i shall not want,
for love today.
that smile
and smakeroo kiss,
shall see me through.

i shall not want,
for a smile today.
that cheery wave and stumble hop,
that made your floppy hat,
fly and drop back onto your curls.
will have my smile, all day unfurled.

i shall not want,
for a place to be, for,
in your heart, i will nestle
and although,
we will be apart.....
i know you too,
are secreted,
in my drumming space.

my little man ...
i do not want...
i have my desires
all answered by you
and your sire too

first things, first
before i burst,
well,thats a blessed relief !!
coulda come to grief....
so easily.

it used to be,
put the kettle on
now it's slide
the plastic pod,
of coffee magic
in the slot.

lost the romance,
but i forgive,
as the coffee smell,
heaven scent
tickles, teases,
swirls and curls
in the predawn air

my nose hairs steam
and crema....crema
oh my giddy aunt!!!
i love the grind
of the bein' bean
my especial, expresso
blend
my bestest, favouritist, morning friend.
come to mamma's lips.
today....
is it gulps,
or dainty sips.
nectar in, either way
pulse begins, pupils dilate
lookin like another
beautiful day

sleep crumpled,
doe eyed and snuggly,
little mr just about four, climbs up into the big old bed.
his tousled, towheaded blonde curls bouncing
and plants a smearing, smooching kiss on my lips, before climbing into the middle bit of the bed,

the bubba spot.

then bestowing the same loving brand on da's lips
and wriggling like a fish,
he makes himself....
comfortable.

king of the bed

and hums himself back
to sleep.
we look at each other,
over his nodding head
and smile.

he is the gift ,
we did not know
we wanted,
but are so very glad,
we recieved
and we marvel at him daily. this bit, of you and me and god.
we doze all three,  
and the blucat beside
a knot of happiness and love,
in the big old bed.
contentment,
nestles, rich within our hearts
our minds at peace
together again.

slept in
awoke to the smell of pancakes
and the sound of little blucat purring.

sun shines through
scattered wispy clouds
is cool enough for slippers
and fluffy robe
but not yet a wood fire.

kitchen table set with
vase of camelia's bright pink
and snow white blooms
my boys busy flippin hotcakes
i pour coffee, and sit to watch....
this is my utopia.....

on our way home
driving through driving
rain and sleet
soft rock eighties mix
saving us from talk
Lazlo sitting in the back
lost in himself.... he has decide to travel for awhile
and is borrowing our R.V.

he closed up the house,
fostered out the indoor plants, gave the garden care
over to neighborhood friends, the carkeys too.

it has been a long battle,
and he just needs time...
that is not accountable to
anyone.
he has agreed to touch base
once or twice a week... but
other than that, he has no
plans.
l have to believe he will be okay... a good sign is he has packed his cameras and  laptop so will continue to
film and write as and when he can.

we ben and i are aching to see our boy tod....he grows
moment to moment these days

we are coming home....
driving through driving
rain.

the thought comes to mind
laz is running away from
a broken home, hoping to leave grief behind....

the sun is struggling to meet
it's commitments this morn
and sits low on the mountain tops
smudging the sky pink and
charcoalred as it climbs wearily into the clouded sky

in reality, nothing much wants to get out of bed
the rooster only gave
a half- hearyed crow
the kookaburra's just chuckled and then went back to bed

as for you and me still here
away from home
we snuggle down into tje warmth and take comfort
in the childfree zone..

it is too cold to do anything other...
until the sun gets it's act
together
it's snooze time ,
thanks to
the ****** cold, mountain
weather...

two small children
bundled up like
michelan men
scramble around
the spider frame
monkey bars
their breath
little puffing billy clouds
of i think i can
as they play and race
each other to
the platform
an slide in
exuberant joy
down the red slippery slide
i smile at the ability
that most children have
to find and capture
this joy...
and savour it.

in church old
draughty, cold
listen to sermon told
twenty times or more
even the vicar sounds bored

seats long oaken planks
window stained glass,
beautiful,
but,
drear on this dark
and cloudy, autumn morn..

does god really live here
in this dismal place
or does he choose to live
in a heart filled  with grace.
i suppose if omniscient the answer
is both.....

there is a bug,
on the
windscreen,
hanging on tight.
they must
be
getting
the thrill of their
tiny life
we are zooming along
at  about 65k
irony is
the little bug
was
just looking
for
a quiet place
to stay.