for me
between
the points of A&B;

there is a world
of meandering serenity

of roses to be smelt
and duly admired

of love and laughter
to indugle in

food to be desired
and consumed with
gusto

words and their meanings
in which to become
joyfully mired

synapses to be fired
by moments so wonderful
they can not be described

by kisses, short sweet pecks
or long langorous invitations

by studying raindrops
and watching things grow

in spending moments
finding the sun
becoming one being
in tune with so many

from A to B

never a straight line
for me...

there was blood
a pinprick of it
bright red viscous
glowing with health

because of the blood
there were bandaids
two big plastic strips
colored like the flesh of
a zombie hand, placed in a cross
like the x on a treasure map
straddling the knee
of the small person
with tears in her eyes
as she retold her story

there was blood
and it hurt
but then we
had ice cream

now the blood is dried
the tears too
but still the bandaids remain
x marking the spot

Sun rises,
softly  creeping across the  leaf
upon which I sit.
Quiet and serene.

Green is the leaf,
Green I have become,
still and serene
I am leaf, leaf is me,
We are one under this day's sun.
Do not see me,
see me not.

I am leaf,
I am not here.
I am chlorophyll, dozing they day away..
I am leaf,
leaf is me.

I am still,
Quiet and serene
I am green,
blend, blending
into  green.
Unseen, serenely
green.

Verdant, is my name
Statue - like
stillness
is my game.
Still, serene, green

I am leaf,
Leaf is me..
I am leaf,
I am leaf...

tree once was i
tall straight and true.
growing reaching
grasping for the blue patch of sky.

felled by men, all called Jack.
taken, stripped, naked
and beaten till no bark left on
my back.
slashed at torn shredded,
beaten to a pulp.
no way back,
to fresh air and blue sky.

flattened to skin's width,
stretched, rolled and dryed.
thirst, a memory of blue and
pearled sky.
blank without leaf or seed
barren and denied.

tattooed with wisdom deep
and scribblings inane.
cut into pages, windows
for enquiring brains.
words, that penned by
poets speak of forests
mighty,
of oaks and acorns,
growing.
places of intimate knowings.

tattooed, on my flesh,
stolen, rearranged.
reminiscent of recalling,
times of grace and falling.
book now i be.
but,
rather,
tree standing tall
and growing.

sing to me songs full of joy
songs that flood the dark
corners and crevices of my soul
with sunshine buttery and golden

sing to me of love requieted
of quests completed  with heros
homecoming to hearth and home
of reunions joyful and jovial

sing me silly songs,
full of nonsense riffs
songs that make my belly ache
from laughter, sing to make me smile
not only now, but for years to come
when i fondly remember that sillly song

sing to me, all the good and bright things
you can possibly think of, sing long
and sing loud, make the melodies dance
the boogaloo, the charleston and jive

drown out this sadness, drown out this anger
sing to me hope, sing to me love
sing me a future, full of joy
sing, sing,sing,sing,sing

i stand in the shallows
of my memory
casting a spiderweb line
back into
the earlier years,
the murky depth
of the old brain pond
looking for that
elusive memory
of when......when.......when


life was simple,
somehow, more complete
with days of sunshine
and butterfly grace
that flew on by,

when grass smelt greener
skies were blue and
there was always much to do

the future was out there, past the horizon
a thing that was too far away to ponder on

they were the days,
the beautiful days
I know I  dream of.

to recapture my youth.....

but all I can now do,
is cast about in memories
and hope to find myself
an elusive rainbow trout....

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

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

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

for the moment
the world is
good and whole
and complete

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

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

today, my friend,

teach me in the ways
of joy,

i have had lessons enough
in sorrow,

i do not desire to learn the ways of anger.

so please, teach me joy.

i promise, i will learn,
with thoughtful, thoughtless abandon.

soft soft softly
he creeps about
the edges of the room

finding his way....
with the precision
of a Noh dancer...

as the blucat watches
with gestapo stare...
the new kitten...
black and white
tuxedo...not quite right
all wrinkles and fuzz
and fffft, ffft fights

the blue cat...
old cantankerous king
looks at this scrap
of a thing...
growls, deep
from his belly rotound
turns his back...
in overstated disgust....

that wrinkly thing,
is not one of us!!!.....

later in the day...
i pass by the same way
to find blucat and tuxedo boy, wrapped up asleep
in sombulant joy...

twenty, twenty vision
clear insights enable to see
all the stuff coming for  me

excepting my blindspot has
grown awful big about a decades
worth of blinkers, giving me tunnel vision

but there is light, up ahead
small and bright, leading me
away from darkest night
toward daybreak
future bright

step on into the day
make of the future
what we may
twenty twenty vision
all the way

this indigo night
spreads diamonds like confetti
across the heavens

Incomplete darkness
Settles like a soft blanket
Starlight seeps through
universal holes
Messages from somewhere else
Providing  glimmers of
beauty and grace in the
midnight hours

soft the raindrops on my face
gentle the breeze at my back
warm the sand between my toes

soft the words you speak
gentle your lips upon my neck
warm your body next to mine


soft the sound of you sleeping
gentle my fingers upon your cheek
warm the tears that fall  on the sheets

soft the closing of the door
gentle the footseps as i leave
warm the regret that burdens my soul

warm the first steps to hell
gentle the push off the cliff
soft the mud in the gutter

my cat has dreams.
while sound asleep,
his little grey legs,
flex and run.
his ears ***** and tail lashes. he chatters that funny little hunter's cry.
sometimes i watch him
and smile,
thinking in his dreams,
he must be a panther or lion on the savanah,
or up a jungle tree stalking his dinner,
as does, a big sleek animal roaming.

some mornings,
when i wake.
from a deep sleep,
of half remembered dreams. i open my eyes,
to find my little cat watching me.
i ponder,
whether he attributes dream's meanings,
to my, nighttime
twitchings too.

two...yellow...blue,
now green...of leaf...
of grass...verdant...life
yellow sun...water...blue
now green...breathing...
rustling....soughing...sighing
bright flowered living beings....
two....yellow...blue...

a calcium carapace,
sits upon the mantle's shelf. dreaming of the sea,
craving water and salinity.

pretty trinket ivory white,
a  plump smooth bubble with cafe au lait dotted curve, leading to,
sensuous convex lip,
scintillating burnt caramel
hue.

what lived in such a
palace of the sea.
what graced the interior hall.
did it wonder,
at the beauty of it's home,

or did it only see,
the weight of the walls, pressing in.

does the palace discarded
on the shelf dream,
of saltwater
and former self.

or is it an inamate relic,
of an unregarded time,
with out measured reason, unresonating thought, unrimed.

does it know
                 it is
                 beauty sublime.

by definition
my love affair with you
was brief

I tried to extend my passion
but alas
I am older now,
what happens
happened

I can say
it was good for me
there were indeed fireworks

and if given the choice
I would again
despoil the sanctity
of my marriage
to be with you

But these things
come along so rarely now
these blasts from the past

it was so good, I must admit
I drooled then and  even now
the remembrance of the act
leaves me wanting more

but it is not to be
once again
you breezed through town
here for just one month
of torrid, fertive,
cladestine meetings
and then you are gone

leaving nothing behind
except the taste of you
on my quivering lips

oh why!! oh why!!!!
can they not just

....put the MacRib on the standard menu...

I will wait for your next return my love
I will wait......

memory by memory
i unfold the origami
of our friendship
until a crumpled
and lined piece
of paper lies forlorn
on the kitchen table

once an exquisite
paper crane.
now something
i wrap the vegetable
skins in.....

there are a few things,
that are truly,
unforgetable....
your smile,
my friend, is one of them.

a sunday afternoon
in the lingering indian summer
provides paradoxes
my husband has sat down
in the inflatable pool with icecream
to watch a game of rugby league,

the winter blankets wave gaily
out on the clothesline, dry less
than an hour after having been hung

my boy watches black ants feast
on spilt hot chocolate and marshmallows
on the too hot to stand cement path

and the tuxedo cat lays in the shallows
of the pond, fishing tadpoles unsuccsessfully

i wish I did not
have the taste of
burnt dust always
on my tongue

i wish  i could go
one day without
tears in my eyes

to turn on the tv
and not see another
burnt out bouse  or
ravaging flames

i wish i did not
have to thank
volunteer fire fighters
those who risk themselves
daily to help others

i wish i did not silently weep
for the future of this land
as it goes up in flame
as flora and fauna
become extinct
in one terrible day

i wish i could get
the burnt dust smell
out of my house,
my clothes,
my nose and mouth

but apperently, this..
this new catastrophe
is the new norm around here

so many,
        so, so many stories....
                that remain untold

love hidden within....
                      the shy breast

justice that has yet ....
                           to unfold

joy blooming within....
                                the bud

sadness caught up in ....
                              life's tangles

a new road to forge....

            old steps to retrace....

the recogntion of hope....
   burgeoning in a new place

the light growing dim....
          or the bulb turning on

first words....last words....
and all the words....
        that lie somewhere....
                                in between

within all....
the grain of sand
that can become the pearl

as poets....
we are a voice to the world.

cats entwined,
in skin-fur pile
on the cool tile floor.

thock, thock...thock.
15 love
from tennis on tv

cold beer...and  
cheese n' onion chips

hot muggy air...
sweat, settling on skin

as the storm rumbles
in the distance.

10.11pm Tuesday Jan. 2015

heatwave....continues

age screams
not so silently
back, carrying
burdens
have caused
muscle to seize

every step
measured
every movement
silent movie slow

inflamed muscles
hiss and growl
as I inch to and fro

yearn,
to be
horizontal,
alone
to
realign
but
no
off to
work
I go
......
heat pack
my solace
time my foe

my words are ungracious
and spill forth today
like mewling puke....

it astounds me....
that we celebrate
landing, badly i might add,
an overpriced
piece of mechano
on the backside of a space rock...

while.....
there are people
dying... right here....
on earth....from...ebola cancer....and other diseases

it astounds me....
that one person,
can get paid, 20 million $$$$
for acting in a ****** movie
while....others beg for change and sleep rough
under park benches....

it amazes me,
that  so many in the world
cannot read or write
and do not have,
basic and i mean basic
sanitary facilities....

it confounds me.....
that wars are fought
over race and religion....

it scares me...
that my son, will grow up
in a world where safety is
far less of a gaurantee...

it saddens me....
that i am as guilty
as the next person
of passing by
oe looking the other way
become too busy, too be
involved...in other peoples
pain...

my words,
ungracious
and hypocritical
are but the useless prattle
of a ranting raving imbicele
mere  spit upon the winds
of a word in turmoil....

but come on...
should we not try
to fix this world
before discovering others

flat as a tack
nailed firmly
into ironbark

thats me
after marking
over 120 essays

the words blurred
near the end
and now the world is blurry
so takeaway tea
a large g&t times two
and bed for as long as i can

then i may just be userfriendly again
but i am not promising anything

you once were magnificent,
standing strong and tall,
looking out over,
your world,
with quiet serenity.

i see this now,
in the lines of grey,
that sit upon your visage,
worn to a soft velvet skin,
by the years of
going out and coming...

i see the marks your children left,
when they were taken.
i see the patches
of hurt from when you
were forsaken and
given to others,
for purposes,
not natural to you.

and in your heart....
i see the willingness
to try to begin anew,
to be reshaped, resolved
into something of use...

i see the years of
casual abuse,
of scrapes and distress
your heart being lost
in the multitude
of words spoken,
around you,
but never to you.





                              driftwood....


i see much, in you,
in your fine grain,
the salt of many trips,
in the rough edges,
sand from many seas
and in the knotted places,
the homes of those vagabonds,
you did freight for free....

and there worn away almost
by wave and time...
the face of your former keeper
still smiling....
frozen in place.....
forever lost...
but remembering
you were once magnificent

the morning has dawned
achingly bright
the clouds of yesterday
blown away in the night
after leaving.....
just a dusting of spherical
pearls on leaf and grass tips

the wind just now a breeze
giving the sea a herd of
white horses  to cross
the blue- green plain
and play tag with the sailor
in racing boats.

i stand inside, with the warmth of the fire at my
back , cup of tea steaming
in my hands...and make plans for this promising
winter's day...

full well knowing, in an hour
the vista could change....
thus are, the vagaries of life.

house is mouse quiet
walking down the
hallway
in
the dark
step on a malevolent
lego brick, swear mightily

this epitomises my day...

now to crawl into bed
and pray tommorrow
the vagrant gods like me...

goodbye, Mickey
gone to the great big
Boystown in the sky

you were my saturday
afternoons.
you, Spencer Tracey
and 20cents of mixed lollies
in front of the old b&w;,T.V.

your angelic smile
and cheeky bad boy ways.
one day i was going to
marry you.

but then life changed.

today, when i heard
the news
i went back to that time
so thank you Mr Rooney
for those simple days
vale, vale.

" I would like to be
the air that inhabits
you for a moment only.
I would like to be that unnoticed & that necessary"*
    Variations on Sleep
                 Margeret Atwood

to be inhaled
into your essence
to become your
breath in this world

to  inhabit the marrow
of your soul

is but a dream

for we are,
different components
different aspects

needed to compliment
needed to inspire
the pthers aspirations
needed to question
the motive
to mobilise the heart
to gain forward momentum

we do not subsume each other...
we are become,
to one another
catalysts
gunpowder and fuse
lit.....to make the world explode...

we are not each others breath....
but,
we are each others,
reason
to breathe...



What do you dream of
my love...
I watch you twitch and murmur....
are you a big brave hunter....
or something less ferocious...
tis no matter to me....

i love you and if you could walk me dreams with me
you would know that there
you are a gentle hero

so very busy
not doing much
just living a life
on the edge of a crust

cold weather
makes  me sleep
seems I am powered
by solar rays as I reach
my latter middle aged days

but all is good, all is fine
as I pour  another wine
grab a book off the shelf
settle in and read
for my health.

we sit at the edge of
vespertide
listening to the chorale
of evensong
this day's opus almost done
now tapering off in
slow melodious decrescendo..
it is the gloaming
and the final flurry of light
glimmers on the horizon

now the night becomes
the diva,
the first star has been wished upon,
the first sattelite too.
and the bass note of the cicadas
builds to a *****, needful hum...

lights go on in little square
patches, and the smell
of barbeque fragrances
the summer night air

under the streetlights
the moths come to dance
a dare each other to touch
the midnight sun...

and in our garden
the rustle of the
tame gone feral
rabbit "bellamy"
has begun...

a hulking grey white
shadow now he lollops
toward the tasty green
carrot-tops...
until the sound of pounding
feet causes him to freeze
considering his position
bellamy chooses discretion
over valour and departs with haste

the wind now has a coolness to it
and the grass grows damp about us
by still we sit enamoured of the changing
slow and quiet about us
the seas whisper secrets
and the birds settle in for the night
excepting those who hunt on silent wings

the stars begin to pop
bright white on the darkening sky
and the crescent moon smile with
a sideways grin...

it is now the darker things come
owls on the wing
spiders to reknit there webs
the big bass frog to sing his song
and the small blood seeker
come with whinging wings

now we must give the night
it's privacy, as we walk inside,
from the pond a series of sounds
means the frog has found dinner
hopefuuly a mosiquito buffet

the vesper tide hath turned
the night is now come.....

from afar
we watch the implosion,
some regard as revolution
others desecration

from afar we watch
the unravelling
the words spooling
upon the floor

we watch sparks fly, hopes die
we watch tears fall, ruck and maul

we watch, disbelief, horror, jubilation
we watch this divided nation..

we watch and pray, we watch and pray
this is the view from far, far away...

and in the quiets times
between the ministrations
of those angels called nurse
i sit  and watch you breathe
pray for your god to bring you comfort
pray for my god to bring me strength
in this quiet love i hope i honour you
i hope i thank you for times
you watched over me and prayed

a lit candle
sways in the evening breeze

soft jazz mellows the muse
as i sit and ponder...

the wonder of the indigo sky
lit with shimmering wonder

and framed in wood-smoke haze
tonight, i can  well, relate to vincent
as the shimmer,
whorls and blazes
in a late summer ****
of sensual delight...

i lay  quiescent to nature's glory
as day bleeds into night...

and on the wind of salted air
honeysuckle and jasmine mingle
i sip the crisp cold mango beer
and sink further into,
the quiet beauty.

virtual ink etched on vitual paper.. synapse rebounds taken down, on tablet... applet releasing the
imagin- ed pressure in my incohezant brain. little bytes of... making it right sent into.. the webby ether clouds....... zip drive compressed, pixelated, ram driven,memory boosted, data mined, spam shot,
drive by.... now encrypted ... password denied... .....virtual ink lost to the .....link ... .......... 404 error ...... page not found... virtual paper, now, lost forever.

destined to be in
www. miscellaneous file/ never to see the light of day. not org. nowheres

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

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

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

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

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

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

form a line, form a line,

one thought at a time,
maybe two.

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

alright world...
give me a break
can't you see...
i've got all my ducks
in a row....
so what, if there is
a decided...
weave in their waddle...

Waiting for the taxi,
sitting in the front room. Dressed in her very best.
A small posey of blooms, favourites of his youth
on the table beside.

A sepia photo of a young
and blushing bride.
The groom tall serious,
all pride,
stands at loose attention. Khaki clad romance, captured before war's incoming tide.

He left for the front,
she stayed behind.
Waited and prayed
for her God to hide,
her young strong lover
from war's unwavering gaze.

Letters came sporadically, cheerful but underscored with fear.
Speaking of a future now held more close and dear. The telegram came to her
as she pruned his roses.

Her march of tredpidation now over.
Her life long walk of grief begun.

She stands now,
and his medals brave
clink, *****,
over her lonely heart.

For while, her ride has come, so she can remember
with others.
In heart, alone, she awaits still and true,
her strong young soldier lost in yonder blue

the metaphors,
I  read today prove
to be depressing
my fault,
... not the writers

as I sat searching
the grey blue sky,
early this morning,
it's despondent nature
slipped quietly into my soul

and now I am mooching about,
waiting for the inevitable cloudburst.
as my mother was wont to say,
girl,there will be tears
before bedtime.

today i had a day
no valleys, no mountains
....just walking, across
the plains.
grass waving, gently to either side of the dusty,
not oft used track.
sometimes, a single great,
old oak,
or a stand of birch,or gum.
a pond or creek,
but mostly, grass green, through to dry, fawn.
as i walk along...
but still,
i stumble at the end of the day .
a misplaced foot,
on a tuft of  adventurous, exploring grass....
and then i look, to the endless, blue,umbrella
of the sky,
and pray, for gentle vale
or hummocky hill.
as i ,
walk this path,
of the not,so straight,
but definitely narrow.

in class
she hangs back
unsure of herself
a wallflower
yet to bloom
into beauty

she is delicate
and nervous
hugging the walls
watching, learning waiting

and then one day
she blooms
in artistic beauty
still delicate
but more assured
her voice, a whisper
we all lean forward
to hear.
body lithe
and so expressive
all are mesmerised

the wallflower,
now an exquisite rose

watching the rain,
river flood,
down the steamy,
windows.
my mind jumps back...
...back to those sweet
and careless days,
of a country chilhood.

when we made boats.
of  halved walnut shells,
with toothpick masts
and fantail sails,
then sailed them
in kerbside regattas.

when marbles were worlds.
fought for,
in hand drawn,
colleseum-like circles
on  dusty driveways and paths.

when we folded and flew,
the news of the day,
on strings,
high, to the sky and beyond.

when we made castles.
of sand and mud,
we were, then,
childish royalty,
the back yard our kingdom.

as the water sheets,
down the window panes.
i hope,
these creative joys and victories,
will not be lost to my son.

in this age of technology,
where, leapads and xbox'
kindles and webgames,
tempt them,
to play in a world,
of pre-created splendour.

looking through the water,
i am reassured this will not
be the case, by the sight,
of father and son,
in yellow macs,
stomping puddles,
for the splash.