here i am,
cold winter,
sunday morning...high.

my drugs.....
a predawn lovefest
lots of, little boy
giggling n' smiles
bannana berry pancakes,
made by my satisfied guy.
blucat purring at my feet.

and the sun,
lazily peeking in

god i love
the sunday morning high...

one thousand feathers,
a bird does not make,
less there are wings
a heart and beak
and such a deseperate
want to fly,
into the upper reaches
of the bluest, widest sky.

without these things,
it is just a pile of dreams,
lost and forgotten.

no, it seems to be,
one thousand feathers
in a pile, is a sad
and sorry thing.

looked for my
poet in residence
this morning...
all i could find
was a badly scrawled
note
that said,
gone, need me, some
me time.
back whenever.

four twenty three,
antipodean time
and i am caught,
wide awake
between, my thoughts
and the sounds of
a snoring husband
and a cat purring
hungrily....
for an early breakfast.

i have a feeling,
no... i have a knowing.
this is...
going to be a long, long day.

little blue cat sleeps,
curled in the winter sun.
dreaming, big cat dreams,
run, gazelle, run, run, run.

60,000 plus young men gone
150,000 maimed
in a war that changed the face of a nation, a world
the never again war...

so many lives changed,
so many familes, left bereft.
so many lives... just gone

today in australia,
we stop and remember.
today, 100 years past,
a war was begun.

and it is only now,
that some ,
of those young men,
out for a boy's own adventure,
are coming home.
after, lying lost,
in foreign fields
and some, now known
will slumber on....

it is a day,
of sad remembering
we pause,
then carry on.

it's the middle of
the afternoon
on one of those warm
winter days,
that hold the promise
of summer inthe brightness
of the sun..

and we three are at the park
having swung to the sky
on the swings, gone up and slid down the slippery dip
a dozen times
and made ourselves dizzy
on the merrygoround
we now sit quietly, watching
pelicans and ducks
icecream, soft serves melt
in hands and on toungue.

when we are down here
we will go down to the jetty
and throw our bread upon
the water for ducks and pelicans to squabble over

and then home to play
in the garden....
before dinner.......
there is a simplicity
to this.....yet it deserves
to be written... for it is too beautiful an afternoon
to be forgotten

somedays

  karma is a *****,
     wearing six inch stillettos

and she's dying to dance...
                                    the tango

so today....

    i choose, to step aside
      and let her have her way.

dance on down
            dance on down...