#padbd
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.
Aug 27, 2014
Aug 27, 2014 at 6:09 PM UTC
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...
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 5:14 PM UTC
today
i sit in mendicant's pose
on
the corner of
webster and roget
please
some one throw some words
my way....
Aug 24, 2014
Aug 24, 2014 at 10:48 PM UTC
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..
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 4:25 AM UTC
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...
Aug 21, 2014
Aug 21, 2014 at 6:28 PM UTC
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
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 6:15 PM UTC
i am today, found
caught midstep
in betwixt & between
delusion and reality,
the only question
of relevance
is do i step
forward
or back
?
Aug 17, 2014
Aug 17, 2014 at 7:33 PM UTC
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.
Aug 16, 2014
Aug 16, 2014 at 7:17 PM UTC
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.
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 11:15 PM UTC
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 ginger 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.
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 1:47 PM UTC
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...
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 6:34 PM UTC
stuck in neutral,
me,
not a car.
sitting in front of the tv,
mouth slightly open
like a... yokel
absently patting,
my child's back
staring at
bright, happy figures
on the tv.
my one true thought is ... nope, nada
nothing there!!
no wise,
no funny,
no comfort,
no smartarse
or wisecrack.
all called in absent,
today
i sit
in front of the tv,
coffee drool
forming, at the corner,
where my lips,
don't quite meet.
yokel.
idling,
stuck in neutral,
idling.
Aug 8, 2014
Aug 8, 2014 at 5:36 PM UTC
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.
Aug 7, 2014
Aug 7, 2014 at 7:57 PM UTC
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.
Aug 6, 2014
Aug 6, 2014 at 5:46 PM UTC
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.
Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 2:31 PM UTC
little blue cat sleeps,
curled in the winter sun.
dreaming, big cat dreams,
run, gazelle, run, run, run.
Aug 4, 2014
Aug 4, 2014 at 7:16 PM UTC
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.
Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 5:54 PM UTC
snow on the wind
means
wood on the fire
means
hot chocolate in the cup
means
extra padding on the hips
means
gym class during the week
means
hard ****** work
means
just cannot wait for spring.
Aug 2, 2014
Aug 2, 2014 at 9:51 PM UTC
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
Aug 2, 2014
Aug 2, 2014 at 1:03 AM UTC
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...
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 7:19 PM UTC
the blood dries,
to a rusty brown red
and the thumbnail,
throbs in time with
his heart.
and his heart beats,
more slowly these days.
he has left all passion
and excitement behind.
...along with youthful memories.
now,it is contentment
is the simple things,
he seeks ... and finds.
the stars above his head,
a full belly,
a tot or two of scotch.
the feel of the sand on
a deserted beach
and the roaring-rumble
of ole betsy,
the harley softail.
he rides on this road
of gentle discovery,
with a smile of grace.
now as he waits,
for the sun to fall,
into darkness.
he puts the throbbing
and torn thumb
to his mouth.
and tastes
the coppery blood.
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 2:15 AM UTC
god, ya gotta
love the honesty
of children
overhead
from the backseat
"your mum is fat"
"yeah but it's ok
she's mostly happy
and i love her"
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 3:33 AM UTC
i was overtaken,
by a hearse,
this morning,
on my way to work.
two things, came to mind.
first,
where does a hearse go
in such a hurry....
and second,
it is always hard,
to get back in to
the workaday rhythm.
...rip... holiday mind ...rip...
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 6:56 PM UTC
there is a mote
of dust,
in my eye
it comes from
the dust bunny's ***
i caught him, copulating
under the couch,
with two odd socks,
while the lego man watched.
he, in guilty panic,
shook and shed,
his lint everywhere....
and
i caught this bit
with my eye
the rest i collected
with my nose...
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 8:01 AM UTC
i have a wanderer's heart
always wanting to be elsewhere
a wanderers mind looking
to the next horizon...for a new and exciting view...
but alas my feet are lazy
they are settled and sodden
with the clay soil in which
i grew
they are rooted to home and
hearth
and thus i am bound
my heart soars
my mind dreams
my feet stay firmly
placed on homeground
but one day
i will clay feet and all
travel this world...i will
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 6:17 PM UTC