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betterdays Apr 2015
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.
started out as something different,
but ended up as apoem about my frustration with my brother's need
to compete and put me down...
when he visits....
he needs to be at all times
the king of the castle... middle child syndrome.....
(and yes it would be easier not to invite him....but my mother dotes on him.... family dynamics **** sometimes.)
so there it is.... in all it's pettiness.
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 Apr 2015
life is not forced...
.. .a distillation of sorrow
and yet
.....life was the greatest joy
it's own realm ...encased
but not breached....
the joy ...had it's own integrity
not touched by tragedy.

that joy, the measure
and source...spring.
....I remember sitting in rain
and blustering wind...
abiding.... and yoked... to life
this comic tradegy...within.
napowrimo2015
prompt :
create an erasure poem
create a poem by photocopy a page
of writing and then erasing portions of it ...
this format does not support that function....so I have written what remained on the page at the end of the exercise...
the piece of writing I used was
page 99 of "Enon" by Paul Harding
Random House 2013.
betterdays Apr 2015
these things I know to be true...

behind the clouds,
the sky is blue.

if the grass is greener over there;
on the other side of the fence...
then someone is wasting water
in this drought.

if everyone is keeping up with
the jones's .
why are they so unhappy?

two wrongs don't make a right,
but four lefts make a square.

the sun will come out tomorrow,
but so may the clouds...

life is full of schmucks,
but if you're in luck.
the  schmuck you marry
may have some bucks.

there is, true love
there is, higher ground
there is forgivness.
you can find useful things
in the lost and found.
chocolate can be good for you.
you have to feed your soul.
and yes all that glitters
is definitely not gold.

there is no true way,
to grow old gracefully.
so make the best of it.
count each and every day
as a bonus....
                   for that is what it is!!!
betterdays Apr 2015
Today,
I am leaf...
fallen to ground.

Both life and death...
at the base,
of winter's barren tree.
Napowrimo2015
prompt : Landalay,
a couplet of 22 syllables.
betterdays Apr 2015
hurry, hurry, hurry
hush hush hush
must be quick
must be quite
but we must rush

stay in the shadows
run through the dark
don't give the game away
as we flit through the dark

keep on going til the sun rise
quiet as mice, fast as hares
away from the fighting
away from despair

to a new life, with new cares
where it is not about belief
where all are treated fair...

carry the message,
deep within your heart
we are all human
we all are the same
no matter the religion
no matter the creed
freedom a desire
love a basic need.
hurry, hurry, hurry
hush, hush,hush.
was thinking of  a refugees  plight as I wrote this....
betterdays Apr 2015
in,
inscribing memories
of better times,
i am,
overwriting
the grief of a life
unravelling.
the ink placed
so
carefully
on parchment paper,
dissolves into a
watercolour
of  greys and dismal days.
words of love,
become mere twigs
and bird scratchings.
floating in the
fugue
of monumental despair.
i look hard
and long
to find some meaning.
but see only
these words
passionately written,
gleaming.
it's not fair,
it's not fair.
as my tears
drizzle
off
the page.
write from last year
in lieu, of a terzenelle
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 Apr 2015
goodnight .... old girl,
goodnight, to you,
you quiet house,
you blessed home.

are you glad to see
another day done?
within yourself,
your hidden recessed places
are you sighing in relief
as we settle safe in our beds.

your present loves,
all accounted for,
sleeping within your teak
and nail embrace.
or do you prefer,
the drumming of our feet,
the hum of activity,
of when we are awake,
and bustling and bumping,
about your frame?

or is it best when we leave you,
silent and alone to contemplate,
in the sun and wind on a work day? my lord, the secrets you must keep, the lifes, that you have held close behind these old walls.

you must groan and cry,
with the weight of some memories, yet, others cause you to smile and sigh in near-miss relief.
you have stood strong and sturdy,
for almost one hundred years,
in one form or another,
your girth has expanded,
with the growth of family,
from farmers cottage, to three bed,
with study
and nannexe out the back.

you have been
all but knocked down,
rebuilt, reworked and restored,
to former glory.
you have withstood,
the element's rage
and time's insipid attempts,
to shift you, from your place
upon the cliffshead.

you have, and do,
do well, to hold us
all within.
and now,
just before i sleep,
i want to thank you old girl,
for the way, you keep us all safe.
betterdays Apr 2015
banana driven
to drive one bananas
backseat driver
lodged on one's back
insipid thief
taking bite sized pieces
of one's soul
leaving you feeling less
than whole..
confused about one's role
grinding, prancing,
either way can't stop dancing
riddle-raddled fiddle-faddled
muddle minded ....
listening,
to it's whispering....
takes a terrible toll.
prompt :
write a riddle poem...
notes: the answer to what am I?
the monkey on one's back....
. ..but then you guys already
knew that.
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