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betterdays Mar 2017

Her story will continue

Rest in peace

others will take up your sword
and battle call

the war continues
Amy Bleuel acknowedged founder
of the "semi colon project"
which alerts people to those battling
mental illnes by the battler wearing a
semicilon  tattoo
tattoos  are also worn in remembrance
passed away recently
She is one of many small
whispering voices that have changed the world
Please remember her and her closest
to the heavens today
betterdays Aug 2014
60,000 plus young men gone
150,000 maimed
in a war that changed the face of a nation, a world
the never again war...

so many lives changed,
so many familes, left bereft.
so many lives... just gone

today in australia,
we stop and remember.
today, 100 years past,
a war was begun.

and it is only now,
that some ,
of those young men,
out for a boy's own adventure,
are coming home.
after, lying lost,
in foreign fields
and some, now known
will slumber on....

it is a day,
of sad remembering
we pause,
then carry on.
betterdays Apr 2014
small blue cat
curls up on himself
back to the world

content to
dream big cat's dream

where he is
lion tiger leopord

he mreowls,
twitches and then starts,
hunting prey,

takes time, stealth
and skill patience, too
as he sleeps,

he stalks, stares,
the little blue cat.
dreaming still.
day four "napowrimo"
prompt - write a lune or a couple(this is my first attempt@ this deceptive form)
thanks to Mary McCray for
directing me to the following site
betterdays Apr 2014
can we start again?did you mean what you said?
where do we go from here?
do you remember ?

what colour is the sky today?wanna come n' play?
whatcha wanna do?
one cookie or two?

have we got enough money?
can we pay the rent?
do you think you can get some more overtime?
what are we going to feed the kids?

does my *** look big in this?
what, you don't have a larger size?
how much for the full make-over?

what does it take to make you smile?
please, stay with me awhile?why are you staring at me?
what can you do?

when the world's gone crazy and all you have is a smile what can a girl do?

just wait a while, be patient
just wait a while
if you are lucky the answers may come..... or not.
napowrimo day14prompt; write a poem using 20 questions
betterdays Sep 2015
what if we had
one day

and give
in which

how would



you be


hope less
can do

devil may care
buyer beware

seize the day
rue the moment

sing and dance
weep and cry

accept the loss
bemoan the lost

savour the day
pack your house away

even less
hours to live

be a blessing
and in turn be blessed
Right now, the world needs us to live extraordinary  lives
  be kind and generous of spirit
for the next 24 hrs
you will change some one's life
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......
betterdays Jun 2014
two poets,
came together,
after, much word love,
they had a vocabulary.
bought a tortoiseshell
thesuarus...and a golden pen
then, lived,
in a self written chapbook..
deliriously happy.

forever, amen
betterdays Mar 2014
there is a softness
to this,
the third day
the sibilant rain drifts
to blur the world's
and soften the crust
to a malleable mire.

i sit outside on,
the front verandah ,
in woolen jumper
and watch the horizon
dissapate and the waves
become tired and grey.
after three days,
there is, no fury,
left in them.

the steam, arising from
my cup,
mingles with humid,
misty bretheren
and the birds cry

plate, the treefrog,
revels in the rain.
his bass profundo
decrying the need for

all else looks for shelter
in the soft indistinct frame
of three days of rain.
plate is the name we gave to
a green tree frog who lives in the garden he is the size of a bread and butter plate and used to have a girl frog we called saucer but she has gone and he looks for froglove every rain
betterdays Jul 2014
five thousand hearts.
turned, from grey to red.
so to all who made my day.
made my heart, poetic.
beat, a little less grey
some karmic grattitude,
i send your way...
this morning i came to post
and noticed
i had got 5000 hearts.
so just wanted to say thanks
betterdays Jun 2014
i wake up at 5.41
curled up in my armpit
the little blucat
blusfully happy
loud rumbling purrs
assure me of that
on my other side
asleep with head
resting on my belly
my soon to be
four years old son
i lie awake
in the dark
surrounded by love
and wait for the kookaburra's call
linked to 5.41am
betterdays Jun 2014
is the time on the clock face,
when the first kookaburra
this corner of the world,
still dark and cold.
but then i suppose,
some poor sucker,
had to get the early bird gig
i just wish, it was'nt,
the noisiest bird in the park.

look out worms.....laughing death is on the wing.
and thus starts another day.
betterdays Jul 2020
Each Day
a marathon
Unto itself
betterdays May 2017
this patron
no longer exsists

well this is news
to me

i just returned some
overdue books

and wish to borrow more

but nope, not me
I no longer exsist

that must mean
I need not buy
those lambshanks
for tea

Not pay those bills
teeter tottering  on
the verge of overedue

no need to be pleasent
to any one, especially
not you

Rude lady, new
to the system
who has coldly
informed me
of my demise

Who states with
disinterest and haught
in her spectacled eyes
You must not have
borrowed for
the past three years
You no longer exsist
this she did insist
even as I pointed out
I had returned books
only three days overdue
Even as other librarians
stopped to chat, knowing
my name, recommending
new books, telling me gossip
about this and that....

This patron does not exsist
it cannot be true, it is not a glitch
this patron is a patron
through and through
I left them to figure out
the mystery, I did not pout
or get out of sorts and a little blue
I said I would come back Monday
that is if over the weekend
I do not simply fade away
betterdays May 2014
to explain,
a weary soul's
meandering, doesn't seem
why i rarely write
10(w) poems
betterdays Apr 2014
the cacophony of whispers speaks again ....giberish spouts from my bloated brain head is .....
rotating.. tating around the room whispering at a decibalac boom . . .  up is down and down. .  . is no left turn... drumbeats skid off my dishpan brain... i see a mark.... liqour green.... an unholy stain.... parrot like my mother squawks.... that won't soak out ... you've ruined your best brain ...
my my mind is ... listing to the right....and feels.... decidedly....  strained like ....custard bumpy..  and lumpy...... the whispers....... screams chunk about... and i ****..... awake.....sweatslicked,
drymouthed....... and ......jit...jitt....jittery...jitter...

i sit a second ...and then reach for reality .....a toddler who's had a bad dream. more...leftover pad thai
and  double choc brownies
followed by an afternoon nap......a decidedly bad idea.... lol
betterdays Apr 2014
here sit i
a skalded-babe
at a prison-box of
metal and wood and plaster.

chained for the span
of the elf's glory passing,
i shuffle leaves of wood
from in to out.
i move the hamsterwheel forward inch by inch,
or i runabout in a
with my cheesy,
tailess-rodent, biting
and chewing away,
for the need of budget burning yeilds.

if lucky some snail mail
may come to relieve
the electronic humdrum.
if not,... i suppose,
i can knock on the world wide, spiders-door, enter
the ether-frame...
and see the cat, playing
piano, badly in fortissimo.
or be a mouse-jockey
in the web-led rodeo

then when the elf's are done

home to hearth,
i will run,in the rover of the land.
to sit by whale road on
golden sand.

and go make fodder for
the artisan-sawdust-man and the child.
for us to eat with carrot-comb and steak-stabber
before sitting down
for a night in with the
napowrimo day 13
prompt; write a poem using
kennings (kennings are compound words)
i took a wry turn with this one, it only sort of fits the brief.
betterdays Oct 2016
there is a man of
gentle genteel nobility
who writes in quiet
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
betterdays May 2014
i am a mother
away from her child
i  am a child
apart from her mother
i am a friend come sister-kin
grieving a loss unbearable
i am adrift
in a sea of nothingness
please my lover hold me
close...murmur kind wise
words in my ear
and for you i will recipriocate
for you are
father,son, friend
and you too need
me to be near.
alone, together, adrift
this mother's day night.
betterdays Feb 2015
here be i
sitting in my chocolate boat
floating in the sea of tea
off the point of
the cape of big hopes
sailing fo the isles of little dreams
when the marshmallow
sharks attack...
so i being an intrepid traveller, take out my
peacock feathersword
and tickle their foamy gills

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

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

some silliness for my son
while stuck in traffic...
betterdays Jul 2014
bullet bitten
coffee smelt
road been beaten
ducks in a row
pigs grounded
box shredded
roses smelt
chewing the elephant
as we speak
no looking back
dusting the cowbwebs
offa the shelf
and the tigers in my eyeline now me and my betterself gonna take a timeout
talk about my life
got the box list here
love check,check,check
life double check
home check
health check
wow !!!
all silver and gold affirmitive wealth
so now i can,
kick back,
relax and grow
disgracefully old.
jeez i just love
this new
self management gig
betterdays May 2015
the elephant sits quietly
in the corner,
reading Holmes
as we tiptoe through the to,
too many words,that slipped
from tequila lips
and open-gated brains.

the leopard,
is in the bathroom
tinting his fur
to an even shade of black
and the owl
is busy outside
trying to get
the wisdom of the ages
safely back.... inside.

monkey saw,
monkey did,
monkey lies,
monkey defies,
monkey now,
in the barrel
with a nailed-down lid.

and the whale sings,
a mournful song.
the dolphins,
once  again,
thank us  for the fish
and then move on.

but still,
the elephant sits
and reads on...
as we fervently wish
the dormouse to appear
and slap the mopey begger
on his ample rear.

*with nods of thanks to:
folklore, CS Lewis, Dr Suess
and Douglass Adams
betterdays Mar 2014
this is the aftermath
sitting in my
dinghy of fools
three passengers
me, myself and i
surrounded by
useless f#cked up
rowing furiously
in circles
on a sea
of stupid.

all cause
my words
in anger
to swim with your
personal sharks.

would it help
if i threw you
a rope made
of heartfelt

could you then
find your way back
sorry regret by sorry

so we can row together
toward  the coast of
mutual understanding....

can we get to there,
betterdays Oct 2014
hollow pointed flowers
the war torn fields,
by the blood from human

after the battle.
become mulch and food
to toxic soil's greed

the children
among the dry, white
building clacking, castles
and scavenging the metal petals  and kahki cloth
for with which,
they haggle, for food to buy.

their world of
decrepit decay,
under a cloud of grey
and with only the
memory of parents,
they make their own way...

what once was green
is now brown
and what was was steel
is now rust, upon
the ground.

but not the hollow flowers,
they retain their gleam
and they glitter,
like diamonds,
in the harsh daylight.

they, the children,
the keepers of this world,
know not how
to smile or cry.

they live to survive
to them simple things,
like joy and laughter
are myths.

they have no time
to ask why...

but they love,
the little flowers,
that sit upon the sands.
the hollow pointed flowers
that feel right, within small hands.

and the songs
they sing, are murky
as to the prayers
they say,
before bedtime....
just, undefined mantras.
taken from the before.
when the gods,
were advertisements
and everybody suceeded.

everybody was needed,
everybody was blind,
to creed and colour
and the world was
fine and dandy.

and mothers loved
their children,
fathers walked beside.

this, before the sundering
before the parents,
fought and fought
and died.

leaving just dusty bones
in toxic fields
and bullet blossomed
to mark the loss
of life...
to mark the loss
of living...
to mark the end of
to mark the end of

after the dying was done
written after seeing a photo
of a sprig of flowers crafted
from hollow point bullet casings....
betterdays May 2014
john donne, was wrong ...

you know,
there are times...
when a man, is an island,
set alone far out to sea.

he is bereft.
just a void, of sadness,
a gape, of hulking misery,
a chasm, of blankness,
in diminished and weary desolation.

barren nakedness,
abject defeated melancholy,
as mountain range and peaks.

listless malaise,  
the emptiness of depression, fatigue and lethargy,
as his meagre crops to eat.

distress, grief, affliction, abject and ineffable, sadness
as, the rivers that run through.

desperate lamentations,
now, covering,  
the fields with bitterness
and bereavement,
where once, the wildflowers,
used to grow.

he is an island, alone.

deprived and dispossessed.
wanting and widowed.

with beaches, ravaged, bankrupt and heartsore
the reefs, encircle,
tho, fragmented, incomplete they are short, sharp teethed

waiting with,
patience absent,
anger rampant.. that

the currents turbulent ,

miserable, mournful, waters,

sad, sorrowing, suffering, waves

break, upon his grief-laden

tide, after, tide, after, tide.

he stands,
among the grieving.


an island.
a hollow man.
for Lazlo with love.
betterdays Aug 2014
he, my man, my atlas
holds up my world
with all encompassing love

he, my boy, my hermes
his smile brings messages
of love from the lips of heaven

me, all creative curves and
goddess of hearth and home
hestia, in modern form, i be

he, little blucat .. bast
all compacted and wrinkly
a reminder....of fidelity

then out the back
in a temple
her own
mother god
now become crone
but ever loved
and worshiped

here at #259
we reside almost gods
yet biding the devil's own time
i know...the mythology is all over the place....
betterdays May 2014
anguished, anemic, adolescents, arrayed, in a line.
apprehensively, observing the ambulance, take away
an afficiando, again, today.

bereft of energy and ability
to see......
that cutting,
while a momentary thrill.
is leaching their ability,
to be anything
but lethargic, listless and ill.

an addiction to, endorphines
angst and red blood spill.
becomes a viscous, viscious
that daily, causes a spiral downward.

you cut, to feel,
release from pain,
blood flows,
draining you of
the nutrients and
sustenance you need,
to cope with living life,
you become,
less able to deal,
with the slights and arrows
and daily dross.
so you cut,
to deal with the loss
of the ability to cope,
you saw away,
at your skin like,
it is a mental rope.
all the whil
you lose blood the live giving force,
you lose the ability to hope
spiraling, until....
you collaspe in class... your secret revealed...

A is for  ANGER...
bright fiery red,
at the abtruse,
asininity of it all.
i know there is much more to cutting....
this is written as a response to the fact, that today, a student the fifth since the start of the academic year (mid february) collapsed in my class and needed to be taken to hospital.
this is the other side.... the anger and frustration of those who watch as young live fall apart...
it is now such an issue that we spend half as much time
in counselling with students.. i attended  16 appointments a month with
students in crisis(i attend as mentor) and sit in with these
troubled young souls.. both genders.
as they are given the opportunities to learn better coping mechanisms.

and still i struggle with the sisyphean futility of it all
so please bear with me
as i vent.

Postscript.. The young man
is tonight in intesive care with an raging infection..
betterdays May 2014
blackberry pie
golden short flaky pastry
buttery crumbling goodness
then the luscious purple filling **** but sweet
bubbling hot gooeyness
cooled with cream white

another slice please!
just yum.
betterdays Oct 2016
dragging forth a smile
i stand before the storm
of teenage angst
set down on worn carpet

we are in the eye
at rest, becalmed

but just for now

soon the winds
will blow and crack
and the seas
will roil and seethe

and from the mouth
all things vile will
spout and spew

and I and my albatross
will rue, having awakened

but I will smile
even as the albatross
whimpers and hides

for my smile
is my defence
this incoming

of hormonal  soap  opera
that is  this class
of seveteen teenage
pains in my ****
this farce of bed hopping
and sloppy breakups
followed by anguish
and x rated make ups

all played out before me
like reality tv

and I and the albatross
smile and stand
thinking ....
one more semester
I am gone from this land.....

My albatross and I ... can take to the sea
One more semester...then a years sabbatical...
betterdays Mar 2014
grey is the day,
bleak is the heart,
rough winds bellow
and sadness stirs.

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

i turn and leave,
for work
wishing i was,
a little blue housecat.
betterdays Jul 2018
today....i took my mothers glasses to the local optometrists
they have a donation box, in which you place unused glasses
then, they are given to people in third world countries,
giving them the gift of better sight...
i have been meaning to do this for a month or so
ever since mum passed away, but it was harder than i thought
it felt too intimate to give that part of her away
but today it happened...and some day soon someone
who was pretty near blind,  given the prescription
will see the world in a whole new way
...through my mum's eyes
and there is a goodness in that..
betterdays Apr 2014
i'm feeling a just little to
the left of sane today,
don't quite know what it is.
but it feels a little like
that itchy spot in the middle of your back.
you know the one ya just can't reach to scratch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

....boom thar she blows!!!!
betterdays Jun 2018
we all  narrate
our own destinies
smoothing the edges of
dubious memory
so we become hero
or victim, as we see fit

we paint our words with
colour and passion
and make some areas
grey or black
shading the story,
so that our heart remains clean

it is only in the small print
foot notes, that we write
codiciles and retractions
that we give a nod to time

the nebulous truth
obfuscated  by time
and the blurred re-telling
becomes the urban legends
of our minds....

our very own fairy  tales
and once upon a times
seen through the
kaliedescope of fathertime
My brother's and I all remember the legend stories of our youth...differently
betterdays Jul 2017
the balloons escaped the party
danced briefly on the wind
before being caught  in the
tendril grasps of the oak tree twigs

for a moment it looked like
the balloons all bright festive colours
were trying to lift the old tree
from the gloom of the grey winter day

but then the wind changed it's mind
and the strings untangled, the balloons
flew off toward the sea
and the tree settled back into a grumpy
acceptance of it's place in the word

as the children climbed up into
it's woody branches for a rough hug
betterdays May 2014
six slick sardines
swim through silky
ocean blue satin thoughts

chromatea cradled cranium
containing calcified continueums and coral reefs

washing wishes wonderful
on silicon sand chipped island shores
with pious palm pods
placating pontificating
writing, wriggling,
morning memories...that
meander through a mountainless mind....mine
after too many mojito's on the morrow...
just jotting thought jingles
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
betterdays Jan 2015
in my child's eye...
it is possible,
for a frog, to choose to fly.
a dog to dance and
cats to swim.

it is possible,
to build a castle,
up into the sky.
to converse with stars.
for elephants to drive,
tiny cars.

it is possible,
that the world,
is without sin
and washed clean,
each morning,
which is to be met
with an insouciant grin.

it is possible,
to befriend the child
you just met....
no matter what creed
or colour.

it is possible,
to forgive
and live,
without regret
and to sleep
at night
without any stress.

it is possible,
at that age,
to know ....
a dollar found upon
the sidewalk,
is a treasure
of great proportions,
if made into,
lollies and shared,
with friends.

it is possible...
that fish can write stories
and possums delight

it is possible to count
a monkey as a friend.

it is possible to ride
kangaroos and
adventure to Timbuctoo

it is possible,
to love spaggetti
as much as your mother.
to make the new kitten,
your brother.

it is possible,
to love your dad
even when he is silly
or mad...

all this is possible...
                   ....and much more
when you are just,
one year, past four...
                      ...and you have a
sunny, lovable disposition
and the world has yet to
find the time, to revise
the freedoms of your amazingly beautiful mind...

            it is possible....
        and in many ways
          so very probable...
writing this while watching
my boy Tod make more new friends.......and create a city
from sugar packets, cultery .....and salt and pepper a brunch picnic..
God kids they are just amazing...
betterdays May 2014
i kiss, the nape of your neck,
while you still sleep
and inhale you.
spearmint, sandlewood
and citrus combined
with clean sweat.
you stir and roll over,
you are healthy
and in your prime.
more than my heart stirs, more than your heart, responds.
your lips, meet my skin
for the first time,
allover again.
i am drawn...
like moth to flame .
i am before you,
barely, contained,
but your teasing,
tendril,torching, tongue
scatters me to
thought or sense.
my lips seek
the curve of your
collar bone and neck
as if to feast
upon your soul.
my hand behind
your head holding,
kneeding, that spot
on the top tip of spine
that makes you growl.
our desires grow deep,
our arousal complete,
we move,
to connect our hips
in early morning,
grinding, greeting,
i quiver,
as you,
touch my lips...
....and our son
begins to wail and sob.

we break,
with regret.... unrequieted.
i go to see to him,
you, to a cold shower.
our day begins,
with love and frustration.
but then,
there is always, the art of...
delayed gratification.....
betterdays Jul 2014
almost words
             eddy in the murked
corners of my mind

they lack
                       and  purpose
they lack
                    and wanting

they lie
      fooled by the worth they
think they should have
   and so.... dissapate having
               never been
formed into  words....
         never having been
more than the
                   grunts and groans
of an overtired....mind
         fecund in potential...yet
barren in time.

gone upon the tidal surge
betterdays Jul 2018
sun shines through the rain
grass is green again
the cat lies on the old verandah
re organizing the dust
into different piles

there is hope on the evening breeze
and in the trees the birds sing alleluh
the tarmac steams and the cars stream by

time in a bottle, love in your eyes
these are the last days of summer break
soon be the time to take
up the reins and load up the dross
but for now.. for now ...we laugh
and love and lose....later we can count
the bruises, cry at the heartache

now we run  through  rain
found this in my i sit curled up before the fire with wooly socks peeking out from blanket...summer days a distant memory..? a primal longing for sun and sand itches at my chill blained heart...
betterdays Aug 2014
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
ahhh! stuff it, i'm an academic....i am leaving
now to go home and do some research.....
betterdays Apr 2014
semper amandus,
te amica mea,
ego sum amator,
est ductor noctor,
et quod suus 'peregrinos,
in hoc itinere vivendi,

siete amati,
sarai sempre,
amato tu sei il mio amore,
io sono il tuo amante,
l'amore è la nostra guida,
e noi che di pellegrini,
in questo nostro cammino
di vita.

*you are loved,
you will always be loved
you are my love
i  am your lover
love is our guide
and we it's pilgrims
on this our journey of life
the progression;
the love,
the same,
no matter,
the words.
betterdays Aug 2014
i sometimes sit and ponder
what my life would be like
with out the both of you

i suspect,
i would be some
small (uni) town
catlady, about sevencatcrazy
exsisting on takeaway chinese and rom coms

soglad you came along, happenstance as it was...
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
betterdays Jul 2014
you smile, in your sleep,
as i crawl into bed
and i feel, so loved...

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

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

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

you are, so loved...
betterdays Jan 2017
my mind returns
more often now

to those simpler days

when to seek a thrill
was to ride a bike
no handed down a steep hill

where to while away hours
you lay on your back
and counted clouds

friendships were made and sealed
by the fine art of daisy chain production

when others worried about important things
and we spent our dollars on lollies and chips

the time when all wars were fought in one day
then forgotten and forsaken for the next day's adventure

when you went to bed pleasantly tired
and slept with no sword hanging
over your head....

my mind returns
with a fondness
for those carefree days
those moments caught
in the amber of my memory

and sighs, longingly
before coming back
to the here and now
of adulthood.
betterdays Jan 2020
The big rain came.
The big, blessed, rain came,
just last weekend.
It was glorious:
big fat splotchy drops,
making splashable puddles
All, bringing down the temperature.

That wonderful smell of deep, rich and musty

The look of a world made clean

The joy on people's faces,
such a delight to weary souls

Firefighters danced and whooped
with relief.. Farmers wept and
children gambolled about in the mud.

It has not broken the drought.
Nor put all the fires out.
But is a start...
It is: many a prayer answered.

Today the world looks
brighter, better
And the forecast is
for more rain...
                          ...Amen to that
Solid rainfall over the past week just  under 100ml over a five day period...
betterdays Nov 2014
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,    
to find the fickle creature....
                              called love.
again a nonet
betterdays Apr 2014
forgive...... me ........all
.....for not being  .....
my mind is  .......... else ...where.....other...wise...
............with.­.......a ......myriad
                         my attention...
so shiny......
therefore......i ...unable on
anything ....much.....
...right now...........
bear with me.... this is...but
a moment...of
hey..we all have them..right!
betterdays Feb 2015
(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's 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 breast beating 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
we sent packing,
the fox or the bear,
or the lion and the tiger from fear's flimsy, fragile door.

months of not belonging, then, the longing
and finally the lounging
and 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 love,
months of expectancy,
years of togetherness, decades of love.
a delineation of seperateness,
eons, immemorial
of eternity.

these are the times,
of my minutes,
my moments of grace,
i want these,
ciphered into,
the fabric of time.
betterdays Jul 2014
some where in my house sits a cute little monster
in dragon like pose
on top of his purlioned
and just found lying around,
trove of treasure.

fifty seven odd socks
(i counted the others)
and three pair to boot shoelaces and metres of string
an inch of fragrant ginger root
a tie patterned cleverly with clowns
a beĺl that swallowed it's ding
used tissues galore
fifteen duplo men,
in various stages
three circus lions sans,
their cages
a sherrifs badge
about ten dollars roughly,
in loose change
a tiny baby dulldozer,
to shift it all about silverware, cottonbuds, lipsticks,
hundreds of chinese takeaway chops sticks
mr potato head's nose,
a squad of g.i joes
a ping pong ball that
has lost it's zing
a ring of keys for,
no longer locks
pencils, crayons, texta pens
all in a woodwork,
pencil box.

now this monster is cute
and he is twee
he loves all his treasures with cheery equanimity fussing and fixing
his stash he wanders about just out of sight
looking to add to his *****.
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