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betterdays Jul 2014
Moirai
sits
with
the
cat's
cradle
of your
life
in
her
supple
hands
and
never
still
fingers

she
thread­s
kismet
karma
fortune
and
potluck
into
wonderous
configurations
­
and in
order
to
keep
the
threads
pliable
yielding
and
graceful
she
dips
them
in
puddles
a­nd
oceans
of...

lust
laughter
love
joy
hope
and
sorrow
fear
ange­r
and
everyday
madness

all
of
life's
fibres
and
oils
scents
and
­tastes
mingled
together

deftly
worked
and
reworked
as she
deems
fit

and
in
this
thread
a
knot
that
joins
birth
and
death

Moirai
sits
forever
patient
and
twiddling
until
knot
is
l­et
unravel
and
you
are
left
to
hang
dangling
at the
end
of
fate's
frayed
and
ever
fraying
thread.
from a three word prompt
death,love,fate
thank you. n.h.
betterdays Apr 2014
today i would write,
of the mundane...
the weak tepid tea
place before me.

today i would write,
of the unmatched...
the pile of sock,
singular, but legion,
that grows,
but never lessens.

today i would write,
of the humdrum...
the bills that tap, tap, tap,
incessently, at my brain's
back door.

today i would write,
of the wearisome...
the washing, ironing
and other weekly chores.

today i would write,
of  burdens...
but at present,
i have little, to none.

today i would wait,
(im)patiently...
for the morrow to come.
for then,
i would pen...
happy joyous tomes.

but today i write,
of the mundane....
for it seems,
some one, needs must,
give them fair airing...
for the world,
is not all,
loving, lust and
written, with nat's poem
"too many poems here"
in mind...
hope you enjoy
betterdays Jun 2014
the night, so still,
so close....
the surf holds it's breath.
clouds, hide the small crescent of the moon.....
and it is just, the blucat
and i still awake...
he, is curled, in upon himself and has only one eye,
half, open.....
one last chapter....and then a cup of peppermint tea.
and i shall be, done...
i am sure, the world can...
move, forward...
....to a new  dawn
while,  we here, slumber on....
betterdays Apr 2014
the garden verdent green
held a trio of stone Buddhas
vacationary souveniers kept on
the basis of  memories of the
time when our love bore sweet fruit
before anger and  rage took the stand
from when we were we
and we chose to eat
angry words before the
days of the plastic facile smile
the fruitless discussion and
inevitble dummy spit
then it all came out
and thus, the begining of the end of the
jealously green tightly gritted teeth.


...and in the garden, the three stone bhuddas
watched with smiles, benign
and bellies round  and sun warmed like watermelons.
original poem
(in italics)
"watermelons"
by
Charles  Simic
betterdays Dec 2019
with the taste of burnt and burning on my tongue
i look out to the mountains,
hidden by haze and slow drifting smoke

it is the day we put up our tree
but this year it seems  bittersweet
there are many who have lost houses
some who have lost family
all of us have lost innocence
with regard to the wrath of fire

we carry on unpacking boxes
of tinsel and bric a brac
remembering thosee who gave us
special items, remembering christmas past

we laugh and love, easing the tension
and soon the tree is done, toto green
for our climate but cheerful and robust

this afternoon the town tree light festival begins
a parade and gathering, this year an opportunity
to thank the firefighters and their families

and another new tradition, a christmas tree
where you can leave gifts for those,
who have lost something or everything
in the fires
betterdays May 2014
i am a rubebnesque
type of women

and have come to
terms with that.

in fact:
i love my good
jiggly self.
did'nt always
but now i do.

generous *******, *****
and curved belly.
all proportionate
and healthy.

my man does love
my curves,
he can spend
hours carressing their
soft beauty.

they do not stop me
from doing most
anything i wish
although
commonsense dictates
i would not fit through
a too small a hole.

why is then, that when
walking down the street,
people feel they can
throw the word fat
my way...
i am within the healthy weight range for my height
but today as i shopped, a woman said to her child,
" if you eat that chocolate" you will end up, as fat as that lady"
...that is just so many ways wrong!!!!!
betterdays Jul 2014
listened to leonard cohen
last last night as he sang
"always, hallelujha, anthem,
in my secret life"...

and so much more in my
ear....

now, as i sit at my desk,
finely filmed in dust.
the memory, brings
a tear to my eye.

as i watch the sparrow,
alight from it's nest
and take to,
the clear blue sky.
just outside my window...

and i sit and try,
to make sense
of  month old notes,
scrawled to myself....

*"i do what i have to do..."
betterdays Apr 2014
walking through water
today,
so grey, and humid.
a sea mist earlier,
when the cool of
the night,
danced with cloud,
shrouded sunlight.
a dawn,
vienesse water waltz, delight.

now, just muggy,
like a warm, wet blanket.
making... thought
making...thinking
                        ...soggy
making everything
                       ....soggy
...soggy... soggy..

walking through water,
not wading, walking!!!
betterdays Apr 2015
oh woe is me!!!
have pity, cruel and
heartless world.
the sky now fallen.
my sadness,
unfurled.
i sail, upon a ship
of abject misery.
i sit at the helm
and weep and cry 
and moan and mewl
til, my eyes have
run out of 
wet, n' salted fuel.

now, those who know me,
are wondering why,
me, who writes happiness.
is having a hysterical cry.
if i can but,
bring myself,
to tell you why, 
you must be generous,
of heart, and not say fie.
my big, catastrophe,
bigger than you know.
is a death, in the family...

they have lingered long
and been, a dear friend.
but this morning i went to see them and they were gone!!
and oh dear me!
what an embarassing end...
it is,sad,
beyond,sad.
i cannot tell a lie.

here its is....  in all it's badness:
MY JEANS DONE DIED
(pause now for a sobbing, dramatic.....sigh!!!)
now you have finished laughing
at me i will explain why,
this is, not a matter for disdain.....
i have/had this pair, of favourite, faded, blue,white jeans.
had them long enough,
that they had done,
the complete circle
and come back into fashion....
had them longer than,
my child, my husband, my car,
my present job. 

they knew me, so well and
so comfortable too.
i went to wear them,
this morning,
as a pick me up treat....
(cause to be honest,
been feelin kinda beat)
and lo and behold,
they fell apart, at my feet

the crotch, had frayed away
and if i had worn them,
my smalls and privates,
would be saying a cheeky, g'day....
so i am sad 
and an old friend has departed. 
but at least it happened in private  and not at work, when i farted....

i tonight, will give them, a burial, tried and true in the duster bin... and then drink to them,
with tonic and gin.
fare thee well,
my faithful, denim friend.
and consider this to be...
your heartfelt eulogy
betterdays May 2014
a new piece to my mothers
puzzle....
rather frank and bewildering conversations.

this one regarding ***...
one will admit....
very disconcerting over a breakfast of muesli and cheerio's

her  " your father enjoyed ***, me not as much, i often
just lay there and let him get on with it...it was over quickly enough"

me  reeling internally,
you must understand my mother, the epitome of the straitlaced woman,
sent me to the doctor,
with a group of my peers for 'the talk'.

"oh, um...did you see the whales"

her  " he never forced me tho, he was polite not just any good at it all fumbling and grunting...i don't think
i orgasmed once"

me   * dumbstruck

her*  " after he left, i only had *** once more,
it was so much better...
it was as much about me,
as him.
i orgasmed then...
it was nice.....
but he was married."

me .... who?

her " i suppose it doesn't matter now.
mr clement, bob,
he used to bring the rabbits
and vegies from the farm.

me  "oh.... him" remembering a short statured,  swarthy man
with a kind nature...
and big hands

her  "after that...
i did for myself,
much easier allround..
*** is important in a marriage....good for communicating.
you and ben,
seem to do alright .......

me  " thanks for breakky
mum must get on."

i am so very sure,
i don't want to discuss
my sexlife, as good and rich as it may be.....
with my up till now, prudish
85 year old mother...

even if she,
finally,
wants to talk to me,
about ***..

just way too....disconcerting.
new and a little freaky weird
too many images flooding my brain......
betterdays Feb 2017
They sit
on the riverbank
on rickety stool
or upturned buckets
elbows resting on knees
hand on rod or simple reel

they sit, they wait
they contemplate
and cogitate

hats on heads
with scrapes and muck and holes
old sandshoes
that have long forgotten
the words white and tennis
shorts or trousers
that sit comfortbably on the hips
and old threadbare shirts

they sit, they stare
into the bright river wake
they take breathes of air
they of the ambience intake

about them is a calm
a stillness, a balm
and tho flys hover
and create bother
there is grace
as they swat
and bat them off
their face

even when they hook
a catch, there is a rhythm
to the fight, of reel and splash
as the duel, to bring the hunted
to heel, be it snagged boot
or that night's meal

they sit,  they stand
rod and reel in hand
and thake a punt
on the aquarian hunt

with net and esky
and can of bait
they sit, they wait
and the world
revolves slowly
to them, there is
something sacred
something holy
about the time spent
on the riverbank

catching fish
catching up to oneself
time given to repent
relinquish, replenish
to reinvent, a soul

they sit, they wait
they contemplate
they consecrate

simple things to holy


these old men who fish
on the riverbanks

an ol man river
watches and  gently
smiles
betterdays May 2014
on
        albatross wings
                                      i flew
                                            inspired to fledge
and grow out & off
                          my comfortable nest
                                                            my wings
        i did expand from small tight
             to broad - broad wide

thanks to you
                    who signposted
                             my wild flight of fancy
                                                             who fed me

from their private stash of goodies

                               who saw me fly up on the edge              

             of reason on majestic wings

                         if but for
                                                     a season.....
maybe two.....
an older work in praise of fellow poets...who
have inspired...but just as relevent today.....
i wanted to post something
other than sad or silly today.....and this is it
thank you all for embracing my work.
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.....
one
betterdays May 2014
one
one biscuit left,
in the jar.....
not for long.
wasn't quick enough,
all gone..
no biscuits left,
in the jar.
.....vending machine
here i come.....
turned around to get coffee
and it was snaffled by the i.t.
geek....
betterdays Aug 2014
the morning after
the night before
rises with a cold crisp sun
and sea mist rising

i shuffle out...glad i do not
need to be at work til 2.00pm
i am already wrung out
my leg still achew
and growls
and my eyes are
bleary from
crying.
hair,
a sidways birds nest
smelling of a night's sweaty tossing and turning
and the smoke from the fire dressed fashionably not,
in flannel pj's and hippo studded robe.

i can barely raise a smile.

and still,
he says he loves me
and kisses me soundly ...before  telling me he will
take Tod for Maccas
and then to kindy...
it is a male bonding day....

and i should just go back to bed.....
cause i had a rough night....
oh' and he will bring lunch home at middayish

and that is one
and one again,of a million reasons,
why i love my man
to the stars and beyond.
he is **** good in bed too....lol

freeflow....as is
betterdays Feb 2019
mecury dreams
begetting quicksilver thoughts
enticing in shape and shine, yet
fluid through grasping hands

time meanders, with little meaning
as roses wilt on the wayside

one note sounds a gong
reverberating in the distance
drawing me forward

all the time i am hampered
by the gathering up of  past
I walk carrying a backpack
of  badly folded origami dreams

hoping oneday they will be art
been a while, the muse has been recalcitrant....
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 May 2014
an hour ago
  as we lay your coffin
          in the red brown earth
a mob of kangaroos
        bounded  by
                down in the vale
at the bottom of the hill.

amazing in their strength
and synchronicity
               the thunderous noise
a more than, fitting goodbye

the world itself ... resonated
with one last joyous round
of applause..and then a quiet

                   goodbye
sue, whom we buried today,
was both an actress and teacher of the theatrical arts.
an unexpected.... but amazing
final farewell.
betterdays Sep 2014
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....
this poem is an amalgam of young girls, that over the years have come to me
with this particular issue
sadly too many to count
on my fingers....
all broken in some way...
it is so very sad
and wrong....
betterdays Sep 2017
to make the choice, to use your words
for the betterment of others
is sometimes thought of
as  somewhat antiquated gesture

to use one's talent (which is sublime)
to draw attention to some one else's
achievements, with both grace and humour
not once or twice but time after time
is beautiful beyond my word ablitities

to do this with  such panache
to do this with absolute humility
to honour this with a joyful spirit
so as to, do this in a way
which gives the recipient, all the glory
is highest art form
it is the poetic way of chivalry
it is magnanimous beyond magnanimity

it is to my reckoning; this particular poets
way of giving, small peices of his very big heart away

it is confetti made up of admiration and love
thrown high in the sky for all to see
it is one man's ticker tape parade
that i stand on the kerb waiting for
each and every day......
For Nat Lipstadt.......Joel Frye made me do it.....well sort of....have been working on this thank you for awhile.....
betterdays Jan 2015
over night
an old world slips
into the reccesses,
the shadows of the mind.

and a new,
regenerate one,
begins....
with fairground brillance
it calls to us to...
climb aboard the carousel
and grasp,
the golden ring...

all stardust and spangles,
acrobatic feats in...
big clown shoes.
if brave enough,
a chance to smell,
the breath of a toothless roaring lion....
from inside the magicians
spell...

outside....
in lambent glow,
the elephants, sway slow and remember the dying of the night...

           as the years parade by                                   in a circadian flow....
betterdays Nov 2014
it's one of those days....
when you wake,
with the birds singing,
the sun shining,
everything washed clean,
by the previous nights storm.

your little one standing,
by your bedside, smiling,
holding the purring cat.

your partners voice,
whispering... i love you
and his body shouting
...i want you,
as he leans, into your back.

it's one of those days,
where all is well,
with world....

and all you want to do
is SCREAM....
                   blue ******....
so out of sync.....just want to
pull the covers over my head
and cry.....not sure why....
but there it is....
betterdays Apr 2014
these days i know of only one person who can...

diminish my
accomplishments
cutting me to the heart
with caustic compliments

who can stop me in my tracks with the insular bitterness that belches forth

who can cause me to revert to that young teenage girl with a backpack of bundled insecurities carried close to her heart

who can make the smallest joy a guilt-ridden pleasure

who can make my home with it's welcoming clutter feel like a battlefield after a hurricane

who can make my happiness appear to be a fleeting flash in the pan

who can dispute my intelligence as smoke and mirrors

who can **** the bright from my day & the joy from my life
blithely oblivious to it all

and the dumb thing in all of this is...........

i invited her to stay in my home while we build a granny flat for her in our back yard.
i do love my mother
dearly
but our relationship has
always been fraught with
difficulties.
betterdays Aug 2014
i am today, found
caught midstep
in betwixt & between
delusion and reality,
the only question
of relevance
is do i step
forward
or back
?
betterdays Aug 2014
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....
betterdays May 2014
we are on strike
today...
in a passive sort of way
we got to classes
but don't teach
the students come to classes
but don't learn....
some lectures have become
filmhalls
here in theatre....we are offering donuts and  a big
bang marathon....
all to show a goverment
that placing a new pricing
scheme on higher education
is counterproductive....
but they are not interested
in our voice....we are but
cogs ...... they the machine.
betterdays Jan 2018
standing on the verge
between black and green
standing on grey gravel
the verge between
freedom and rules

behind me the cattle grid
stepping stones over
a pit filled with purple crocodiles
stepping stones between
joyful ignorance and knowledge

waiting for the big bus
peering down the road
waiting to become bigger
not knowing down the road
is just about waiting to come home

singing a little song
watching my breath
swinging my bag
all impatience and energy
waiting on the verge
when I was little, every morning  I waited for the bus, that took me to school...this is a mixed perspective of that time
betterdays Apr 2016
and in this day
there is fulfillment

the sun has arrived
on cue.

and birds chirk

and dew sits diamond like
on green, green grass

and the mailboxis
collared by string
attatched to a bright red
balloon

drinks glisten in plastic cups
sauasge rolls warm in the oven
the chicken wings are in there too


bowls of lollies await consumption
and knicknacks are wrapped in
yesterday's news

today another year
rolls on bye
seems to this mother
in less than a blink
of an eye

gifts unwrapped
and a puppy
named Snap


pictures taken
measurement on the
kitchen door jamb

he grows
tall and strong


but still
and forever
my little man
an older poem....but when I looked at my boy today....he just keeps growing...up and away...apron strings fraying day by day
betterdays Jun 2014
it is just after dusk,
and the day has gathered
it's coloured petticoats and
fled.

the sleek, white and black
patched cat,
from three doors
down, to the left
has taken up position,
on
the next door neighbor's shed.

she sits,
preening under the
moth dappled spotlight,
as she sings an aria
of love and seduction
* Un'aura amorosa—"
A loving breath"*
perhaps....

all the males
come to listen in,
testosterone,
induced adoration.

even the
little blucat
with only
vaguest memories
of infatuation, tries to heed
her siren call...
pressing
himself against
the glass sliding door
praying
for two miracles
the first being
osmosis
and the second
the reincarnation
of long lost testicles.

but
alas,
alack
god does not heed his
plaintive cries...

and besides the party
next door
is now over....
closed down
by a shower
of rain
sent by garden hose

all cats,  
now wend their
way home to
dinner's cold
and  hearth's warm
or to fight
as alley cats do
in dark corners
of this urban sprawl

awaiting the
midnite reprise
of the
operatic caterwaul
at number
two seventy four.
this will
be
the
third time
this week
betterdays Nov 2014
S Creeker

Just have to say
read your poems
and it was a wild ride.
from the hunter
onwards,
you laid down your words
in a pattern,
i read as truth...

at the moment,
your book here is small,
but i hope you stay....
and create a sheaf
of poetry so freakin tall.

you take me...
where i have never been,
or likely to go
and with style
and flair.....
i see it all.....
i be a ******, standing, gaping in the corner there.

so please,
take these words,
as  a compliment due...
and encouragement,
to let me again
ride pillion
on your mind's wild side.
as part of the dear blank challenge....
founs this new to here writer
great panache and style
give them a look-see
betterdays Jul 2017
orchid mother
my niece so proud
because she has kept
an orchid alive
and had it bud and bloom
in winter

first year out of home
she lives in our backyard
and stumbles through
grown up  requirements
such as order and bill paying

the way she hangs clothes
on a line to dry is a form
of origami made into abstract art

but she is so proud of the big white
bloom and growing green buds
She is a great girl, doing paramedics at the uni here, living in the nannexe
We make sure she eats well once or twice a week, gather rent and bills in a haphazard manner...and marvel at her ability to start ten things and finish one...lol
betterdays Jun 2014
found a heartstone,
while walking yesterday.
cloudywhite, quartz,
with a streak of granite gray. it was, a sad little stone.

lost,

taken from the mountain,
to which it had  belonged. cast away,
having to find somewhere, else to be,
cold to touch.
slightly, assymetrical
plump in depth.

in it's own way,
it has a beauty.

found a lonely,
little heartstone,
orphaned,yesterday.
put in in my pocket,
to give it some love
and warmth.
perhaps, if i am lucky,
it will want to stay.
betterdays Oct 2014
emotion
canoodles
with
thought
begetting
words
frivolous
and
impe­rmanent
until
i
baptize
them in
ink
and
then send
them away
to
be
fostered and fed
by
those
kindhearted souls
who
read and wish
them
to have a
chance
to
succeed
in
the hard hearted world
into
which
poetry bleeds
thanks
for
looking
after
my
little loves
betterdays Jun 2018
thoughts upon my newly acquired orphan state.  i am fifty two and then a little more it should not matter that  i can  no longer knock and open that door to sit in the corner and quietly speak of matters small and large, joyous and bleak....it should not matter for now i am grown  with others to love a child of my own.... it should not matter  but oh how it does... it leaves me speechless, somedays and sometimes turned inside out....on a raft  alone in a sea of  thoughts.... all this in a grief so quietly my own... yet we go about the closing down of a life eighty years and more, taking things so precious to the local opportunity store... consoling ourselves with the mantra that mother loved her charities as we give away the clothes she wore.... we pack, up the unit in which she lived.....pore over the photos showing the love of the life she lived...we converse about memories and family lore...we laugh, we cry, we laugh some more....we note that the  photos we love the most are  those of her holding grandchildren  on  lap and in arm... we talk about the fierce, fierce love that would allow no lasting harm... to befall those in her care...we also talk about the fashions of clothes and  of hair....then... there are the silences so profound...... when we all realize once more she will no longer be around....at least in the physical....in our hearts she will alway be near and dear .....we pack up her rugs and chair....her cookbooks  and clutter, bed bath towels, a myriad of things  in my mind i hear her mutter... such a fuss, such a palaver!....finally all is done...
her  place a shell....empty and forlorn ...we walk out the door as we quietly mourn.....we three orphans, my brothers and me....
stand in the moonlight and stare at the sea....all thinking the same ....poor orphaned me....
my brothers and i havd just cleanec out my mothers unit, to ready for sale((while she lived with me and in care the unit was dormant)....all of us  at one stage commented on our orphaned state.....and the loss of the mother that was such a figure and mainstay during our lives....
betterdays Mar 2014
on the edge of darkness.
feline grace beholds,
the little things of nightime.
scrabbling away.
the nose quivers.
pupils dilate.
questing ever questing.

tree boughs, creak and pop
then silence once again.
as the moon reveals,
the tide upon the rise.

nocturnal beings found,
bathed in silverlight.
unworldy and archiac,
in days bright colourings.

but some how, realistic,
in the nightime setting.
faded but majestic.
clothed in monochromes.
different not pathetic.
darkness is their poem.
betterdays May 2014
up on the hills
the sheep graze
moving in wooly clouds
from green to green

if the wind blows the right way
you can hear their contented
baa-ing conversation.

down closer the duck pond is
teeming ducks all trying for the
bread and pellets, thrown by
a little girl in bright pink hooded
parka, mother standing beside

on the breeze, the smell  of fresh scones baking.

in my hand, tea milky and sweet.

on my mind,  the flavour
of jam, i will eat with those
oven warm scones.

saturday afternoon,
visiting old friends.
helps remind me life is good.
betterdays Dec 2024
Sly is the  tuxedo cat
(Or so he thinks)
As to he sits so quietly
On the stool, watching  
with disinterest
(more correctly avid fascination) the  cooking of  the chicken strips
As he sits, as he watches,
one paw moves stealthily toward the pile of already
cooked chicken.
As all this happens
he moves his gaze
to the window and
chatters as if he has seen
a magpie bird
(His great nemesis).
When I also look
he makes
his penultimate move
swiping the raised paw
out to snag a couple of pieces
of chicken,
whilst readying
himself to dash away.
Bur alas, alack
no chicken to be had...
When I looked up
to sight the bird
(that was not there)
I moved the plate,
as we have
played this game before  
and I now win most every time
The little tuxedo cat
removes himself
from the field of play,
a distinct sense of  affront
in his walk.
He sits
a couple of metres away,
with his back to me
attending to
the cleanliness
of his nether regions
as I finish cooking
the family meal.
(Of which
a few scraps
of cooked chicken
are set aside forthe cat)
Tuxedo aJam is the third Devon Rex cat we have owned, they have all bee  food orientated  chicken thief  
TJ is the least successful as he ha only  this one strategy.
But then he is only just past kittenhood.
Note he is well fed and gets a little bit of chicken s a treat but always after he has forgotten trying to steal i.t
betterdays May 2019
outside of the glass
crows complain about the cold
inside coffee calls
betterdays Apr 2014
early morning,
with
cup of kenyan blend.
i step outside,
to meet my day.

all soft,
misty drizzle.
cocooning the view,
to the koi pond
and slick driveway.

stepping stones,
are
soft wet coins
on greenback lawn.
dewed and glistening new.

the last
of the snapdragons,
weep in bright tears
of beauty.
the portulaci
have closed their
faces to the world,
to await the
returning sun.

in the pond,
the koi swim,
and glide
like solar flashes
caught while bathing.
bright moving wonder
on the colourless day

and as i watch
the surface becomes
hypnotic as water drops
create ring,bisecting
ring, bisecting ring.
concentricity,
most exquisite.

the smell of jasmine
eucalypt and coffee
mix and mingle with
exhaust and salted iodine.

sound is muted.
birds, whisper this morning.
even the kookaburras call,
in stuttering short chuckles.
the sea, so close, is but a murmur, a chinese whisper
on the frail wind.


the small grey cat,
comes to sit with me
nose, aquiver,
ears swiveling
to and fro.

a pause before,
harrumphing
and stalking
back into the
dry, cosy, warmth.

i soon follow....
leaving the day,
to it's softness.
napowrimo day 6
prompt write a poem of what you see hear and feel
outside your window/door
(paraphrased)
betterdays Sep 2014
her light is dim,
her words are slow,
she ambles now.

no more for her,
the rat race.
no more,
the daily grind.

her food is mush,
she sits alseep, for hours,
in the warm sunshine.

no more hustle, nor
any hint of bustle.

she is stooped
and has made
an art,
of the acts of decline.

no more,
taking orders,
she, bides her own time.

she knows,
her coil is ending
and that, the gentle night
beckons.

but still she whines.

until shooshed and comforted and put up,
into bed.

this old dog, Bess
has lived,
long past her prime.

it is just a sense
of well- placed loyalty,
that keeps her mind
fixed on staying, here
with John...
way past her alloted time.
written for  john..aged 72
and his companion bess
aged 98(in dog years) and the love that keeps them
shufflin thru...
betterdays Nov 2014
what is this thing
between us
that changes grey
to light
that makes words simple
create the world aright
that whispers life
in the listening ear
that makes dreams
long forgot
dance delightfully near...

it smooths the world's
wrinkles and makes
the days, fly by....

what is this thing,
that burrows down, down
into my heart.
and seeds and grows
a garden...full of flowering
words...
and trees of  treacle toffee
and anything i please...

this thing.....this love
is my life longs day...
           the day that is always
                       blessed..
tis, the wine and chocolate
singing....sweet,sultry and low
betterdays Jul 2014
i was overtaken,
by a hearse,
this morning,
on my way to work.

two things, came to mind.
first,
where does a hearse go
in such a hurry....
and second,
it is always hard,
to get back in to
the workaday rhythm.
...rip... holiday mind ...rip...
first day back to work...
and where does a hearse go
(laden) @80kph....huh
whats the rush....
betterdays Nov 2014
found...
to be,
accepted,
for one's own self.
at last to be found
and taken from this storm,
this tumultuous **** storm  
and given, a place of refuge...
in the warmth, of another's
                                 heartbeat.
betterdays Nov 2015
not got poetry within me...

have searched and sought,
found only dry bones
and hollow whispers

mirages to a soul that sighs.
mirages to a soul that cries...

bones that clack and clatter,
whispered words that natter
and scatter and dissipate
....at an alarming rate

my ear aches, my heart aches
and those bones, do break...
and shatter

mirages drift, mirages drift...

as i sift and seive a tired mind,

yet no poetry do i find....
betterdays Jun 2015
first footfall
on dew laden grass

oh to live life that way

without constraint of past
with out baggage
to weigh down the step

each day a new beginning
each day a fresh horizon
each day a life unto itself

what a dream!
but with short comings
no anchors, only paper crowns
betterdays Apr 2015
imagine if you will
a piece of handmade paper
heavy but fine grained

and upon the piece
of ivory coloured paper
delicate hues of green,
and blue,
placed in an abstract way
using water colour paints

the paper having been wet
no longer lays flat on the table
but undulates, with small hills
and valleys

and upon that piece of paper
artfully decorated
imagine some words, written
in a round and beautiful cursive
formed by an old fountain pen
the ink used, a deep purple
that has been softened by years
the words, are those of young love,

yet to be tested by time
yet to be tested by seperation
yet to be tested by loss


the paper is old now, set with
four creases from where it had
been folded and left within a book
of wordsworth...


on the front fold, the following
To Mary with much love Jack. 1915

and upon that piece of paper
handmade, delicately decorated
inscribed with love and hope,
the beginnings of a family rested.
todays prompt was difficult in that
it asked you to create a piece of poetic art....
I did do one,a hiaku, on tea, but cannot show it here....
so i decided to described this....
a love letter my grandfather made/wrote for my grandmother....
I found it within an old leatherbound book of Wordsworths poetry...
and we now have it framed
on our wall...
it truly is beautiful.
betterdays Apr 2015
imagine if you will...
as you sit and drink a brew
of leaf and water,
perhaps a sugar or two.

a book passed down,
from mother to daughter
much loved, much read
thoughts from inside
a poetic head...
of lover's crossed by stars.

and as you sit and drink and look,
imagine if you can,
the texture of the paper
the make a heavy gauge,
the ink so fine and black,
meandering in scripted lines
across the page.

and as you drink and look and read
of young love's joy and greed
and gentle lust and greenest jealousy
that gives cause to create trickery
only  to have true hearts  bleed
and lovers to pay the final cost
and pay the cost of love's mortality

and as you look and read and believe
the urgency, of the young lover's creed
your tears may fall and blend
with those that believed before
and if a tear you did not shed
then perhaps as others have
you will add a ring of tea.
as did they as they  partook
of a momentary escape
from the daily excess
of grind and toil and
travelled deep into the poets mind

and as you read and believe and dream
the pathways open and
the scenes are set
and you may find
the beginnings of book
to write, to beget,
or mayhap, just a fancy,
fledged and ready to take flight.
either way,
much was gained
from a cup of tea, brewed
and an old romantic book,
albeit tea-stained.
like the style of the previous poem, I tried another.....
betterdays Jun 2017
**** on the tongue
like citrus sour drops
my words made you blink
made you think and grimace

they wre meant too
too long have people fed
you pap and honey
leaving you siated
and dozy, porridge
for brains, will get you
nowhere

time to wake up
time to taste the wind
and  live....

pepper, ginger, chilli
feed your slack soul
chew on life, gristle and all

life is a banquet
                    **** it....partake
I have a very talented student who is incredibly  unmotivated.....
betterdays Apr 2015
i open the door to the
crisp autumn air
the smell of eucalypt
and salt...

first frost has fallen,
a light fairy dusting
of sparkling crystals
shimmer beguilingly
on the green lawn.

dissected by trail of cat prints
leading to a mess
of blue and black feathers.
this was one early bird,
who should have stayed in bed?

and on the rocks,
near the koi pond,
framed by the early sun.
the black and white cat
from down the road,
washes it's face....
with long clawed paws.

inside the house,
my less ferocious two
settle for chicken biscuits
and the warmth
of recently vacated beds.

I sigh and mourn the loss
of yet another wren....
before cleaning the evidence away.

the black and white cat watches,
with golden, gleaming and wholly unrepent eyes.
before slinking off, behind the lilacs.

so now, peace is restored....
and the water burbles gently across the rocks.
while the frost melts away
and the sun gains strength
to face another...
glorious autumnal day.
prompt: write a pastoral style poem,
.... walk out your front door and write of nature.
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.
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