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Mar 2015 · 553
bereaved.
betterdays Mar 2015
loss
loss,
there are...
many types,
many degrees,
to lose your car keys
one end of the spectrum,
to lose a person you loved,
to an argument, difficult,
but to lose them to death....
                            off the scale.
Mar 2015 · 720
begetting
betterdays Mar 2015
love, begets love
in bundles big or small
love, begets love

joy, begets joy
bright dropping jewels
joy, begets joy

hope begets hope
ephemeral, shining light
hope, begets hope.

life, begets life
all encompassing life.
life, begets life

and so the cycle goes....
Mar 2015 · 453
bullets flight
betterdays Mar 2015
Redemption has no currency
in the holiday nation
young men thank the executors
for small kindness'
as the await the bullets flight

they do not deny the wrongness
of youthful days...
but have learnt, and changed their ways
they do not expect freedom
they understand the debt to be paid
but their unrequited wish is for more  days.

they now travel to their destiny's end
at a small island paradise and the
end of a guns barrel

redemption has no currency....
Redemption has no currency.
Mar 2015 · 546
long way to the horizon....
betterdays Mar 2015
And this day is long
longer than the accumulation
of it's hours

dragging slow booted feet
through muggy, treacle air

grey despondent skies
sigh salubriously overhead

and on the horizon  the days end
shimmers just out of reach

a mirage, an illusory insult
to the mind struggling with
five more hours...

behind this desk
                      in this heat.
this ****** interminable heat!!!
aircon at work is fritzed.....
so not coping...lol
Mar 2015 · 399
descision time....
betterdays Mar 2015
one moment away,
from oblivion.

one hopeful moment

caught between thought
and action
one moment, one heart beat

one movement,

oblivion, or hope

his choice...his moment

we wait, with breath held.

one moment, a lifetime
one moment, an eternity
....poem with regard to suicide....in this case of a young male student....
who chose hope in the end
and is now receiving appropriate care...
betterdays Feb 2015
the amber liquid
pours into the fine
porcelain bowl
swirls and settles

a few leaves dark
and sombre settle
at the bottom
and remain
unfathomable

i drink of it's heady
fragrance
the steam a line of
smoky memory
again i inhale
and again the years
fall away

the first sip
is bitter
tasting of tannin
and loss

the fine china
sings at the touch
of my tongue
and my memory
hums with words
of wisdom and friendship

i drink down to the
recumbant leaves
and the swirl the fortune
twist and tip the cup...
and read the leaves
with the same wonder
as i read the clouds...


unsuprisingly,
the leaves
speak to me of you....
as the scent of smoke and
camelia lingers on the evening breeze
Feb 2015 · 478
summer chorale
betterdays Feb 2015
the rain falls,
like a hymn,
upon the windows.
a song of hope,
sent from grey
and sombre sky.

given to an
adoring ground
accepted as
communion and
restoration.

listened to from within,
watched by wondering eyes,
the holiness of nature.
....beautifuly divine....
Feb 2015 · 920
step outside yourself today
betterdays Feb 2015
just found out
today is
random acts of kindness day
although not so random
if they assign it a day....
the point being
take a chance
go a little bit out of your way
to do something kind
for some one today....
perhaps write a poem
for a fellow poet...
or take an old neighbor
some flowers
pay some one bus fare
or buy a homeless person
a muffin....
does not really matter
what you do....just
spread some kindness
around....
lord knows the world could do with it...
and if you already do these things..well done...you
Feb 2015 · 294
perspective...
betterdays Feb 2015
is it
absurd
that i sometimes
think
that your non fiction
is my
fiction...???

that life
and the interpretation
thereof
is a just
a matter of perspective...!!!
midnight thinking.....
Feb 2015 · 395
life....
betterdays Feb 2015
in my garden
a wren lies... dead
it flew with haste
from the lilac tree
and then fell
from mid air to the ground

a little blue black pebble
with soft downed contours
it lies motionless and cooling
as i watch....
half expecting the small beautiful beast to rise
...like lazarus and fly again...

...but no....
              and now i must go
pick up this scrap of god...
before it becomes a plaything for my cat...
Feb 2015 · 525
a moment's grace
betterdays Feb 2015
24,720,437.
(give or take a few)
minutes in my life.
the number is profound,

but it's not that easy
to break a life down.
i'm sure there's a calculation, that covers the basics bits work, eating, sleeping, abultions.

but, to bring the moments
to the minutes,
thats a vastly different thing.

how do you count the moments of brillance
that burn bright,
on the horizon beyond and before.

those moments of pure kindness,
or blind and ****** ignorance
that elicit change.
the joy of the moment,
the rage of a second,
the hours borrowed
in worry never
yet to be repaid.

how many minutes
wasted or not fully tasted, devoured to quickly.
those seconds we fumble,
in awkward silences
or those we waste
wanting more.
then the hours of breast beating or simply bleating

are they lesser in importance,
than, the days
lost in thought,
or in grief,
time spent,
begging for relief
from a heart so, so, sore.

remember the weeks
we sent packing,
the fox or the bear,
or the lion and the tiger from fear's flimsy, fragile door.

months of not belonging, then, the longing
and finally the lounging
and laughing,
when tickled to our core.

the tock of the clock
when we are too cold,
or too hot or just not...
quite right.
time that keeps ticking, while,
we are sticking our noses where they are not wanted.

time spent watching
from afar,
minutes of small talk,
hours of deep and meaningful,
days of young love,
months of expectancy,
years of togetherness, decades of love.
a delineation of seperateness,
eons, immemorial
of eternity.

these are the times,
of my minutes,
my moments of grace,
i want these,
ciphered into,
the fabric of time.
Feb 2015 · 706
bard dogged
betterdays Feb 2015
got to love
a man with
a sense of humour;
our friend  mac
has come to visit,
with his
scottish terrier pup
named mcduff.
only so he can,
take him for walks
and cry out
"lead on mcduff, lead on"
true story.. corny, but true
Feb 2015 · 575
winless
betterdays Feb 2015
upon the waters
i threw my bread
only to watch
the fish and ducks
gobble it up.....

i gave my pearls to the swine
and they pawned for quick cash

i set my words on  a butterflys wing
only to see it fly into the windscreen
of a fast moving truck....

so today..i find a room empty
and bare....walk into the middle
and sit quietly there
waiting for the world to spin
and afford me the smallest
of wins...
just having one of those indigo blue days..
betterdays Feb 2015
here be i
sitting in my chocolate boat
floating in the sea of tea
off the point of
the cape of big hopes
sailing fo the isles of little dreams
when the marshmallow
sharks attack...
so i being an intrepid traveller, take out my
peacock feathersword
and tickle their foamy gills

after much hilarious giggling
they, the sharks cry nuncle
and swim off to play in
the garden of the anenomes

and i drink frothy marshmallowy chocolate milk for afternoon tea...

                                 suweet!!!
some silliness for my son
while stuck in traffic...
Feb 2015 · 672
bloom
betterdays Feb 2015
in the corner of my left eye
i feel the blooming  of
a migraine begin
occluding all reason

nailing pain to my brain
and causing civility to flee before the tornado wrath
of assualted sysnapses
time becomes distorted
like algea in a summer pond
the verdancy of the ache
looks pretty
yet underneath i suffocate

the time of darkness
begins...
to bloom like a carrion flower....
yesterday a miasma of glaring ache...
today much better..
Feb 2015 · 648
Variations on variations
betterdays Feb 2015
" I would like to be
the air that inhabits
you for a moment only.
I would like to be that unnoticed & that necessary"*
    Variations on Sleep
                 Margeret Atwood


to be inhaled
into your essence
to become your
breath in this world

to  inhabit the marrow
of your soul

is but a dream

for we are,
different components
different aspects

needed to compliment
needed to inspire
the pthers aspirations
needed to question
the motive
to mobilise the heart
to gain forward momentum

we do not subsume each other...
we are become,
to one another
catalysts
gunpowder and fuse
lit.....to make the world explode...

we are not each others breath....
but,
we are each others,
reason
to breathe...



What do you dream of
my love...
I watch you twitch and murmur....
are you a big brave hunter....
or something less ferocious...
tis no matter to me....

i love you and if you could walk me dreams with me
you would know that there
you are a gentle hero
it is my belief that poetry
should make you feel....and think... birthing new understanding of oneself and ones surrounding...
these then are some of the thoughts that become progeny of this snippet of Margeret Atwoods  work.
Feb 2015 · 821
beyond ego
betterdays Feb 2015
somewhere beyond
my ego...
lies the poet
who writes for,
the love of the sound,
of pen scribbling thoughts
upon fine lined paper.

the writer,
who devles into
the murk of the
morass of thoughts
rowing across the swamps
of the disordered mind.

the scribe,
who takes photographs
with words
deftly framing light and shade to produce
thought provoking images
so good, yet,
so hard to define.

the racounter,
who can spin a tall tale
on the edge of a dusty dime.

the truthseeker, soothsayer
not afraid to speak,
even when speaking
is condsidered a crime.

the jonguleur,
who plays with words
of six syllables or more, keeping them flowing, creating rhythm and rhyme.

somewhere...the earth mother lies
distilling truth into jots
and tittles
and sowing them into
lines...

somewhere...beyond
my ego...somewhere
Feb 2015 · 1.0k
SLAM..
betterdays Feb 2015
SLAM down the words
like a slap of your hand
upon a wooden table

SPEAK the utterances
of your broken heart

SLAM  your anger into my face
with the fistful of furious syllables

SCREAM your defiance to the world indifferent
to the magnaminity
of your none to silent pain

SLAM down tequila shots
one, two, three,
redifing absplute clarity

SLAM  your body into
mine repeatedly
mistake realease for
ECSTASY...

SLAM  the door as you go
and leave, all the while preparing for the next girl the next show...

SLAM  me into a box, and
bury me,
my time is up, my words
are just crushed up dust....

SLAM the gates of heaven
in my face...done too much
bad to die with grace

SLAM DUNK my b'ball ****,
my whole life, just a dribbling farce

SLAM  me down to hell...
let me roast a good long time

SLAM...that now ends
this redonkulous rhyme...
Random word freeflow...
writing exercise.
SLAM..
Feb 2015 · 798
winnow.....
betterdays Feb 2015
as i thresh
              and winnow,
           the words of my heart;

anger and scorn,
             become chaff
                         set upon the
                     blustering winds.

and love remains,
                         golden seeds
left,
to nourish
               and grow
                crops of life,
                   love and laughter.
Jan 2015 · 441
epiphany#935
betterdays Jan 2015
sometimes
failure
is
an
appropriate
response

for
without
failure­

grace
would
lie
dormant
within
our
hearts
Jan 2015 · 377
for sure
betterdays Jan 2015
my jaw aches...
with words unspoken
thoughts weighty
and pendulous
swing back and forth
in my calamitous mind

but still i smile....

back taut, muscles creaking
counting to ten, a million times

that little voice, that normally whispers
rocking away on  
a decibel high

but still i smile....

cause..
while i smile,
you have no idea
of the train of misery,
i am bringing
to crash your style.

you think, you done got
away with it...
well honeychile,
you be wrong by more
than a mile...

cause still i smile...

as i array an army
come get you guerilla style...

and when...
the stampede,
all done and over
and you be scraping
yourself up off the floor...

guess what....
i'm the one that's
gonna be smiling
all the more...

and you can bank on that
baby......for sure...for sure...
not aimed at any one.....
really just a bit of fun
after watching (hyper)reality tv...american style...wooee
you guys can crank it up!!!
Jan 2015 · 548
update.#1
betterdays Jan 2015
cats entwined,
in skin-fur pile
on the cool tile floor.

thock, thock...thock.
15 love
from tennis on tv

cold beer...and  
cheese n' onion chips

hot muggy air...
sweat, settling on skin

as the storm rumbles
in the distance.

10.11pm Tuesday Jan. 2015

heatwave....continues
Jan 2015 · 1.1k
fracture...
betterdays Jan 2015
only the lonliest princess lived in the castle.
wandering,
from room to room....
but alas, no one else
lived there.

sometimes,
she thought she saw
someone in the garden

...but convinced herself
it was the wind...
            and stayed indoors.

only the the lonliesst
gardener boy
was left,
to tend the gardens,
overgrown, as they were.

sometimes,
he thought he saw some one in the windows of the castle

...but he could never be sure... so he stayed outdoors

so the days passed....
and the lonliest people
in the world lived, unknowingly,
within reach of each other.


and where was the
fairy-godmother...

...the one, who was meant
to put these lonely souls together....

she had gone to barbados
on holiday....
been hit by a falling coconut...
gotten amnesia
and was now making a living as waitress
...and wondering why
her back was itchy all the. time...
from where her wings
had retracted....
the moral.....
life does not always have a happy ending, stuff gets in the way...
or
...don't wait for someone else to create your happiness.
step outside your comfort zone and find it yourself.
Jan 2015 · 639
bumbling....
betterdays Jan 2015
in the house of bumbling,
frogs jump sidways
to avoid the talk
tense
with the things
unspoken....

in the house of bumbling
birds mime joy in silent cages
waiting for  life to smile...

in the house of bumbling
ants march in straight lines
hugging the walls
leaving poisoned crumbs
behind...

in the house of bumbling
the lizards no longer lounge
but busily repetitively clean
the cowebbed dark corners

in the house of bumbling
spiders have no parlours
****** no flies
they now knit cardigans
and read the words
of the wise


oh the house of bumbling
is a place of curious wondering
and sometimes is found
stumbling
in the reccesses of my mind

where and whence
it goes
when not residing with me
i do not know...

perhaps you may have
the delight
of the house of bumbling
staying the night
and removing the seriousness
of the plight

the one in which
you fight boredom
in the dark reaches
of the lonely night....
just some wordplay...
at work...
random word selected by
choosing book page line word  ie pick up a book go to page 117 count down or up to line 8  across to word 5
that word the theme or central word in your poem
in this case the word was
bumbling....such a delightful
word....
give it try.....it is a great writing exersice...especially
when feeling unispired.
betterdays Jan 2015
the jellied bioluminescense,
drifts and swhirls in an ****
of neon ecstasy...

out beyond the breakers

we sit on the beach
and watch,
with voyueristic fascination

as the sea makes whoopee!!
but oh it was beautiful....
Jan 2015 · 566
little voices...
betterdays Jan 2015
a little poem
of little thoughts
just waiting to be loved

a little poem
of little dreams
just waiting to be woken

a little poem
with a great big  voice
waiting to be spoken

a little poem
in a little cage
waiting to be free'd

a little poem
from little me
waiting for little you
with little hope of trending
little words...
can say so much
this speaks to my frustration
with my writing at present...
i don't need to trend...i know i write well....but ******
the little voice inside my head....wants a big fat trend...
Jan 2015 · 450
the scale
betterdays Jan 2015
balanced upon
the rim
of this waking firmament
the scale
dropped from
the hide of the dragon
that circles
far above the sky
orange red
and glistening yellow
it burns with fervour
bright, bright argent light
that dispells the softness
of the lingering night...

and the dragon circles
so far away....unaware
to us he has gifted
another day....
i remember reading a folk tale similar to this as a child
...it came to mind as i watched the sunrise this morning...
Jan 2015 · 416
the god of heavenly light.
betterdays Jan 2015
sometimes the god
would fold his wings
                  
kenneth slessor*

sometimes...
the god would,
fold his wings,
so as
to look less
terrible...

for when,
he stood,
with wings
outstretched,
spanning the heavens
width,
the strain...
of holding the stars
aloft
would show upon his
face,

a grimace of agony,
would crease and mar
perfection's smile.

so, sometimes
he, the god of,
heavenly light,
would fold his wings
and close his eyes,

so as not to see
the stars,
fall from the skies
and the dark night
encompass the world....

at these times
he chose, to be deaf
to the cries...
of the lesser beings,
as he rested from
the weight of might...

then resolute
he, the god,
of heavenly light
would stretch out his wings
of a mottled indigo hue, gather up
the stars and begin anew...

for what else is a,
god to do?...
kenneth slessor...an australian poet...
this quote comes from "the five visions of captain cook"
Jan 2015 · 514
would i could
betterdays Jan 2015
would i could
i would write you
a new beginning
a new once upon a time
a lifetime of joy and fullfillment
with a smattering
of sorrows for seasoning
small dissapointment
to measure victories against

would i could
i would erase all of this
put salve on the black dog's
bites
make fair the injustice
of  your loss
give you the hours, days,
years,
ripped from your hands...

have words that would
fill the empty spaces
in you...the hollowman

but i am not a diety,
just a friend, who holds
your crying body...
and claims to understand

would i could
i would turn back time
to before the hollowing
began....
and take more care
of the lives we lived
when we lived
back there

.......would i could.....would...
linked to earlier poem
(about March 2014)

the hollowman
...to watch a friend...almost destroyed by grief
is a hard thing indeed
Jan 2015 · 411
damn it!!!!
betterdays Jan 2015
argent light signals the new day
far to early for this befuddled mind...
a few more hours sleep
please.....

but no.....cats to be fed
humans too
washing, cleaning,
baking all sorts of things
need doing....

but the brain says no
stay in bed....
the body feels encased
in lead...

today...
i just don't want to play
can't i just warm the bench
sit on the fence....

the cat is trying to sit on
my face....so i think the answer is a resounding
NO.....

**** it....
Jan 2015 · 431
guilty as charged
betterdays Jan 2015
in the dim reaches
of the clouded night

at the time when the
old grandfather clock
has reached it's peak
and begins the downhill
run into another day

i sit in the summer heat
still, stullifying and steaming
with a bottle of *****
straight from the freezer

in the gloom i read the memories of the kitchen
table scuffs and scars
and pour a glass of
clear *****.....

take  a sip....and let
the russian coldness
flirt with my tongue
dance with my throat
and bellyflop...
                     into my stomach

out to see lightning strikes
a jagged rip in the sky
and i turn...and see
the two cats....
watching me ....drinking
*****....at one am...
still too hot
still on holidays
but still should not make
a habit of this....
Jan 2015 · 775
poem for my lover
betterdays Jan 2015
My body
Your playground
Our delight

I do not speak
This truth often enough
I play with the words

I forget you need these words
They are your strong trees,
Sun and rain and soil

I  forget the tall strong branches
that shelter us...all

Are made of small things
that still need, sustenance
to grow.

I do not decline to speak this truth,
not from harshness or forgetfulness.

But simply because,
it is before me always
Like breath or hope
It is in the air and always deep within the essence of my being

I have hope that this my life
That these my better days
Sing the truth in alleuhja chorus's
For the world to see and dance to...

but yet we all need,
these truths whispered often into a waiting ear....

You my my oak,
You are my one true love,
My joy, my hope,
my friend.



Your body
My playground
Our delight.
Jan 2015 · 1.6k
too hot to handle....
betterdays Jan 2015
you mumble and maunder
all through your afternoon
nap....
never quite still,
but not thrashing about...

and then you wake,
tired and grumpy
all sweat and stickyness

two hours of tired
and five years of sassiness
standing before me
with thunderclouds for
eyebrows....
                      you want!!!....

but what you get is
a big hug a quick dash
to the next door neighbors pool....

please god....when will this
heatwave end???
not much sleep....hot sticky
5 year old....we all needed
a quick dunking to cool down....
betterdays Jan 2015
brittle thoughts,
in fragile times.

brittle bones
and stick and stones,

leave marks upon
the  mind.

speak softly,
to the broken heart
speak gently,
to the shattered mind,

lest we leave,
a generation,
of maimed souls
on the road behind.

kindness becomes
the creed ...
each to another,
for under each man's skin,
beats the heart of brother.

and ideology
is just a thought...
hard pressed,
in overdrive...

be not a drone
think now,
outside the hive...

to the individual,
that lives within.

the one with
little, brittle
thoughts,
residing,
hiding,
biding,
to break,
the soul
and ****
the hope.
shatter
the mind,
find the rope,
take the life
and cause
strife.....

so speak softly, talk gently,
create hope, nurture life become unity, in this
and every life.....

or brittle anger wins...
like a vengeful voodoo
master with a swag of
pins...
the word....was brittle
i wrote a stream of conciousness style poem...
and then went back and gave it punctuation marks
................................................
great challenge...ellie
well done.
Jan 2015 · 518
vagabond....
betterdays Jan 2015
you once were magnificent,
standing strong and tall,
looking out over,
your world,
with quiet serenity.

i see this now,
in the lines of grey,
that sit upon your visage,
worn to a soft velvet skin,
by the years of
going out and coming...

i see the marks your children left,
when they were taken.
i see the patches
of hurt from when you
were forsaken and
given to others,
for purposes,
not natural to you.

and in your heart....
i see the willingness
to try to begin anew,
to be reshaped, resolved
into something of use...

i see the years of
casual abuse,
of scrapes and distress
your heart being lost
in the multitude
of words spoken,
around you,
but never to you.





                              driftwood....


i see much, in you,
in your fine grain,
the salt of many trips,
in the rough edges,
sand from many seas
and in the knotted places,
the homes of those vagabonds,
you did freight for free....

and there worn away almost
by wave and time...
the face of your former keeper
still smiling....
frozen in place.....
forever lost...
but remembering
you were once magnificent
Jan 2015 · 491
poetry calls....
betterdays Jan 2015
poetry calls to me
like the sky beckons a bird

i cannot but concede
to my inner being
and launch myself
with expectant hope
of a good outcome...

and then swoop
and dart with
exuberance
when
my hope
becomes miraculous
flight....
up amongst the clouds
betterdays Jan 2015
float my body
over
the sea of stones**

each one,
a memory
composed from
the mountain song
of my life....
calved into the river
of love.

to swim away
from me,
in a mission
of exploration
to the rims of reality.

float my body
over
the sea of stones.

that i may see
again,
the places i went,
the lives i lived

and then,
lay me down
in their cold embrace.
that i may ,
once more
live in the hard edged
ecstasy,
of my juvenescence.
the jagged days
of,
middle age
and the
slowgrindingdown
of
the latter days...

let me settle down
to
sleep,
amongst the
whispering rattle
of the stones,
as they
sing a lulluby
to my aged, decaying bones...
first line
borrowed with thanks from....
Steven Hutchison's
untitled piece.
Check out his work...
a talented writer indeed
Jan 2015 · 504
not in kansas....
betterdays Jan 2015
somewhere......
....a man sits
legs dangling,
over the edge
of a precipice.

wrangling with
the thoughts
running rampant
within his mind.

the cool breeze
dries the tears
that fall,
as his hands
throw pebbles
and his eyes
track their fall.

and in the puddles
left by ealier rain
a chemical reaction
occurs...
a glassiene rainbow
appears to form...

as he falls,
pebble like through
the sky,
he thinks he hears
bluebirds....flying...
                  way up high...


--------------------------------
*in memory ....
for J..... who lept from The Gap. 11 years ago to day.....
may he have found his
red slippers and made his way
home...r.i.p.
The Gap.....a site near  the eastern headland of Sydney Harbour.....beautiful yet a well known spot for the number of suicides that have taken place....
Jan 2015 · 411
and yet....
betterdays Jan 2015
this body electric,
has sung far too long.

now the fuse has blown
the lights have gone.
so now she stands in the dark,
the blessed, blessed dark,

slowly, she undresses
removing,
her stage show finery,
glitter and glam.
climbs wearily into
her favourite flannel pyjamas
and takes herself off to bed
with a nice cup of cocoa
...
and yet she remembers
in the quiet stillness
how desperately,
how completely,
he loved her....

and the scent of  flowers
and pine woods
fill the air...

the body electric sleeps now,
with tears upon wrinkled
cheeks...
Jan 2015 · 433
without memories
betterdays Jan 2015
two things
have not memory.
a stone tossed in a well,
a raindrop in flight.
....

there may be more,
but of these two i am sure.
.....
to live without memory,
is to live without hope.
for without memory,
there is nothing,
to compare the now to....
Jan 2015 · 773
one night only
betterdays Jan 2015
over night
an old world slips
into the reccesses,
the shadows of the mind.

and a new,
regenerate one,
begins....
with fairground brillance
it calls to us to...
climb aboard the carousel
and grasp,
the golden ring...

all stardust and spangles,
acrobatic feats in...
big clown shoes.
if brave enough,
a chance to smell,
the breath of a toothless roaring lion....
from inside the magicians
spell...

outside....
in lambent glow,
the elephants, sway slow and remember the dying of the night...

           as the years parade by                                   in a circadian flow....
Jan 2015 · 570
zig zagety zoom...
betterdays Jan 2015
upon the thorny cane,
of a rose's trailing bush,
walks a lady bird.

all dressed in orange-red
n' black....
she toils in a bustling way,
to the very tip of the wood
and then after a moment's
thoughtful balancing....

she alights....
incogurously beautiful,
as she all but hovers,
in the warm rose scented air.

and then she sets her course,
for who knows where
and zig zags her way...
to over there...

happiness bumbling
along on glossy spotted wing
Jan 2015 · 1.7k
all things are possible
betterdays Jan 2015
in my child's eye...
it is possible,
for a frog, to choose to fly.
a dog to dance and
cats to swim.

it is possible,
to build a castle,
up into the sky.
to converse with stars.
for elephants to drive,
tiny cars.

it is possible,
that the world,
is without sin
and washed clean,
each morning,
which is to be met
with an insouciant grin.

it is possible,
to befriend the child
you just met....
no matter what creed
or colour.

it is possible,
to forgive
and live,
without regret
and to sleep
at night
without any stress.

it is possible,
at that age,
to know ....
a dollar found upon
the sidewalk,
is a treasure
of great proportions,
if made into,
lollies and shared,
with friends.

it is possible...
that fish can write stories
and possums delight

it is possible to count
a monkey as a friend.

it is possible to ride
kangaroos and
adventure to Timbuctoo

it is possible,
to love spaggetti
as much as your mother.
to make the new kitten,
your brother.

it is possible,
to love your dad
even when he is silly
or mad...


all this is possible...
                   ....and much more
when you are just,
one year, past four...
                      ...and you have a
sunny, lovable disposition
and the world has yet to
find the time, to revise
the freedoms of your amazingly beautiful mind...

            it is possible....
        and in many ways
          so very probable...
writing this while watching
my boy Tod make more new friends.......and create a city
from sugar packets, cultery .....and salt and pepper shakers....at a brunch picnic..
God kids they are just amazing...
bless
Dec 2014 · 387
NYE2015(wheehee)
betterdays Dec 2014
the metal teeth
of this year's counting,
gnash and groan,
grating slowly through...
the final hours
before, their midnight demise.

the world takes one
last look,
one more reprise....

like the overbearing actor,
one more accolade,
one more encore,
dear friends, hold me in
your heart.... once more
before i am "resting" forever

old and weary,
the day stumbles
to his wake
of a billion chemical fireflies
dancing in the night
as the adoring public sighs

and rockets blast with
daring might.
people sing refrains of
old lang syne,

a blurting, blurring drunken delight..
a bachanal of intimate sharing of iresolute promises that are,
sealed with a ***** kiss

then... old man is gone...
and in his place
a fresh hopeful face
begins tick-ticking along...
happy new year to you all
I am ensconced in airconditioned heaven
32 storeys up looking
out over the Sydney Harbour Bridge....and will be here
tonight to watch the amazing fireworks show...
(family included) prime..
cost a packet....but it is another notch off the bucket
list...
Will more than likely,
be way too drunk to write tonite...
so all my friends and readers
weehee away we go...
new year...wishes for
inspiration and courage...
to write with open hearts
and read with open minds..
cheers beers
to  one an all!!!!
betterdays Dec 2014
"She speaks poinards and every word stabs"*
Much Ado About Nothing
                            Shakespeare*

Her voice, a silken cord,
wrapped around your neck

Her intent, harm,
a slow lingering death
by rememberance
of her disdain....

By the point of her tongue
You are lanced,  again
and again.

You would not think her
an asassin....
of the highest decree,
as she sits prim and proper,
taking tea.

But stray from the narrow
path she sets..
and slow scandulous death
will beset you.
Make no mistake...
She is out to get you.

Her tongue a poinard,
Her mind, a machination,
camouflaged with coy,
polite inclination.

Her body, allurement to
ambuscade.
And then the death of
a thousand cuts begins.

Be you male, female
or mixed gender
she does not discriminate
the sharp tongued assassin
lives to win...

To cut you down, slice by
slice, by slice..
That is Madame Gossip's
much loved vice.
as part of Frank's wonderful challenge...
i took this line from Shakespeares Much Ado..
(i have been preparing text for summer residential schools)...and applied it's eloquence to the queen bee
problem my niece is having
whereby shechas been targeted for obe of those whispering cyber bully campaigns by her local queen bee....fortunately
she andxhercgroup of friends are smart enough to not become victims.
but it made me think on words as weapons...and thus
this offering....
Dec 2014 · 943
folded
betterdays Dec 2014
i am,
origami....
all mountain folds
and valley creases.

most days,

something, intriguing
and exquisitely beautiful.

on others,

a piece of creased paper,
lying discarded....
at the bottom of the bin.
Dec 2014 · 894
we are thieves, together
betterdays Dec 2014
on this day
when the sky
resembles god's bellybutton
filled with fuzzy
only he knows
where it comes from lint

and the ground, sodden
and squelchingly muddy
and puddles abound

on this day....we look to
each other and find old
board games and puzzles to
play...kerplunk, unbarrelled
monkeys...snakes and ladders.....and jenga
all entertain...as we play
just us three....

(for nanna there is cricket
and napping)

now it is mid afternoon
and we are tumble together
like monkeys on the couch
tod...sleeping thumb in mouth...and us wrapped together....beginning the slow forplay that will
come to fruition tonight...
we have stolen this day...
and are happy....in doing so
Dec 2014 · 427
boxed set
betterdays Dec 2014
we move
             s-l-o-w-l-y
                            today
d
  r
   a
     g
       g
         i
          n
             g
                yesterdays excess
about, in still gurgling        
                                   tummies and pickled synapses....

even the boy, stagnates in
front of new videos....
we are lizards on the lounge
me pretending to be engrossed in a new book
him.....awaiting the first
ball of the cricket...

we are a boxed set of...
self induced apathy...
the day pearl grey and
crying....
                 forgives us our
                                        sloth....
as i hear my bed beckoning..
Boxing Day 2014...
Dec 2014 · 537
the best of the season
betterdays Dec 2014
it is christmas
we sit laughing admist
an **** of wrapping paper
eating croissants and red fruit compote....(family secret recipe)

watching our boy cycle
about on his new red trike
with nana ensconced in
her new whicker chair...

the air full of carols and christmas cheer ....

later, we will again open
our house to those with
orphans and the festivities
will begin.....

but for now....it is us....
wishing all of you
the best of the season...
be blessed...be safe...
be happy....
                 merry christmas
Dec 2014 · 498
whispers in my ear...
betterdays Dec 2014
stymied,
i sit in the library
surrounded by words
but ....yet
               nothing of worth
comes to me....
instead i write this missive
all the while knowing....
it is the drivel of a mind
confounded....stumped
....run dry...

it occurs to me...i write
more of the act of putting
pen to paper,
than aught else at present

and that i well may be
caught in a meta maze
of my own making....

i feel my wells have run dry
and what i write here and now
is but mud and slime scraped from the murky depths.....

i excuse this muck  as the product of a long year....
not enough time
distractions of the
overly emotional type

but am secretly scared
that i have come to the
end of my ink
that i will succumb to
poesis nullaris
and not ever write
                                    again....

or worse....write
dreck, drivel, and bad rhyme

stymied......
                 stymied
whispers the gnome within
my ear...
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