge
that the cute factor
far outweighs the
outrage of the human
being awoken by
the slap tap
of a kitten paw
as  long as it
comes with
a head bump
and a purr roar

tiny bird thief, that cheeky sparrow
lionheart in brown tweed plumage as he
steals  breakfast from the cat's bowl

the cat looks on confused
dinner (he only wishes) stealing breakfast
what a topsy turvy world
must go contemplate this,
conundrum  in the sun patch, by the window

coffee steaming, in ceramic cup.
eyes cast down, toward pine boarded floor.

i breath in and then exhale.
the coffee then passes my lips.

i sigh once and then once more.
stolidly, continue to study the splintered floor.

struggling to surmise.
the reason for the sadness in your eyes.

the problem in a nutshell,being at the age
of just about four.
you have no idea of the score  or even,
how to play...

suds on fingers leads to
slippery plate leads to
plate sliding leads to
slow motion gasp leads to
slapcrash on the wooden floors leads to
coloured glass shattering,
into 1000's of tiny knives leads to
glass entering ankle  leads to
blood lotsa blood  leads to
anguished cry leads to
low key panic leads to
hasty clean up and "it won't stop bleeding", leads to
fast trip to hospital, leads to
lengthy wait leads to
x-ray and 9 stitches leads to
bandage and crutches leads to
foot up, take away chinese & favourite chocolates
leads to ....writing this memoir.....

I send my poems off
like warriors to war

I send my poems off
like the adventurers of old

I send my poems off
to woo and ******,
to dance and entertain.

I send my poems off
to shine light into dark corners

I wish them luck,
as I wave them goodbye

All bravado and
bolstered confidence

Out into a world of
of readers and writers
and now....
when they, my words
are out in space
halfway between here
and wherever there ends up being

You want me to reel them in
to recant...to put a spear to them....

Palinode, be ******!!!

These words...
have paid their dues,
they have flown the coop
I'm not blowing
them out of the sky now.

outside the window
the wind keens and roars

all the frustrations
of the world settle
within that voice,

and as it beats it's formless hands
against the the side of the house
and rattles the eaves...

small whispers of ice
sneak inside, under doors
and sigh into our bones

leaving  chills along our spines
and raising the skin in a morse
code message of  loss and sorrow

soon it will pass us over
to seek those who lack
this simple protection
and then, will share  it's misery
with a sad, sadistic joy

i can write you love poems
on parchment cream.
i can sway, and dance
through a moonless night
i can undress us both in
sweet slow torture
i can whisper loving words
in your ear
and write hot sultry nothings
on you skin,
with my burning, hungry
tongue
i can make you shiver, moan
and beg
i can stroke your manhood
til you can no longer stand
i can give you entry,
time and time again,
to my soul.
i can give you,
fast and *****
or, slow and trantric
love in so many ways,
i can take you,
to the brink, of madness
and back again.
i can keep you in my bed
for hours and days.
i can with love
unpick your seams
i can mix our essences
and make a new being
a godlet of love, hope
and daily joy.

i can and do and will do
all this....

again and again.

but sometimes all you want
is a bite of my toast a kiss and
a smile...

i can do that too...

love is...
sometimes,
complex
and
sometimes,
simple....
but mostly
it is somewhere,
in the middle.

fickle......
             is the.. wind that blows tonight
                              tying...

knots in ..the... clothes
.....left  ..  
                on the line. ... . . . ..

     howling ........ ..... ...... ... . .                          

                   at the seams ...

..of this old place...
                                      raising..
the.. hackles.. on ..the ..cat...

...... ..raging..at  ...   ..... ..        ................the...flower..beds . . .
     .......       ..    . . ....     ..... ..  .

..creating ...pressure ..in our heads.... ripping.... my

thoughts ...... . . . into ...to .     .......shr.. ..ap......nel.. . . . ..

b.bl...blah..b..lah.blah...sting blasted .....wind...
.......    .............ratt... atattling the...... window.... frame

....and then....


                       silence reigns

your car is still parked
in the drive way,
your coat slung over your favourite chair,
a half read book, some caramel fudge still sits on
the small box beside.
on the hall table,sunglasses
carkeys, handbag, all sit in place
by the door your shoes,dusty
and haphazardly placed.

your fragrance still hangs,
heavy in the air.

on the sink your favourite
teacup awaits, your never again lips.

out the back, in the sunset
of this grey day,
my lover and yours sit,
beer in hand.
i stand washing and drying
dishes..over and over again.
as my heart struggles, to take in the reality
your stuff is all here......

but you have gone
away.....ahead
to that ephemeral place..... you are now, with the stars....
and we... are left with our precious memories .....
and your stuff.

my mother is always right!!!
whether it be,
framed in the short or long.
took me nigh, on forty years
of being down-right wrong,
to finally get it right,
when my child came along.
so now  it so happens,
that  oftentimes,
i am wrong and i am right.
sometimes makes it,
a tad
difficult to sleep at night.

but as mother's always do
i'll just muddle on thru..

we stood
             transfixed
                         in disbelief
as the day of 9/11 unfurled

way down here ....
at the bottom of the world
  we cried in horror
        as the buildings died
            and so much was lost

all on small screens of despair....
and tho, life moves on...
the feeling of loss...
stays, right there.

Waiting,
on hold..
sappy muzak.
Dropping raindrops on my head.

All i want to do
is make an appointment about the voices in my mind

Still holding,
my call is important,
apparently.

Now sunshine is on my shoulders making me, happy.

Stupid musak,
my names not annie,
this is not my song....

Waiting still,
but they promise someone will answer...shortly.

But for now,
a baby elephant walking jauntily along.

Wait it's ringing...
Thank god i thought i might need a twelve bore shotgun.
(if that baby elephant got an idea to run)

Yes may i help yo......
Disconected line

Waiting,
on hold...
sappy musak
Telling me to stop in the name of love....

one moment away,
from oblivion.

one hopeful moment

caught between thought
and action
one moment, one heart beat

one movement,

oblivion, or hope

his choice...his moment

we wait, with breath held.

one moment, a lifetime
one moment, an eternity

we are home,
from our first day
back... at the salt-mines.

ben, heads for the shower
to loosen, the muscles
tightened, by a day of
hammer and saw.

tod, sits, one blink shy
of comatose..in front of
a blaring t.v....
we need him awake,
for another hour and a bit.
or none of us,
will sleep, through the night.

me i stand in the kitchen
in front of the fridge
weighing up options..
will say G&T; looking
awfully good...

mother nestled out
in the nanexxe...
engrossed in afternoon
gameshows...
best not to disturb.
she bites!(or at least snaps)

only thing in the house
that's happy,
tonight,
is the little blucat.
who purrs up a storm,
as he figure-eights
about my legs.
in the ecstasy of
the un-abandoned pet.

we did, come home,
to feed him...we did....we did...we did!

this was meant to be a minute,
but then i began to spin it
and the words just took a hold,
so bold so bright
thrown like torches
into the indigo night
casting shadows on the back of
the retreating blocked,
blockhead blight,
setting grass and tree alight,  
loosing  now the tight hold
of  poetblock fear
loosening the reins of rage
making the transition
into the feathered thing
that takes flight
and flys upward
on mirrored wing
to the sky,  
not tethered
but also raw
and unweathered
unlimited by time,
but destined to fall
as energy becomes
one with all,
did not touch moon ,
did not see the sun
but this minutě wordmoth
soared and swooped
before it's minute was done
And now it flutters
down to earth,
saited and pleased
to have been..
birthed, never to die
but become byte eternal,
read once twice or more..
does not matter
wordmoths
have learnt
never
try to keep score

woke up with nothing....
....stirring...in my brain.
a field unploughed.
a path yet to be trodden.

my eyes, blinking,
at the scarifiying sun.

my mouth, dry and barren

my bladder, shouting.

and my foot, fizzing
with nueralgia....
burning and itchy.
from forgetting the
medicinaltriptrap....

nope.....still got nothing.
still, quiet as a sleeping
churchmous. ....up there.....
....in the brilliance pavilion.

let me.... get back to you......

she sits
pressed into the
corner of the sofa
a scrap of a thing
so frail
and beautiful
but
somehow
damaged

hee marks
have dropped
from
high distinctions
to
pass-fails
and
whilst
she attends class
her voice is
no longer heard
her body
barely there
she has gone
from vivacious
to corpse bride....

and we are worried

she is crying silently
big sad tears
roll down her cheeks
as she tries to
dissappear into
the fabric of the couch

the index finger
of her right hand
is desperately scratching
at the fabric

i ask the questions
gently.....interspersing
them with safe statements
what is wrong?
you are not in trouble
we just want to see you
happy.
is there any thing
i can do to help?
any thing you say
in here will not be
repeated without your
permission.
why are you so sad
at the moment?
you are safe in here


her lip quivers
she pulls into herself
even more
she is a ball of misery

we sit......

and then a whisper
so quiet and tremulous
i almost did not catch it

he ***** me.....
i said no....
but
he ***** me....

somedays it is an effort
to turn one's face to the sun

somedays all you want is to flee to hide one'self away

somedays the grey seeps in
under doorways and through window frames
and floods the barriers
of my soul

most days i am less than whole but then are'nt we all

but some days i am more
hole...deep dark and cavernous..... and far less than me.

somedays i am about an inch
and a quarter away from
insane.


and i be knowing....
     ....this is one of those days

sitting on the steps
gorging on  watermelon
spitting out the pips

kookaburras laugh
a shepards delight sunset
the cicadas sing

evening star rise
and now the gloaming begins
time to head inside

we sit, with coffee steaming
gently before us, rugged up
tourists , waiting for the sun
to remember warmth.
our hands in pockets
but wanting to seek out each others, we constantly touch at present to reassure and bolster courage.
people walk briskly past us
a few nodding in half remembered acquaitance..
a lifetime ago, this was my
choice of abode, my seat of learning, and i reveled in the clear cold mornings, with the bite of wind and snow in the air.
now as we sit, hoping the bacon and eggs will arrive soon... i am thinking it was never this ****** cold before...

age shall not define me,
never has,
i was born with old eyes.
now my joints are playing
catch up.
but my mind ever childlike
and carefree.

I stand relaxed
on the headland
as the wind rustles
the branches of
the totem pines

looking out to
the horizon
smelling the mix
of salt  and pine sap

I breathe in the day
crisp morning air
bright golden light
the sound of waves
gently slapping sand

for the moment
the world is
good and whole
and complete

and I wish.....
I could hold my
breath....all day...

but alas...
all I am doing is
turning blue...

what it is not...
forgiving or kind,
patient with time.
gentleness to the weary soul.

whilst it does allow smiles,
they are mostly,
of the wry
or pitying kind.

again,
whilst it gives,
much time for contemplation, rumination and wistful
and regretful dreaming
but in doing so
it often, so often, takes,
more than it gives.

it is not a gentle kitten.
more of a savage jungle beast,
ravaging not just you,
but your village too...

it does not respect,
station or situation...

yet sometimes,
it gives you an almighty fright.
taking hold and shaking
your ragdoll life.
only to let you go...
scarred,
but not defeated.

at other times...
it stalks you
through the years.

it is not necessarily
a death sentence,
but often so.

what it is,
is a puzzle to unravel
what it is,
is, in need of the best
minds in order to
bring about solutions

what it is,
is, small and large donations
required to change
the future of us all

what it is
is... cancer....
and given time
it can be cured.

after walking (for my health)
I sat on the old wooden bench
in the park (mostly to regain my breath)
and watched the world for a while...

it was pleasant, the sun warmed my face
my muscles felt good (not overused at all)
as I sat I was joined by a duck,  
who took an interest in the soles
of my walking shoes
(is it not decadent that we possess shoes  for walking)
the duck proceeded to give me a foot massage of sorts
before settling in to lean against my ankle
and we watched the world pass by

I stayed much longer than I should have
not wanting to disturb the duck
and now as I write, I feel a stiffness in my calves
(but  i cannot begrudge myself
the quiet wonder of the afternoon
spent in companionship  with a duck)

i sit at the table
watching my fingertips
caress the wineglass
idly contemplating the day

no....my mind races  
and careens about
the alley and byways,
of my psyche
bouncing off
walls of guilt...
i am fast,
coming,
undone.

i look at you,
and know my world
is, safe and complete
a smile, comes to my face

no.... i grimace slightly
as i look at you...
your perfection
diminishes me
until i am,
but a whispered,
mockery of myself.

i lift my glass
to partake sparingly
of the rich woody red wine

no...i dive in headfirst
to the bottle of red wine
hoping, to get lost
in it's woods
and then drown
in the dregs.

we end the evening
on a gentle kiss.

no... we rut like animals
with out care
before you leave,
without a backward
glance.

i sigh in quiet happiness
as i watch you sleep.

no.... i weep as i retch
and *****...on the motel's
bathroom floor.

i am lucky
to be so loved

*no one
gives a ****
about me

got up,
had coffee.
showered, dressed
drove to work.
sat at a desk,
shuffled papers,
moved a mouse.
took some bathroom breaks.
came home,
deheaded camelia's.
fed the cat.
and the family.
read a bedtime story.
made love, in a desultory way, while watching telly.
went to bed.
and still.....
in that, there was poetry,
if you look....
between the lines.

i met her once
just once at an educators
conference....
she was a nun in modern
habit....
a older lady with a beatific
smile.... a sparkling intelligence, a love for life,
a glowing from within...
and now she is a photo on
the news.....
one of those taken from the sky.......

it is in these last few
moments of my day
when the house is quiet
and my boys,
big and small...are asleep.
when all the daily
chores are done
and it is time for,
one last cup of tea...

i often sit,
silently by the big,
bay windows and watch
the moonlight dance,
upon a silvered sea.

and see the owl,
swoop down and take a small mouse morsel,
from the ground.

or watch the possums scamper down,
to steal the petals from
a flower and delicately, nibble away...

it is in these,
silent moments.
that i pinch myself....
and sigh in relief...
that i am not some,
poor sad woman. ....dreaming
of this beautiful life
i am so blessed, to be living....

then i check my baby boy,
once more....
kissing his little head...
and slide into my bed,
to curl myself about,
the man i am enamoured of.

four kilo's of skin
and scruff and fur

four kilos of wrinkled blue
of velveteen and corrugation
of bat ears and amber green eyes

four kilo's of meow
and  chatter and purr

given in love
given to love
lover of sun
and warmth
and all things
chicken

collector of hearts
and bugs, lizards
socks and *****

littleblucat
so very big
in heart
for one so small

it has been
just on a year
since you were
called back
to the mothership

and yet
I still look to find you
still expect to hear you
and wonder why the
new batch of skinks
still retain their tails

you were such a small thing
to leave such a big gap

it still suprises me
how gentle his fingers
can touch and tease my skin

his mouth so insistent
to find the pulseline at my neck
raises  goosebumps along my being

the length of him finding the depth of me

his ardour and mone still fresh as when young
though now we take time before praking
and our langour is much longer
as his fingers play on my moist and
oh so satisfied skin.

as we murmur and smile and sleep
life's little surpises are wonderfully deep