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betterdays Apr 2015
Winter listens, listens.
Meanings, breathe imperial
Tis difference.
When like –
When the it –
When it listens.....
Tis it, the difference
Winter like scar, comes,

He the Landscape
– An –
We, the breath,

-NO-
When Hurt,
goes, –
We imperial none
We hold - are seal,
are afflicted lights

    -The Distance -
    ...of the us...
    – None listens –

Where it holds hurt,
it comes as,
Cathedraled Despair
Any listens – '
Tis –
the goes, '
tis of the us  - goes,

Distance On light,  
But comes, gives us  –
Death -
of certain slanted despair,

None listens - goes,

We find the Distance Of it –
That a Hurt,
Any meaning –
Heavenly Meanings,
Teach us Hurt,
The like of-
tuned,
affliction,
shadows,
imperial despair.

look-teach-look-find-listen-look,  

Send imperial light,  
Shadows of  light
Any Heft- Any Slant -
Of  their affliction,
scar-differential.

Sent like winter
– An –
heaven
None on hold,
goes,

There is it  – There is it -
Shaft of hefted light
Sent slanted - sealed compassion
falls from internal, elanic height.

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●
napowrimo2015
prompt:
using an Emily Dickenson
Poem..
rewrite
into a new piece.

Original poem:

There's a certain Slant of light,
BY EMILY DICKINSON

There's a certain Slant of light,

Winter Afternoons –

That oppresses, like the Heft

Of Cathedral Tunes –


Heavenly Hurt, it gives us –

We can find no scar,

But internal difference –

Where the Meanings, are –


None may teach it – Any –

'Tis the seal Despair –

An imperial affliction

Sent us of the Air –


When it comes, the Landscape listens –

Shadows – hold their breath –

When it goes, 'tis like the Distance

On the look of Death
betterdays Mar 2018
groper lips speak
vowels fall forth
chipped pearls of wisdom
skitter about the ground
seeking purchase
in mud pockets
finding only dry sand
and bitter salt

******* in salt
for forty years
can do that
curdle the cream
of wisdom leaving
just the sour to spew out

but if clever you can sift
the  detrius and make
cheesecake with
chipped pearls  on top
there is a point in some academic's life...when the tipping point is met
and they just teach by rote....it is then up to the students to glean what wisdom they can...at least until some one gives the churlish academic a slap upside the head.....we at present have this situation in my dept( no it is not me) ....time to get my slapping gloves out....
betterdays Jan 2018
dawn chorus awakes
the tired mind revolts' groans
pillow over  ears
betterdays Apr 2015
zeitgeist
yuppiedoms

xanthic
whatsits

vibrate
unabashedly

toot­hsome
salutations

requiring
qualifications

pernickety
officiald­om

nagging
malestroms

leaving
kindness

jaundiced
imoliated

**­rrendous
gargoyles

feign
empathy

disastrous
calamity

boodles
a­tonement
not a true story...lol
written to napowrimo2015 prompt:
abcdearan poem....
I reversed mine to get the hard letters out of the way...wrote in couplets to create snapshots....and this is what came together....loosely based on some bad
holiday snafus... welcome to my slide show...
betterdays May 2014
now awake....
this morning is
.. .brittle
grass crunches,
beneath slippered feet.
newspaper, slick and cold.
in the bird bath,
a clingwrapping of ice.
the cat, stiff legged and
complaining for the
internal sun...
grumpyboys in doonas,
eating porridge and
watching animated things.
sun just playing catchup.
shadows now, stubbornly long and windows fogged
with warm breath.

autumn....
slipsliding into winter...
on brittle morning's ice.
betterdays Apr 2014
it's gonna be a slow day
my brain remains in bed
i am operating, all manner
of heavy machinery,
with an empty head.

the sky outside is grey
but not forlorn,
but it is making for a
slow moving morn.

my baby boy,
is sleeping still
my hubby has become
a tv sports zombie dill
and speaks in yawns and grunts
demanding a  headache pill

we all seem slow,
like treacle,
dripping off,
an ice cold spoon
perhaps i am just in
coffee and toast denial

but someone little,
is gonna, wake up soon.
then the world might
kick up a gear.
that is my, very,
rational fear.

but until then,
any which way
you want to slice it
this morning is just drifting,
caught up in a slow-mo eddy
and we all are just being dragged  along
well at least it is saturday...
just cannot get it together
half a loaf of bread cremated
spilt the milk but at least the cat is saited
hubby glued by eyes to the golf.
and truly  feel my brain is still in bed
and has the best of the deal...
oh well must go put some washing on...
slow day or not there are chores to be done.
hubby does not get off scot free either he has his list.
and if he doesn't tick off a few he knows his life
is mill and grist....
betterdays Jun 2014
cell, by
cancerous
cell.
i die.....

snail like,
my death approaches....
robbing me of my faculties,
erasing me, by mutant, toxcicty
and failing, ****** functions.

snail like,
my death approaches...
giving me time to watch,
grief, seed and grow into choking vines.

snail like,
my death approaches..
allowing me the gift,
of packing my dreams,
for a bright and happy future,
into an tattered and fraying,
overnight bag.

snail like,
my death approaches.
granting me the sight
of your beautiful face,
one last time.

.....as the tears fall,
the snail arrives.
and i find in,
the face of it all.
i wish i had made a far,
better go at at this thing
called,  life.
written from a challenge prompt...to write of death...
betterdays Aug 2018
my voice is
just dust upon the floor
swept into piles under the carpet

my art, the scribblings
of a child, with no sense
of line or colour
haphazard in it's beauty

my words, dry leaves
set to dance upon  
the winter winds
without direction or
consequence

my mind, a small seed
awaiting the glorious spring  rains
til then,  just a shell in which
my muse baby...
slumbers
betterdays Sep 2015
he is still and quiet
caught in the lingering dream
the boy god, growing up
to fast, takes up  more
of the little boy bed
each day...
this year has been pivotal
giant steps, have been taken

he has learnt, apron-strings are
just cloth, there for the breaking

he has learnt, to write, read and lie
he has learnt, friendships are not forever,
but then some are.
he has learnt, there are rules,
some can be broken,
others cannot. ...at least not without consequence
he has learnt, both wonder  and dissapointment

he has learnt, so much more....the curve steep and undulating

he knows, hopefully has always known... he is loved, cherished
and holds within his heart....the capacity for greatness.

he knows, hopefully has always known, kindness costs little yet
is a rare and valuable gift to give to both friend and stranger...

the little boygod grows into his larger self.....

and we watch.....

soon he will awake, and become the whirlpool...

but for now....his mother watches  over him

and reaps....peace and joy.
betterdays Oct 2017
moths blatter against the 40 watt light of
the midnight sun, the softest of deaths,
all need, wings and fairy dust, in the dawns light
become their requiem, the dustpan their hearse
as they become tidbits for the hungry koi sharks
betterdays Nov 2016
four kilo's of skin
and scruff and fur

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

four kilo's of meow
and  chatter and purr

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

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

littleblucat
so very big
in heart
for one so small

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

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

you were such a small thing
to leave such a big gap
betterdays Oct 2014
i bit my cheek
and then the
blood,
salted
the caramel
i was chewing.

it is these
small things,
a poet notices....
and wishes,
to make memorable.
betterdays Jan 2018
small thing you are
yet you bring light
to the room

take age from old faces
bring back years and memories
left behind in days long past

small bundle of love
accepting all, no matter
the condition, full of joy
wonder and an insaitable curiousity

it is a balm to the tired,
to the saddened, to see
the simplicity of the exchange
love for love, even if only a brief fling

i thank you and yours, for this day
this hour of escape, you truly are
a blessing to behold....
Daisy, a small Cavalier spaniel visted the residential care home my mother lives in, it was just wonderful to see the change that she brought about in the residents....she just gave and gave love to many, including my mum....am so grateful for this kindness from her and her owners Peter and Sally...
betterdays Apr 2014
slap on a smile.
greet the world.
don't dare think thoughts,
sad and unfurled.

make small talk.
the smaller the better.
do not think to burden
and fetter,
others with the sadness,
hidden behind,
those smiling glassy eyes.

walk the happy walk.
win the useless prize.

wave away the despair
and the complex layers
of grief.
breathe in the clean air.
if you must cry,
keep it brief.

think of all the useless
words,
that people say.
make them your mantra
against these sad and woeful days.

the future is bright,
for some if not all.

but the thing you need
remember,
most of all.
is these days too shall pass.
until then,
slap on a smile and hold fast.
betterdays Oct 2019
Heard today of the demise
of a couple elderly 78 and 73
caught in the malestorm
of a bushfire, unable to leave
the property they had  lived on
for more than 50 years...
they took shelter in the house
he built...only to have it become
their pyre ..they were found together
There is  poetry in this, love passion,tragedy, darkness and despair
and though these word do not come anywhere near describing the situation, it is my belief that these two people deserved some words written for them...
May they rest in peace...
There have been terrible fires in New South Wales over the past month and whilst 45 houses have been lost, there have been few tragedies...our firefighter's have been working night and day...this elderly couple was found today...in the burnt out shell of their home... May they rest well in each others arms..RIP
betterdays Nov 2014
smooth
this pebble
worn down
by waters gentle
abrasion

so to i
worn smooth
by life's storm's
now living
a pebble's life.

all washes over me..
betterdays Nov 2014
the voice,
sultry, smooth...
like warm cream
sings, songs
of sad acceptence
as we drink,
our gaily coloured
cocktails
and talked
of small
and always,
insignificant things.
his breath warm,
insipid, sursurrating
upon my ear

the l.b.d.
still has power....
to attract.
the wearer
however
is far past ...
bored,
with the swirling,
synergies
of the academic pond.

......too many barracudas

and the voice
sings on...
tonight...swam laps
in the pool of academic
conceit......now time to
shower and clean off the slime....
betterdays Jul 2014
tidbits of joy,
scraps of silliness,
ladles of laughter,
a micron of mutiny,
a heap of a heart, golden and true
and a pinch of perpetuity.
blend together.

and  walla!

my  baby's smile
betterdays Mar 2015
in the blink of my eye
another thread frays
and breaks
the apron string one
thread smaller,
more fragile my hold
on your safe keeping

you run onto the field
oblivious to the loss.
reveling in the freedom
of running about with
an odd shaped ball.

I stand on the sideline
knowing you are small
but determined,
wishing for your blind
outrageous courage
yet knowing there will
be tears before bedtime.

the only question is,
will they be....mine
or yours?
first day of rugby league, he loved it..
me I was scared witless...even tho it
is a modified tap/tag  version.....
never thought I was a helicopter mum til now.....hopefully will improve as the weeks go by.....
betterdays Apr 2015
musing on pondering,

cogitating on ruminating,

postulating on speculating,

considering multiple theories,

deeming the discrepancies deniable

positing the petty presumptions,

theorizing multiple condsiderations,

apraising the mediations,

digesting the deliberations,

allowing for freefall meditation,

envisioning the expectations,

presuming the pontifications,

anticipating the asumptions,

comprehending the conclusion,

accrediting the rationalizations,

concluding the comprehesion,

spinning synaptic wheels,

hypothesizing the conjecture,

recollecting of the reminiscence,

adumbrating the prognostigcation,

concocting of the subliminate,

masticating on the cereberal machinations,

of the ocillations, in the agitatation,
apparent,
in an insomniac's maniacal brain,

reckoning not,
on the simple summation,
of the night's wayward,
mental arbitratration,


there is... just too much time,
to think....

and far too little time to write....
expose of free verse style...
a'la betterdays.....lol
betterdays Mar 2014
musing on pondering,

cogitating on ruminating,

postulating on speculating,

considering multiple theories,

deeming the discrepancies deniable

positing the petty presumptions,

theorizing multiple condsiderations,

apraising the mediations,

digesting the deliberation,

allowing for  freefall meditation,

envisioning the expectations,

presuming the pontifications,

anticipating the asumptions,

comprehending the conclusion,

accrediting the rationalizations,

concluding the comprehesion,

spinning synaptic wheels,

hypothesizing the conjecture,

recollecting of the reminiscence,

adumbrating the prognostigcation,

concocting of the subliminate,

masticating on the cereberal machinations, of the ocillations,
in the agitatation, apparent in insomniac's maniacal  brain,

reckoning not,
                   on the simple summation,
of the  night's  wayward,
                       mental arbitratration,
i have way too much time
                                          to think...
just a little wordplay for an
overwrought brain.
betterdays Jul 2014
so...... we going to fight
there is a pebble in your shoe
there is a pebble in your heart

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

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

little man your tantrums
done
time for a nap... too much
time in the sun...
and sometimes an almost four year old heart... just gets too full...and then kaboomsky...you just blow...
but you will be better soon...
i know....it's so unfair...
but now my friend...off to bed.
betterdays Oct 2014
so...
this is it!!!
we have reached,
the epoch!
and now busy,
ourselves,
buying souvenirs
and taking selfies.

what next...
if this is the age of,
best "whatever" ever!!!
where do we go from here?
after ever ... is done,
(remember the reality is,
ever is never really done!)

well i suppose we
'mose well pack ourselves,
into the best pine boxes,
ever made and return,
into the soupy oblivion
from whence we came.

with less than a whimper,
more of an apathetic sigh.
as we watch the best ever
epoch slide on by...
best "whatever" ever leaves
us nowhere to go
best "whatever" so far
leaves us hope for some
improvement at a later date....

and yes this is a grammatical
rant of a tired and somewhat, hungover mind...
live with it!!!
betterdays Feb 2019
dog's worn out
so are we
social buttrfly
and social bee
not our schedule,
not our cup of tea
but the golden boygod
has now discovered
the mystery of girl meets
boy ...and then runs away
only to dart back ..."wanna play"

new year new school...needs
new mates..so we opened up
the gates ...
the tuxedo rex
chose discretion, the pup
absolute valour, followed
by adoration of the...***
these little humans will
play with me,  a lot, kind....
whoopee!!!

we made nice with new faces
some wanted to play,
we be the Jones'es races
some played aloof and standoffish
those with aspiring social graces
a few came in all bluster and huff
but with first words called their own bluff
then there were those comfortable
in their skins, those who chatted
and engaged, they were not here to win,
just to meet and greet begin to know
the parent of those with whom,
their kids will grow
those who's kids come first,
those kids all running ragtag
fit to burst with energy and joy
hopefully they are the ones
that the golden god boy
chooses to team up with
for this stage of the game


but when the dust settles
and he makes his way
we will be social with who ever
cause at the end of the day
we have our friends  
made on many such days
our team is big...
if some what greyer
than when we started
his is newer, brighter
and he gets to choose
win or lose..
part of the learning

as for today, all went well
no major meltdowns
no social  hell
just a family  worn down
and tired excepting the cat
who is now inspired
the anti social thing:
to sing  to us the
"song of his people"
in an earsplitting key
and will only stop
for a sardine...or three
betterdays Apr 2014
does any body else remember,
the hungry jacks whopper,
when it had a big hunk of bacon,
or is it just me showing my age.

does any body else remember
when a cup of coffee,
came in just one size,
or am i just feeling old.

does any body else remember,
when chip packets were fuller
and softdrink cans were small and stout.

god i am just so freakin ancient
can some one tell me,
where i parked my dinosaur?
i can't remember!
betterdays Jan 2016
darkness,
friendly yet brisk
encompasses me
this night

no black dog,
yapping,
barking,
biting...

much more likely to be,

a black cat
so sleek
and sinuous,
slipping
in and out
between my legs
in a figure of eight loop
waiting,
willing, 
wanting, 
to trip me up

or sitting staring,
with golden eyes
inscrutable.
into my
deep and secret places
only to find them,
shallow
and
muddy puddles

or stalking me,
with intent to supper.
upon hearing
my heart flutter
with a small bird's panic

or worse yet
curling up
comfortable
in my lap
purring
and
pricking
at my soul
settling in for the night
as I stroke
the soft darkness
friendly, yet .....

malevolent

for behind the purr,
a hiss,
a paw of claws
and teeth sharp
bloodthirsty
waiting,
willing,
wanting,
to bite the hand,
to rend the flesh,
to hunt
and
devour
the delicate,
frantic
heart.
betterdays Jan 2017
books
stacked
atop
the table
holding them down
one skinny scrawny halfcat

upon sighting me
he scramble leaps
sending
books skidding helter skelter
across the table, gathering speed
like a sideways avalache
of pens paper, coffee cups,
plates of toast, random jams and cereals
all heading for the dead drop
of Calamity Pass A.K.A the floor

god boy watching with mouth agape
as tabletop avalanche, obeying
both physics and gravity
come to an ungodly
Pollack painting end on cleanish tile floor.

on fridgetop
scrawny halfcat
stretches, shows the world
his best downward dog
and gracefully leaps to cleanish
living room floor
before departing outside...
to terrorize the grasshoppers
god boys only comment....geez mum that was cool!
betterdays Jul 2014
sunday morning
sleep-in
sticky cinnamon rolls
fresh from the oven
in front of the fire
coffee brewed and poured

lazy day ahead...
may even
make it back to bed...

cold weather makes
for an inside day...
movies and popcorn

roast lamb
later in the day

good book and chocolate
curled up in a sunnyspot.


for now cuddles
and lego, a ticklefest

gotta love me
a lazy winter sunday...
last week of holidays
taking advantage of
taking it easy......
betterdays Nov 2014
there is a leak
                    in the roof
            of our house
                 no doubt
                   caused by,
   the winds of the past week.

           now
                  the rains
       are coming in.....
                      one drippity
                 drop
                       at
                          time

we put a bucket under it, at
                    first,
            splosh, splosh
                    but
now have replaced it with a
              glass bowl
                  plink
              plink,plink
                plinkety
                  plink

  tommorow my husband
    will climb up and fix
                the roof

until then, we will listen to
                  the rain's
                      song
betterdays Mar 2014
let us speak in tones, hushed,
of mountains and molehills.
benchmarked by
tape measures,
underscored, with concerned apprehension.

for now it is time,
to masticate the elephant
and the roaring lion too.
with silver plated forks and knifes undulled with use.
slap down your grievance on the noritake dinnerware
and partition the proportion, dissect the angst,
and delicately place the rage, between your bloodless lips.
to sit,
ashlike on your scathing tongue.
we will drink,
your aged bitterbile wine,
in leaden crystal goblets.
smile at your witticisms,
however,
humdrum and malign.

and when the elephant,
is but ivory and leather.
and the king of beasts,
but a tattered rug,
upon your floor.

we shall cry jubilee, jubilee,
cry freedom.
our indenture is done.
emancipation now has come.
and we will run, we will run.


it is then,
we will be,
looking at life,
with kaleidescope eyes.
fitted with lenses of love, joy,   and liberty, crystalized within.

we will be,
dancing the fandango,
with robust, rebellious gusto
and singing glory, hallelujah riffs.

and o' there will be laughter
and big broad smiles.
and o' there will be hugging
and much comfort shared.
and the door will be open,
for anyone to come sit
and chatter on for a while.
heaven on earth,
heaven on earth.
betterdays Aug 2014
let us speak in tones.....
                                hushed......
of mountains and molehills. 
benchmarked by tape measures,
underscored, with
concerned....
                     apprehension.

for now it is time,
to masticate the elephant
and the roaring lion too.
with silver plated forks
and knifes undulled....
                                 with use.

slap down your....
                            grievance
on the noritake dinnerware
and partition....
                       the proportion,

dissect the angst,
and delicately place,
the rage,
between your bloodless lips. 
to sit ashlike on your.....        
                       scathing tongue.

we will drink....
                             once more,
one last time, one sip of,
your aged bitterbile wine,
in leaden crystal goblets.
smile at your witticisms,
however, humdrum...
                            and malign.

and then,when the elephant,
is but ivory and leather. 

and the king of beasts,
now, but a tattered rug....
                     upon your floor.

we shall cry....
                          jubilee, jubilee, cry freedom. 
our indenture is finally done.
emancipation now has come.

and we will run.......
                           we will run.

it is then,we will be.....
                          looking at life, 
with kaleidescope eyes.
fitted with lenses of love, joy,  
and liberty, crystalized.....      
                                        within.

we will be,dancing......
                            the fandango,
with robust, rebellious gusto
and singing glory....
                         hallelujah riffs.

and o' there will be......
laughter and big broad      
                                       smiles.

and o' there will be ....
                                   hugging

and much comfort shared.

and the door will be ...
                                         open...

for anyone......

to come sit and chatter...
                          on for a while.

heaven on earth.......
                    heaven on earth...
for joe coles freedom
a reworking of an older piece.....
betterdays Apr 2014
"The kind hand extends, feeds such anticipation. Today everything is borrowed. And it follows you everywhere"*

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

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

Countless upon countless.

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

For this
and so much,
more unspoken.

I thank you.

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

The touch of your life
on mine.
Will stand and lead me forth.
Napowrimo day 1
prompt; generated from a  bibliomancy oracle
and is taken from,
“OPEN SOMETHING NEW FOR YOURSELF”
by Sheila Squillante
my poem written after meditating on the
quote is for and about Sue my friend who has end stage cancer.
betterdays Jun 2014
have spent this morning,
counting and measuring
thoughts.....

they are like,
little exotic birds,
that have been caught,
in an ornithologist's net.


are there enough,
or are they in decline
do they have enough
weight,
will they fly,
if, or when,
i let them go?
or will they wander around,
in circles.
dragging, a broken wing
behind them...
will they sing, a cheery heart-warming song,
or will they, croak and caw and cackle.

or will they,
fall lifeless from the net
and lie, dead on the ground.
to frail, to cope with having,
been caught, counted and measured.
betterdays Jun 2014
in the ironies,
of family status.
using
juxtapostion
as a measuring tool.
and even after
reliquishing
a rebellious, unstable nature,
for well adjusted,
educated, employed, ecstatically,
married, mother.
on
the families scales,
i don't know how,
i still,
measure up
as,
fool
&
family **** up
but it seems
i do!!!
response to the latest
round of the blame game
my family induges in.
betterdays May 2017
sometimes, life is suprising....
the orchid I left to die of loneliness
has put forth a new shoot and seeks
the sunshine from the dusty window

my brother's daughter
has taken up residence
in the nannexe and
is exuberantlu adventurous
next weekend she jumps
from a plane, strapped
to a stranger...
this lifestyle is of course
my fault....

my mother enjoys having
her knees massagd by
the big muscle bound attendant
and flirts outrageously with him
(don't have the heart to tell her
he is gay..... a lot of the older women at
the residence also flirt, he takes it all with a
gentle smile)

the tuxedo devon rex has
taken to sleeping in the wok
sometimes with the purlioned
sock stash of the day...

one of the academics, a geologist
a gentle quiet man, steady as they come,
stripped naked before dancing
the charleston in the quad
....he is now under care

as I said sometimes life is suprising
sometimes a little sad
betterdays Apr 2014
sometimes
you just have to let
your yesterdays
fall behind
and into the abyss....
sometimes
...this one just a drifting thought.... during a coffe break at work.
betterdays May 2014
once i met a man
with a broken wing
a voice of a nightingale
but sad shynesss was his song.

he would sing only when
alone...
yet the beauty of his song
would carry on the wind..
and the earth would stop to listen...

after time his wing healed
he went about his daily chores....the song he sang
forgotten....

the wind howled....and the world went on, but lesser for
the loss of the momentary angelic pause....
the song was lost....and so the beauty too....

but the man had a bumper
crop of apples and pears to make to ciderand perry  that year....the year he was broken.
this started out as something else for someone...but
went over here to become this......happens ...sometimes for a reason
betterdays May 2017
words sing a song
a sonnet in my brain
yet my pentameter
is not iambic
more of a wild refrain

as they tumble jumble
bump and grind
it is difficult to
give them their
proper place in line

they all knock and clamor
to be the first in line
ain't but  one of them
that wish to be left behind

so no precise flow, no couplets
not a lot rhyme....even less rhythm
in my writ.....this time

sometimes i can plant
my words in neat little rows
water and **** them til poetry grows
sometimes i put a big seed of thought
suspended over a water glass and
wait til it grows roots
in it's search for love
and meaning

sometimes i just scatter
thoughts to the wind
leave them lie where they fall
and go off and begin other tasks
forgetting  those seeds
til come one day, when
i take a wrong turn
and walk that way
to find a field of riotous colour,
flowers upon flowers
no need for the distinction
of pretty over ****

today i write a torrent a river
that floods with flotsom, jetsom
and other.....
and as these words rush
to the sea, they cry
glory allelui....
i am free....i am free
betterdays Jul 2014
whis, whisp, whispering
sibulantly
soulfully
in my
ear

the deep darkness
speaks to the
kindred lost
inside the
synapses

break free
breakfree
she is a
broken
thing

but
still
my heart
holds strong
against the desire
for madness to reign

it is a
battle
fought long
and desperately hard
each and every moment

i prevail, the voices
only, whisper now -
once they were clarion
bells, ringing loud and long

i prevail
            and will be
                              sane soon.

                               sane, soon
                 i will be
prevail i will...i will...
this is an old piece over
12 years old, found it today.
was from when i had a nervous breakdown
and was in hospital undergoing treatment.
betterdays May 2014
connect
disconnect
reconnect
mmm-mmmm
baby
that rhythm is
doing
wonders for me
allowing
my soul
to
breathe
ecstasy
soon
exquisite beauty
will come a knockin
at my door
and gladly will i
let him in
and answer his
siren call
then
we shall sit
and drink tea
and love
and make small talk
and big hungry eyes
at each other
let us
make it
sooner rather than later
betterdays Oct 2014
i am just days away
from turning.....
older.

and in truth,
meloncholy with it....

this year has stretched,
long and hard with
sickness, accident and death.

and my feet drag,
in self indulgent sorrow.
i should be glad,
to have survived.
i should live my time
with joy.....and  vigour.

but...the empty places
at the table
and the cards...
unsent.....sadden me.

perhaps,
this is just another sign
of the wonky biological
clock that is mine...
that now works
on peri-menopausal time
and this sorrow,
is just hormones and
little baby loves
saying farewell
as they waft
into the never to be....

i am still young,
somewhere within me
full of promise, pleasure
and passion pop...

but, the me
that groans
and creaks
and clicks
as i fall out of bed
to feed the cat...
the child, and the man
then washes the clothes
and goes off to inspire
a class of
bright young things
come home, cooks diner
writes fatuous poetry
while watching tv
before falling back
into the unmade bed

looks upon this weekends
festivities with dread...
and if honest....
would much prefer that it
all be forgotten....or kept low key.....
bah....humbug....
little grumblebug bitten me..
time for another load of washing...
i'll get with the program...i've got till next week....
betterdays May 2014
i am sorry.

i am sorry....
that peoples, of a different colour.
came from wherever,
upon great hulking ships
with sails of white
and humanity degraded,
lost beyond heaven's sight. and misunderstood
your nations and land.
your dreaming time,
and native life.

i am sorry ...
this caused, so much loss, death and strife

i am sorry...
with their need and conquering ways they,
over much time,
generations in fact.
showed you,
the indigineous so little grace.

i am sorry...
for the generations of death.

i am sorry ...
for the generation of lost.

so sorry ...
to those, still paying the cost and looking for family and clan.

i am sorry ...
for the, communities lies,
indifference and fear.

i am sorry ...
that still you suffer and die. younger, than you should.

but now......
you and i,
must become... we
and change the world,
with hard work and harmony.
we must make it, better, safer, healthier....

more...
education,
less preaching.
more...
mental health checks
less blame.
healthier ways of living. giving.....
knowledge goes both ways. more...
hope in a bright, bright future.
more...
consultation, understanding of language and ways.
less...
empty rhetoric and laywer's plays.

i am sorry ....
for the past.

but...
ultimately and completely hopeful...
for the future.
May 26th  
Sorry (Reconciliation)Day
in Australia....
betterdays Sep 2014
a butterball sun,
sits low in the
morning sky.

as the weekend peloton, whizzes on by and down
the hill.

in the council's headland park precinct,
the illegal nomads,
are being rousted
and evicted from, their overnight, purlioned and picturesque views.

the early fishermen,
in their dinghies,
dot the teal sea and
the sail boats,
are racing out further,
white sails, against blue sky.

in our pond,
the koi leap in a frenzy,
trying to catch,
the itty, bitty, midgey bugs.
and the old blue tongue,
comes out to settle on his
rough log .

the bees work tirelessly,
from flower to flower.
as the blue wrens,
gossip and preen,
in their lilac bower

the dragon flies dart
about in distraction.
while over at
the milkwood patch,
you can see the caterpillars,
are busy decimating,
leaf after leaf.

i sit on the porch,
coffee in hand.
newspaper forgotten
on the side table.
slowly taking this beauty all in.

as the aroma of eggs, bacon and pancakes, drift from within.
betterdays Jul 2014
my destiny,
is suffering from,
looking....into my history.

my life...
a time warp,
gone all,wrong.

i was meant
for happiness.
not this feeling
...of being out of place.
this is just wrong!!!!

i watch with,
sadness and much fear,
the young man,
unravelling,
so very publicly,
over in the corner,
proclaim, this mantra.
all the while waving,
around, erratically,
the steel barrel.
of his new best friend....
the loaded gun.

i was never loved,
never strong,
all was an afterthought,
i don't belong...

i tried so many times
and failed....

and failed so many times
to try...

see even now, i fail to die...

or even ****.

i want,
a better destiny
than this
than standing,
demanding
my hurt be heard...

hoping i will be missed.
i know i won't...no one cares

i will be,
just one more soundbyte,
on tonites news...
and that is only if i ****
all of you....

then the history,
of my suffering.
will be blamed
for my destiny....

as you all,
try to figure out
where it all... went wrong.
writing prompt...3words;
suffering, destiny,history.
thanks to d4mn3dp03t
betterdays Jun 2018
it is the season of soup
and tissues here.....
after two weeks of drizzling
and driving rain

each sentence is punctuated
by a sneeze or a sniffle

hoarse voices whine
and whinge beneath
doona mountains

we all look like we have
wrestled with a yeti
and lost

meanwhile the washing piles up
the bins fill with sodden germy tissues
the chemist smiles with glee,
each time we enter his store
and the tuxedo rex runs from bed to bed

from red eyes and cotton filled head
i write this seasonal report
hoping to see the end of flu season soon
betterdays Nov 2014
when i was young
i knew love.....
then  i lost it
left it on  southbound train
thinking
it, he would relent,
from the stubborn position
he, it had talked himself,
itself into, but that did not
happen...
i tried to find love,
i waited for his return
i asked for it
at the lost and found window
but nothing came of that

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

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

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

i now stand often,
on the platform of the
station....and wonder....
writing exercise....
betterdays Aug 2014
the little blucat
surfaces from
underneath
the pile of
cat's rugs
and
old towels
shakes his head
and stretches
his creaking old bones
before going to sit beside
his food dish and scolds
the day for being so long
and bitterly cold and wet.
his age is starting to catch up
with him.....and he has always hated the wet...
it has poured all day....and the wind bitter...
he has this belief...we have
control over this and make
the day like this, purely to **** him off...
and acts accordingly....
and all the cat owners nod ...knowingly...lol.
betterdays Dec 2014
sparrows, three
now four, sit
chirking,
on the cherrywood
branch....
if i were a fanciful poet,
i would suggest they gossip,
but i think it is more, base
than that.....
it appears that three, vie
for the attentions of one...
it is then, a matter of courtship...
as they bounce
and fly and sing.....
and me a ******,
...marveling.
at the ardour of the dusty fluffs of feathers
....and the uncanny joy,
their antics bring....
must be the romance,      
fluttering in the air....
betterdays Apr 2014
we speak,
of love and living
and the love,
that endures, past life's giving.

we talk about,
loss and the cost
of bringing one
soul bright and
shining to another.

souls that intertwine
and grow together
into loves pasionate,
compassionate vine
.
we talk of cost
when one of the hybrid withers and dies.

we talk of love and lies,
one tells to empathise.
we talk,
we listen,
we cry and cry again.

we talk of what happens,
at and after the end.
we spill words
and salted water.
but still,
we know,
little to nothing,
except...

death, grief and mourning are the final scenes,
in this play, without a script. this sad, sorry improv, before, the epilogue and the exit to the next stages learning.

but we continue to speak,
we do not let silence reign.

because...
the thought of silence,
the thought of not being able to speak,
to share,
is simply
too....
unbearable.
for my friend Sue
endstagecancer
please read "write"
as well they are linked
at least in my mind
betterdays Mar 2014
to be a speciman in a jar
inspected from all angles
not freedom,
no hopeful view
inspected for your shape,
your feelings, your i.q.

to tip and tap scream and
yell for help to free oneself,

to pace cyclically while the beat of
your innerclock ticks your
precious time away.

to watch the watchers,

hear them whispering,
gossiping, laughing,
pointing at you,

curled feotally, as far as
possible from the incessant
view.

to want one thing,
but have another.

to desire,
to emire oneself
in a,
crooked point of
view.

to be confused, restrained
by sundered synapse,
or
fixated on rythmn, numbers,
rhymes in order to get through.

to be  black ink stickmen,
in
an ink black room,
with a black dog,
chasing you....
growling out doom.

to be living a hell private
and encompassing while,
working  in uniform
oh so neat.

we are one and all,
the specimans,
incomplete.

the glass jar is there,
for
all who stumble in defeat.

....to be a speciman
in a jar
judged for ....



is a living death,
a soundless living hell

a far cry from heaven,
more an automated shell
walking, moving, talking,
exsisting.....
             in a jar...
                        ..... on a shelf.
with a big nod to, miss plath
and her bell jar.
but also from personal experience
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