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betterdays Aug 2014
unleash the mind
from the worn workaday bind
jump the groove
leave inhabition behind

for a moment, an hour , a year
let it all unwind
unravel and spool
to lie limpid on the sand
let the physche sojourn
let it be
leave the worry, the regret
and fly the cosmos
or sail the carribean
or better yet
do naught  
but unbind the bound
unbide the  biden
let loose the liger
and find
sweet freedom
if only to ask directions
to the  nearest  
imagine-that-atorium.
betterdays Aug 2014
weather: wild and brooding,
seas, roaring and bruising
the coast.
rain, bucketing down and flash flooding, about.
trees, going side ways,
three doors down, red gum
uprooted, narrowly missed the house, garden shed obliterated.

it appears that winter has
saved it's fury for it's last gasp, this year....

time to get the wellies on...
betterdays Aug 2014
today
i sit in mendicant's pose
on
the corner of
webster and roget

please
some one throw some words
my way....
just too **** tired
to write beautiful.....
or even sensible.
betterdays Aug 2014
friday night
the puddle of sanity
in which we soak

squish-squashed
in-between
the workday week

tonight i arrive
so swim ready
with chinese food
in boxes
beer and soda in bottles
and the biggest **** chocolate block i could find
and one or two extra
treats for
later...and never-you-mind

i am the hero/heroine
and as we sit
in a friday food frenzy
i can leave this week
from the gods of academic
penury way behind

hey you...
that last spring roll
                                    ..MINE..
betterdays Aug 2014
from the rust,red soil,
the nastursiums come.

first as tendrils, spiderlike
then, the little, disc umbrella leaves.

green and expectant,
in the sub-tropical,
late,winter sun.

and soon the riotous ladies,
come with skirts of colours
bold and joyous
resplendent in the party wear

then, they will run and skip
in rampant dance,
over rocks, tree stumps
climbing up the old fence.

with pepper in their tongues
and cheerful smiles.

they are one of summer's, most happy boons...
and soon and soon,
they come,
from the rust red soil
                               they come...
just coming through now....such happy little plants
betterdays Aug 2014
you, you little
lighthouse of love
your gap-toothed smile
sent out over a bowl of
brown butter porridge
guides me away from
the reef of workday despair.

your hand in mine
so small trusting
and divine
brings me back
to the path
and
out of the dark woods

your cheery wave goodbye
keeps me swimming
through the murk of
the tedious day

and that welcome cuddle
at the end of the day
brings me back to my
home harbour...

you, you little
lighthouse of love
my bearings
my light on the hill
shine on, shine on
todd my four yr oldjust smiled at me....all full of love and trust...now today...
i can...
betterdays Aug 2014
i am today, found
caught midstep
in betwixt & between
delusion and reality,
the only question
of relevance
is do i step
forward
or back
?
betterdays Aug 2014
the rain has come
finally
first in thunderous
clould burst
big fat pregnant drops landing
labouriously on
the dessicated dirt
leaving craterous footprints
as evidence of a
glorious dance

more fall to the cloud's internal beat
a steady rhythmic fall
into the mudpit dancehall
that once was dry dusty street

the rain has lessened
now wavering
between drizzle and mist stragglers late,
to raindance fall ball.
betterdays Aug 2014
a different town,
on a cold, cold day.
a little sort of,
runaway.

a chance,
to
change,
the view.

to
refresh the mind
to
let it all hang out,
to
slowly unwind.

to
run and play,
while all rugged up,
on a windy beach.
to
listen to gulls,
squabble and screech.
while
i watch my boys
climb on the rocks
and
explore the worlds,
within the pools.

then,
a lunch of,
food sublime,
cooked by hands
other than mine.

family chatter,
over
coffee and milkshakes.
a delectable
kiwi and tequila
baked cheesecake.

some time spent walking
in the park,
testing swings
and  
sliding down,
all manner of things.
before,
going to the movies
to sit in the dark
(so warm and snoozable)
and watch...
the blue genie play,
on this robin william's
memorial day...

then,
more coffee.
a quick pit stop
and
the drive on, home.
all refreshed and renewed,
after our runaway roam.
sometinea it is nice to leave
it all behind for a day....
even if it is only a couple of towns down the road.
and we found a indie movie
theatre running robin williama films all day... wirh procceds going to a suicide
prevention line.
betterdays Aug 2014
it is three a.m. here
and the unseasonable cold
has etched itself onto the knobby bones of my spine
and eats voraciously at the
callous of bone and metal
that now suffices as my
lower left leg...

in answer, i sit in front of the
newly stoked fire, as close as i can without becoming fuel
and await the painkillers sweet surcease.

i drink russian caravan tea
and as always,
it draws my thoughts to you.

the time spent with cup in hand and eyes full of laughter.
the way you rolled each teabag up into a neat little
parcel...

and those times of ceremony, birthdays and
big announcements.

when the tealeaf was allowed to swirl joyously and swim in the squat blue teapot,
releasing the aroma of
a gypsy campfire...
all rowdy, with celebration
and then served with the
orange and ****** cake,
(so **** good)of which,
i never did get the recipe.

always, the tea, served
in fine bone china
the tea, visible through
the white translucent pottery..
and we still,  playing at being, civilised and grown up...

the tears slide,
gently,down my cheeks
to fall and be comsumed
by the warm hearth...
as the gypsy songs fade

and i do not know,
whether, it is from the pain or sad and grasping grief,
that they come...
                          but they come.
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