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 *****.

it gives my heart ease, to sit quietly
in the corner of your room
and watch you, as you sleep...

i sit in the chair
where not so long ago
you suckled at my *******

and marvel
at how the years have passed
at how you have grown.

i used to hold your feet
in the palm of my hand
and look down
on your little baby face

now you run and play,
you are daddy's little man
and nanna's goodboy
and tom and nates bestest buddy

this is the time,
sometimes the only time,
when i have you
all to myself,
this is the time when i spend
a few moments stolen from the world
to  watch you
curled up into a little ball
this is the time
when my womb calls to me
and i sigh and say;

"he was once ours but now
he belongs to a bigger, brighter place"

this is the time
when i kiss your sleeping brow
and give you
once more into the care of the god's
and then turn and go to bed.

the wavelets,
nibble
at our toes.
as my boy
and i comb
the tideline,
for tiny treasures.
curls blowing,
ever which way
in the salt
tanged breeze.
little hand holds
red bucket,
the
clicksnickclack
of shells
already collected
is a comforting sound.
as we
meander along,
soon we
will turn
and
wander homeward
to warmth
leaving the sealife
to their own
care.....until,
the next time.

Sadness pervades my soul
Like cold winter air
Seeping under the doorways

Slowly I succumb
to mental hypothermia

Hoping soon the sun
will come

But fearing it will not.....

going to try counting poems,
thoughts, things....

one....singular...seperate
     alone......
but are we really
.......in my head....there are
so many other voices...alive
and dead....providing...insight
.....opinion......pathways....
derisi­on....
they are all up there in the penut gallery...generations
back......family friends...people i read about in a book...peoples....whose book i read....oprah and the self help gang.....that dude on utube...and the talking cat.....
all in there...waiting with baited breath...all with two cents or more..sometime a whole dollar, even if it is a day late...
my own personal cheersquad,muppet show
critics, have a go,quit while your ahead, be a hero, your nothing but a zero, live life till your dead, don't run with scissors, take a break,c'mon get happy
all this and more...rolling
round my head...like abag of loose marbles....
so not.... one....singular...seperate
           alone.....

more ..... many ..... lots
               legion

             vying for
15minutes on the throne

i lie quiescent
listening to the conversations of bees

and the roar of butterflies as they
begin the chaotic whirlwinds
of strife

this is a moment....of nothingness

when my eyes are closed to the rat race

when the green green grass..

......subsumes me

and i am peripherally,
at one with myself.

mother to all,
mother to none.

i hear the ants
tunneling beneath
and the bugs flying above

the earth speaks and moves

and i listen...

the sky smiles,
the tides greet the moon

and I am but one small heartbeat

                                                 ...............among millions

wrapping fine bone china
in yesterday's news

memories float like dust motes
sweeping across my mind

so many years of husbanding
the china cabinet
only for it to remain behind

her precious china
dispersed to grandbabies
now soon to be newlyweds

newsprint smeared on noritake
and wedgewood, tears on eyelashes
and the lily of the valley tea set
witness to it all...

to my way of thinking,
we are all poets.
even, if it is...
just for the briefest
moments, of time,
when the words allign
perfectly..and then,

poetic nirvana,
               the release of ,
                   the mudane mind.

this body electric,
has sung far too long.

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

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

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

the body electric sleeps now,
with tears upon wrinkled
cheeks...

perched on the cusp of disaster
looking down into oblivion
but sit we here, safe and sound
in our box of bulletproof glass

watching fireworks explode
and planting landmines
of despair in the land of the free
and sometimes fair

spouting words into air
of greatness and fear
ignoring the lost and scared
counting down the hours
til we can count the money
from over on the otherside
of the world this long ago
stopped being funny

now I can see some say
stop throwing stones
cause your houses is glass too
and your place has lost it's happy day glo

and I say back...yes this is true
we dropped the crystal ball
and are picking up a thousand pieces
and looking for some super glue

but for the moment lets get back to you
perched there, on the edge of disaster
looking down the throat
of a beast ravenous,
with the ethics of a goat
wanting to create some mythical wall
and some mythical moat

his maw cavernous
his need and greed ravenous
down here whilst playing at jigsaw
we watch the polotical beast bloat
and we  kneel and pray,
that his speech is just rhetoric
and this world don't fall
into war .....
as he cries wolf speak words
of the morally bankrupt
and compassionate poor
and his words of greatness
grate and draw, tears of sadness
from those cleaning up the gore

here i am, unidentified.
tho, i have an identity.
pictures of a cat, starfish
and sea shells,
a blurb, that shelters me well.
you know some,
some read and see more
but not all of me, far from all.

you could pass me by,
in the street,
not ever knowing who i am.

few have links to me.
most care not to
and that's ok
i am an ambiguity,
who, tinkers away with words, creating,
sounds to roll off the tongue, tickle the ear
and burrow and settle in the rooms of your mind.

as do,
you all,
do for
and
to me.

we are but, ships upon
a sea of words,
sailing blithely on.
sending semaphore greetings,
across great distances.
before traveling on.

identified only,
by monikers and pseudonyms,
remaining anonymous
except for style and nuances
that give small clues,
to the daily worlds,
we inhabit.
where the veiled secrets
do not dwell openly,
as they do here,
on bright white pages.

here i remain, here
i am unidentified,
bar for a nom de plume.
yet still, more than comfortable  with myself.

please let me apologise
i am unable to write
well of  today's suggested
prompt, but write i must
i made a mental deal.
i am meant to
be writing a terza rima
but at present the form
is beyond me....

my creative flow is
silted up and sluggish,
mindless and murky
just muddy thoughts,
caught upon a logjam
of tired emotion.

and i feel unable to
produce,
a  credible rhyme,
let alone......
tercets with a braided
rhyming scheme.

but a deal is a deal....

to day i plod,
from dawn to dusk,
the world a beating rod

upon the broken husk,
that once, was my mind
now muddied, mush,
gouged by memories,
broken elephantine tusk.

i feel, so blind, so blind
stuttering,stumbling,
about in the dark
chased by ....

see this is the mud...
....in which
i am swimming...

so sorry to you,
as you can see.....
having......
.......a bad write day!!

One more to add to the collection
Piled up in stacks
of memories ,
good, bad, indifferent.
They loom large like a hoarders playground..
Teetering on the edge of remembrance,
Akin to a child arcing  on the up curve of a swing in motion all joy and suspense...

The oldest of days
So compressed and worn they have become mere scraps
Postcards withe messages written
In ink  faded, jaded
Like ether riding a zephyr  they pass through your mind to tiny whirlwinds from days left behind.

This day different from any other, as are they al, closes now awaiting it's
place upon a pile
All so tall now
It was a gooday another one of love, laughter  action and rest, commonplace by many standards..

But we have  learnt
to take each day and polish it like gem.

And accept it as a blessing ..

Before resting
in order to walk
into yet another day

small, mean,of a frigid mindset
you sit on your pile of obscure knowledge
like some old decrepit dragon

where is the joy, the love


harsh words and scathing looks
you wonder why few come to sit
at your feet

where is the love, where is the joy

you are a breed dying,
simply for wont of trying
something new and different
once the golden child
now you are dressed
in dullard's clothes
and atop your pile
of worn out woes
you sit, a caricature
in a defensive pose

having lost the love,  the joy

your opinions are outdated
and put simply ...on the nose

retire gracefully...
before you are bulldozed
like an old statue
whose point and meaning
nobody knows..

your time and place
has been and gone
for god's sake
realize you are
an antiquity
and move on.....

kindness given
kindness received
small transactions
unseen, .
but not unnoticed
are the true pennies
from heaven
tossed with love,
into the wells
of our tired hearts

Can any one spare
a penny.... or two
                     ......today

the scent of towels impregnated
with chlorine, mixes with petrichor
from the brief but violent storm

the mugginess still sits heavy in
the evening air as fruit bats
fly overhead, not one or two,
but tens and twenties, setting off
a mad barking frenzy among
the neighborhood dogs

twilight beckons to the darker night
and the smell of wet wood and sausages
cooking over takes the night
some one plays the guitar and the
notes drift unevenly on the breeze

houses become shadows, as the moon rises
the frogs begin to chorus and cats gossip
on the next door neighbor's garage
specteral shapes in silhouette
the sweet smell of jasmine
and honeysuckle wafts by

as we sit in the dark
awaiting the temperatures drop
anytime  now.....anytime

We stood
on the driveway today
at dawn
Candles in hand,
as the boy  down the road
played The Last Post,
imperfectly but with
such a beautiful heart

We stood
on the driveway today
With rosemary
for remembrance
and red poppies too
Pinned to our chest.
as birds flew over head

We stood and  remembered
the sacrifice and courage
We stood and remembered
those who did not return
those who did but left
brothers and mates behind
Those who fell,
those who returned injured
In body or mind.

The dawns gentle light
watching over us all
as we looked to
the left and the right
to see neighbors all
Standing  in their driveways
Gifting our diggers
the respect they are due
for the service they gave
to the countries they love

We stood and gave thanks
as the last trumpet note died
and the kookaburras  called
Australia the nation stood tall

there is a beggar,
in my town.
he is the most,
generous man around.
with soft harmonic blues,
and gentle souful smile,
he gives, away, for free.
cups of apathy,
and scraps of disinterest,
to all who just, pass him by...

i went to the sea shore.on this cold winter eve

i stand with feet in cold cold
water
trouser legs rolled up to my knees
body wrapped in a chunky
hoodie
curly hair, streaming in the bitter wind.
in my hand, a pebble
in my mind, your name
i stand thinking, crying
as the wave pound in and
the wind takes my breath
i sigh and throw the pebble
as far into the breakwater
as i can..
in letting you go... i can leave

I am here
sitting quietly
in the corner

reading,
absorbing,
day dreaming

I am alright
well as alright
as one can be
a month and a bit
on from the death
of a parent.

There is much to do
a life to get on with.

But there is a quiet
in my soul, not harmful
or depressing, just stillness

Like waiting for a train
in a sleepy country station
it will come when it comes
until then just sit and wait
drowse in the sunshine
enjoy the view,
remember love.

Perhaps soon the train will come
and I shall return...

i would write
for you, sunshine
friend.
but it is just past
midnite.

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


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

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

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

this, friend,
noah blue.
this sunshine,
i share with you.

and then in
the Land of April
there was a
foolish fool
who did not
quite have either
the werewithal
or the the tools
to ably prank,
the citizens
of his town,
those citizens
did feel
awfully
let down by
the foolish fool
they often
thought
they may be
better served
by a mule
so after
much thought
they caught
a wild mule
dressed him
in a tutu
of tulle
and a paper
crown
and made
him
the ruler
of the
foolish fools
foolish town
the foolish fool
gave up his
foolhardly ways
and became
the keeper
of King Mules
royal maze

precipitate pontilism
art by small raindrops
painting the world a
cleaner shade of gray
this marled and stormy
afternoon.

frosted
lawn
freezing

toetips
through
sheepskin
uggboots

but
st­ill
we
prance
dance

leaving
tracks
in
the
delicate
purity

of
this
cold
unexpected
mid-winter
morning
gift

short moments
timelapses
blurred colours
and lines

feelings
just beyond
fingertips
tingling
along synapses

but amongst
all the uncertainty
the almosts and not quites

the smoky smell
of Russian Caravan Tea

and then there you are
laughing mouth open wide
cigarette in hand
grey ash on black clothes

and for a moment
it is as if you were never gone
never gone......away

it is amazing to see and
feel the healing properties
of a small boys hug

my little man, and his god father, laz,  are walking hand in hand....tod full of love...and little boy concern
is  touching laz's wounded
heart..

earlier when we first met back up.. tod said..
"lazly.... sorry oozly(his name for sue) went to heaven but
she can pat bobalob(their deceased cat, a beautiful  persian thing) anytime she wants now.....and you can get a doggy now".... and hugged laz tight and tighter
and i will love you bigger than the sky and kissed
lazly on his crying,laughing
eyes....
before hopping off lazly's lap
and saying "come with me i will show you where the blue tongues hide"...

world, expect not to much
from me today ....no great song...today...i will just hum
along ....to other's music...

world ask not to much
from me .....no great tree
of wisdom....just perhaps
one sage leaf.....

today world i will not ask
much of you.....a little sun....some exercise...and love...a smile or two...and some blessed quietude....

and when we come to the
sunset.....we can both know
that not all days have to be
big adventures.....
some days can just be small
walks......  on well worn paths.....and there is much in
that.

"She speaks poinards and every word stabs"*
Much Ado About Nothing
                            Shakespeare*

Her voice, a silken cord,
wrapped around your neck

Her intent, harm,
a slow lingering death
by rememberance
of her disdain....

By the point of her tongue
You are lanced,  again
and again.

You would not think her
an asassin....
of the highest decree,
as she sits prim and proper,
taking tea.

But stray from the narrow
path she sets..
and slow scandulous death
will beset you.
Make no mistake...
She is out to get you.

Her tongue a poinard,
Her mind, a machination,
camouflaged with coy,
polite inclination.

Her body, allurement to
ambuscade.
And then the death of
a thousand cuts begins.

Be you male, female
or mixed gender
she does not discriminate
the sharp tongued assassin
lives to win...

To cut you down, slice by
slice, by slice..
That is Madame Gossip's
much loved vice.

i awake
an inexplixable sadness
welling from my sleep
laden eyes.

with cup of tea
warm in hands
i sit watching
the night give
up it's children
to the brimming
dawn.

and sigh
sadness
from the
innermost
secrets
of myself.

as tears
fall
unchecked
from my
eyes.

small shy smiles
laughter hidden
behind hands

a brief hesitant touch
turning into  a caress

watching as they walk away
not watching as they return

hiding heartbeats
by moving quickly
just out of reach

i remember young love

small touches
with great meanings
coded messages in small smiles
laughing out loud mouth wide
when spooning is its own pleasure

holding hands and tracing scars
saying i love  you, hearing I love you
as part of everyday conversations
learning to love through hateful times
knowing you can break but will not shatter
knowing the pleasure of knowing their pleasure
finding thousands of ways to create love
working through the boring bits
knowing the others heartbeat by rote
watching them walk away, welcoming them back

this is my season of middle aged  love

o **** you
little coffee cup
why did you
have to go
and commit suicide
your life
was so full
you had it all
rich
sweet
well loved
called upon as
friend & confidante regularly
and now
having leapt to
your demise
you are just
a sticky mess
on my slate floor
i weep for you

i know
i am beautiful
i feel it in my heart
express it through my art
and catch that self same
knowledge
when i gaze into my lover's
eyes

thus i have no need for
mirror's and their petty lies.

i know i am original
a masterpiece of anatomy
the placement of my
***** ******* and thighs
won't ever be the same
as yours,or hers, or his,
but i love the way i am made
and in that acceptance
of the makers mark
i feel that i am wise

thus i have no need for mirrors and their petty lies

i am original
i am beautiful
i am wise
i am a women
not prepare to
compromise
her love for self
by listening to lies.

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.......

in the cool clear air
of the mountain night,
as the stars glimmer,
with long ago exploded light.

i let go....
the woman,
of ninety three years
i let go...
the friends
who had shorter lives...
i let go...
those whose burdens, i bear.

i leave my salt upon
the dust.

and seed memories
to the wind....

knowing...tommorrow...
i will be desperate...
to find them,
again.

and infinity loops
on round again
just to clip me
over the back
of the head
with memories
mostly benign
yet one or two malign
just an esoteric, reminder
that i may hold the reins
however the horse, going pell-mell,
down the side of the hill is
travelling independently.....

the cicada's have begun to emerge
after seventeen long years as a dormant miner

they arise, pushing through seveteen years of dust
and compounded muclch, breaking out into a brave new world

and for seventy two hours, if they are lucky
they seek to mate, to consumate  to extend their species

some become garish decorations on truck windscreens
some become exhibits in a small boys jam jar zoo
some become waylaid and sing their cacophonial opus
on barren concrete patio's
some become Sunday dinners to peckish nestlings

some succeed gloriously, then die happy
some don't...succeed...and die wondering

but apparently seventeen years ago...
a lot succeded...
if the booming base opera being performed
is a gauge of the primeval drive of the cicada

it is summer eve in the burbs
and the living is..... noisy....

and underneath your skin
lies a heart no longer beating

and you lay
cold and still

and you ask
of me questions
with lips tinged blue

to which
there are no
answers


i know not why
and where to now

i know there is sorrow

i know we move on somehow...

but underneath your skin
your heart has finished
it's toil.....

it is okay...old friend
you can rest now.

the day's breathe
runs thick in my brain.
a heaving mucoudial sigh.

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

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

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

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

the home straight,
laid out, right before me.

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


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

where,
no one wants
or needs , a piece of me.

when the tongues of snakes
flicker in your words.

when the day is darker
in my mind,
than the greying of the clouds

when sighs sing, melancholy
refrains.

then from you I am gone....

into a world asunder
a city of  labyrinth alleyways
that lead all to a fountain
of water tainted,
by memories unkind.

it is there,
there you will find
the bare bones of me.
sitting, drinking
at the fountain head,
drinking rememberances
of days gone by,
days desperate, diluted
with desire of a better hope.

lingering singles mingle
and mope

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

as feet tap out the panic driven rythym of hormonal
need

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

the single bed, beckons
with obscene familarity...

one more drink....
for the long walk home.

such a voice....
quieted, but never stilled
the world has.... one less
phenom.....
one less laureate....

we as poet's .....have lost a mother
a keen eyed woman....that could speak to souls...
....make the caged... fly
her voice soft, or strident
knew my heart....led me forth...
gave me countless fresh starts....

is now at rest... but echoing
still... and forever.....
and the bird still sings.....
a beautiful song..

god bless ...maya....god bless

cold air sifts through
the window, to climb
my unprotected spine

last night's storm
still drips erractically
from gutters and leaves

I turn to you seeking
warmth and passion
only to find empty sheets
and a lingering scent
of sandalwood.

rising to dance
on a cold wooden floor
I seek you out...

finding you, pyjamified
in the garden, checking
your babies.....
for storm damage.

I put the kettle on
and await your report...

Autumn has arrived.

and then
              i opened the door
and the sunshine
             came in.... allelujah!!!

it's all I have,
not much, to you, but all
and with my heart torn asunder
I watch my life, my labour,
resting here, for you to plunder...

ravage the fields,
torch the meadows
**** the bees
and watch the clover
wither...

count not the cost
of your rapacious greed,
see only your hearts selfish need
to be the sum the total, the all.

not knowing, in your victory
you become...the pall,
that settles in the room
and stops the conversation,
like smog and a locust infestation.

this is my life, my family
and we do, what we do
to remain free of heartache
and negativity.

we need not your benediction,
or blessing of our grace.
so...you look to yours and
shut your face....


**********
napowrimo2015
promp­t : write a parody or satirical
poem...utalizing a famous poem you know


"It's all I have to bring today –
This, and my heart beside –
This, and my heart, and all the fields –
And all the meadows wide –
Be sure you count – should I forget
Some one the sum could tell –
This, and my heart, and all the Bees
Which in the Clover dwell"
**Emily Dickenson.

between the early morning
calls of waking birds
there is a calmness

as you lie in bed,
reveling,
in the potential of the coming day....
right now, with lover asleep
beside you....
all is right and good.....

the mist of my voice
lays gently on the cold window
the sun is yet to shine
as i leave my comfort behind
still warm and fetal beneath
duck down doona's

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

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

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

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

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

I am snail, content,
within my fragile shell

I am quiescent, within my soul

well,
this is awkward!
my thought as i stand, balanced,
one leg in my knickers,
the other bent
flamingo-esqe
halfway through the other leg hole.
other than this,
-nekid-
facing the full length glass sliding door,
that in turn
faces the newly stripped
of garden house next door.

to be more exact that faces what the new owners,
must have chosen as their bedroom.
how have i come to this decision.
well as i hop and jiggle about,
the aforesaid neighbor stands frozen,
in his window,
hands on the towel in his hair,
the full frontal rest of him bare in all his glory,
bronzed and pale
bits, swinging in the breeze,
thin, hair less.

we have caught each other in undress.
awkward!!!!
as i said.
but manners hold sway,
i give a cheery wave,
as i hop and jiggle away.

words fail me,
or more accurately
i fail them.

today ....my mind,
a field unploughed
and me digging,
****-arsing about
with a teaspoon.

forgive me,
my shallow holes,
but you use what
you have been given.

and today, it appears
i was at the end of
the inspiration line..

Tis the bad gateway boogie
The records spinning round
Can hardly get a foot in
Hardly make a sound.
Trying really hard  to make a comeback tour
But you all know it's been 6 months or more
But you need to know
I'm kicking
Heels and toes.
..hoping to check in
Seeing how it goes

Not sure if you will see this

But if you do know those Bad Gateway Boogies

Has me singing the blues