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Dec 2014 · 1.6k
perch
betterdays Dec 2014
i perch
like a mindful, tiny bird's spirit,
on the very cusp of the milkyway.

a mere wisp,
of an evocative thought,
a dreams first seed,
a speck of fairydust, 
in the iris,
of tentative belief.

i have,
yet
to travel the spirals
of the windmill mind,
yet
to be fortified by conjecture,
ratified by trial of fire.

my inchoation began,
at the galaxies birth, 
yes
i am a by-product of
the big bang.
and
yes i too, 
have seen
how and why, 
god made the heavens,
such an alluring shimmer
of blue,
and why
all things,
great and small.
need the spark,
the desire to accede, 
to the wont,
to ascend to
something
higher and more profound.

i am,
external,
internal,
eternal,
grace,

i am
in the tears of
sad sorrow,
i am
in the magic of
unadultered joy
in
the laugh of a child, 
the flight of a bee, 
the glimpse of tommorrow
the purr of a cat, 
the bark of a dog,
the roar of a lion, 
the ribbet of a frog, 
in an old womans glance,
the first kiss of new lovers,
in a babes first smile,
in the fragrance of flowers
left in memorium,
in each and every
spark
of  flighted fireworks.

i am
to be found
for i am
hope 
and
i abide eternally,
in all.
this is an older piece, but i wanted to repost it
in response to the events
in Australia over the past week......
Dec 2014 · 407
sisterkin
betterdays Dec 2014
unthinkingly
                     i wrote you a
christmas card....
it was not until i went to address it....i remembered
                    you are dead

it is now going on nine months
    ...      .....since ....    .. .....

but still i find you
                    just about
                          everywhere

and now.... what am i to do with this **** christmas card....
          sisterkin....i miss you...
i still greive....for my friend
and mentor sue...
Dec 2014 · 830
my trusty steed and i
betterdays Dec 2014
tis but a rusted memory
now
but once a child's pride and
beloved toy....

fire engine-red trike,
riden for miles, and miles
and across lands of
imagined adventure....

feet pumping, wind in face
bell clattering, tink-tink-tink
and screams of pure...
unadulterated JOY

now a shadow,
draped in old hessian cloth
bell silent, rust weeping
and frozen to the ground

red trike,
i ride you still
in my dreams
we still slay dragons
tho now it seems
that dragons have many
guises, many lives
and that in this life
of adultness...i am in
dragons...sometimes
not often, but sometimes win
we have bought tod a trike
like thing for christmas....
made me think of the three times handed down...three wheeler i had as a child...
and other things....
Dec 2014 · 491
musement likes company
betterdays Dec 2014
beyond tired,
beyond sleep,
far down the winding track
of insombulance
at the forked tongue place,
known as...
the insomniac's state.....

there is a gilded room
where poets do keep
their muses,
fair and unruly...

and those,
who think deep,
philosophical notions

and they wait,
with lethivian patience,
but little grace...
in the shadows,

...until invited,
by sleepless souls,
to share,
wine and cheese
and a word or two....

then, they muses all,
are delighted
to discuss, at length,
all manner of things....

and suggest
topics that,
need be,
revealed,
re-examined,
rewritten.

....and to talk about,
how,
to make readers,
smitten with the words,
you have enscribed,
the ideas you extault
and extoll,
the emotion you extract
from your very soul.

but when the dawn breaks
they, the muses all,
take their words
wrapped up
in scrap paper
and off to bed they crawl..

leaving you, the scribe
dark shadowed of eye
to cope with the agnst
of it all....

fickle hearted beings...
one and all....
       but oh, how i crave
their company...
writing about writing...
meta...me
Dec 2014 · 1.2k
jellyfish writing
betterdays Dec 2014
beneath the daily noise
is the quiet sighing me
floating on a current
of poetic alchemy

i convert the grind
and bustle
into
calm serenity
and post the golden lies
on here, for prosperity.

and then with bluebottle
ink and jellyfish grace
i float away...
to write the insanity of another day..
leaving but a trace
of saltwater tears
in my chosen place...
Dec 2014 · 1.0k
i smell daffodils
betterdays Dec 2014
as the rain slides  down
the window pane
and the moondrifts from
cloud to cloud

i remember my first
flatmate...

Jerome,
who tooks his smalls
home to be washed by
his mother,
who was fastidious about
trimming his ginger...brown
beard, but not so fastidious
in cleaning the sink...
the owner of Muffin, the budgeriagar who survived
being vaccumed up once,
but not twice....
Jerome, full of gay angst
and closeted pride...
who taught me...
love is not an animal
that can be leashed
but is a thing,
of wild untamed beauty...

Jerome....who gave love
in buckets and bunches
of floppy daffodils...

i lost him as a friend, many
years past......but some nights drear and dark
he pops by....to say cheerio
late nite wine and sad thoughts....
Dec 2014 · 749
In Martin Place
betterdays Dec 2014
sun rises over
ever growing
mound of flowers
in Martin Place
where people died
and people cry
for a loss
not yet defined...

at bus stops and
railway stations
hearts heavy with sorrow
and large with compassion
ride together in a stand
against hate...

and the news stations
rerun information
and families cry in
relief and grief
and the world walks on by

in Martin Place.....
               ...... in Martin Place
responses to the end  of the
Martin Place siege...
people are laying flowers for the two lives lost(the gunman is also deaceased)
... a twitter campaign
# i'llridewithyou.  offers a safe ride to moslem comuters by partnering with fair minded travellers and
has trended worldwide..
the media regurfitates the same information and is somewhat obscene in their desire to be the first with new interviews
and the world ....while compassionately interested
keeps spinning....
and those involved...will be forever changed
my prayers are with them...
Dec 2014 · 650
we all heavy....but
betterdays Dec 2014
can we be
friends?
brother & sister?
kin?

can we
carry,
eachother.

broken or whole,
intact or damaged.

and let's be honest,
none are wholly intact
and all are,
brokenly damaged.

but,
be that as it may.

let us,
carry
eachother,
for we are,
(what passes for)
humanity.

let us carry            each other
across the wastelands, through the high waters,
over mountains,
and
through valleys,

until,
we find the place
of
  joyful reconciliation.
          

can we do that,
people?
can we
put the *******
aside
and
do that?
Dec 2014 · 1.7k
tough...love...tough
betterdays Dec 2014
she bleeds,
hard and dark, bitterwords
and angry scowls,
from the depths of her lazyboy chair.

age has stolen
her laughter, wit and compassion....
pain is her worldy possesion,
it blinds her to all else.


she used to laugh and smile and i miss that, so much,
and i wish that, my boy
would have those memories
but we have become,
the whipping boy,
to her frailty,
her scroogelike attitudes,
her impatience to,
be done with it all....


this is my sacrifice,
my burden,
willingly, lovingly,
shared by my lover and child...

but, oh! somedays,
it is like,
carrying a bag,
overfull,
of sharded glass,
that pierces my back
and stabs at my heart.
Dec 2014 · 684
balancing the scales
betterdays Dec 2014
ten thousand joys,
both small and big,
sit behind my lips,
in the crinkled crowsfeet
corners of my eyes
and fizz, fizz, fizz....
like sherberted,
fireworks,
within my brain.

ten thousand sorrows,
curve my spine,
scratch at my heart,
and sit as,
tears unshed...
in brimming dams,
behind my eyes.

ten thousand hopes
rush like oxygen
along ...
the arteries and veins.

ten thousand wrong decisions,
grind at my joints...
and make my knees,
click and pop,
in this muggy weather.

ten thousand right decisions
stare back at me
from your eyes
so like mine....

and make me...
count the joys,
forget the sorrows,
live the hopes....
and strive..
to make the best decisions
i can....
and forgive those that,
i have stuffed up...

ten thousand...
i love you's,
will never be enough.
Written for my son Tod.
Inspired by the writing of Jack Kornfeild;
We are  all beset in our lifes,
by ten thousand joys
and ten thousand sorrows.
Open your eyes
and become a witness
to the mystery of incarnation.
Let your story move on.
It is never too late.
Open your eyes...and see...
life differently...
Jack Kornfeld...
Dec 2014 · 543
squeek...
betterdays Dec 2014
quiet as a mouse,
in a corner
thats me,

it is simply this,
i have nothing to say
of any great worth,
at present.

so i shall sit,
quiet in a corner
chewing on cheese,
sipping red wine,
(decadant mousy, me.)
watching the world
pass by.....
                 squeek,squeek...
not too busy,
not word blocked
just happy to watch,
for now....
Dec 2014 · 433
apathy for free...
betterdays Dec 2014
there is a beggar,
in my town.
he is the most,
generous man around.
with soft harmonic blues,
and gentle souful smile,
he gives, away, for free.
cups of apathy,
and scraps of disinterest,
to all who just, pass him by...
Dec 2014 · 581
wonderous...
betterdays Dec 2014
the urge to question
impossiblities
comes strongly to me
now...

i stare into the water glass
wondering how the water
feels about it's temporary
confinment....

i wonder what cats dream
about....and if they think us sane....

i wonder in the male praying
mantis goes willingly, or unknowingly, to his orgiastic
death.

i wonder why i spend time
wondering why.

i wonder whether the fountain head anticipates
the freedom of the see...

i wonder if the echinda's rattling spines keep with
awake when trying to nap.

i wonder why, you chose me.....
Dec 2014 · 1.8k
the convict church
betterdays Dec 2014
silence
sadness
regret
remorse
fortitude
and defiance
permeate
the
bricks
made
by
convicts
for this
old church
so far far
away
from
english
shores
and on
the pews
so narrowly
wrought
they
listened
to the
chaplain
say
heaven
was the
place to
seek
repentence
was the
key....
and on
the cobbled
floor
they
scratched
their marks
before
they
made
their way
back to
the convict
barracks
the hell
of each
and every
day....
a church, built by convivcts
from floor to ceiling
the convicts were penned
in pew boxes the pews themselves...less than six inches wide....
the convicts etched there unitials or marks into the brick cobblestones...while "praying"....
these marks are different to
the brickmaker marks inset
into the clay bricks made to build walls etc...these marks
were made to help tally the
number of bricks made by
each convict....
we stopped at this church
as we make our way home from the mountains....it history gives it a sad and austere feel...
Dec 2014 · 494
waddle...
betterdays Dec 2014
alright world...
give me a break
can't you see...
i've got all my ducks
in a row....
so what, if there is
a decided...
weave in their waddle...
still working through...
the after effects of last nights
wake.....
Dec 2014 · 489
a temporary release
betterdays Dec 2014
in the cool clear air
of the mountain night,
as the stars glimmer,
with long ago exploded light.

i let go....
the woman,
of ninety three years
i let go...
the friends
who had shorter lives...
i let go...
those whose burdens, i bear.

i leave my salt upon
the dust.

and seed memories
to the wind....

knowing...tommorrow...
i will be desperate...
to find them,
again.
grief...all encompassing... after wine....in the midnight air...
Dec 2014 · 1.2k
the honeysuckle gate...
betterdays Dec 2014
white posts with red eyes
flash by with driven monotony
the trees a green-grey blur
in the early morning mist.

the beat of the wipers
poens the door to
memories...
as we climb into the moutains....

spiralling sprinklers,
and hiding before tea....
a bedroom of purple,
bbqs for dinner....
lavender patches,
the home of master jack,
the old black cat....

silver hair like a curtain
to her waist...
a silver brush, always,
one hundred strokes.

the smell of tonic and gin,
russian toffees melting
on my tongue...
jam jars awaiting filling...
and
a caress,
with bony fingers,
on a young  girls cheek.
a smile gentle and knowing.
a wave by the honeysuckle
gate...
god bless aunty tilly...she made it to ninety three...
Dec 2014 · 500
going back....
betterdays Dec 2014
tommorrow
i travel backwards
again
to the town of my sculpting

hard cold mountain edged
meeting the silent lament
of the grieving sea....

small minded mercies
given in pious charity
heart of salt, ****** fruit...
made the clarifying  fast
made the chill last....

grew the best apricots
i  ever tasted on the downside hill of the local
necropolis......
yet the single cherry in our yard....never gave a lonesome globe....

and the timber jinkers sang my soul to sleep....
rested for the days next burden.... and the hard chip-
chipping of the sculptors hand against my marble heart....
heading back to a family funeral.....
the town i grew up in was a parochial place....made my life as a teen...hardwork.
Dec 2014 · 482
the museum is closed
betterdays Dec 2014
sitting at the old oak table
sipping on cold redemption
thinking back to when i was
not some one else, but far less than myself...

turning memories over to
discover the fossiled  id
and the ambered ego"
damaged, dismembered,
by the time of slow, low moving sadness...
that created glacial time..


now, exploring
the barren forest,
like an inquisitive tourist
hoping to find the keys
to the locks that i left behind
whyfor i will never know...

but the former self has hidden the  relics all too well....
(and we bless them to
their  hidden eternity)

and the cages remain sound
the lack of treasure, remains
unfound.

...and i .....and i....and i
can retrace my steps...back
to the days ....of serenity...
and forsake the turbulance
for  the  promise of sunnier days......

sitting at the old oak table
sipping on redemption
...warm and refined....
turning....beauty over
to see....your love reflected
...
Dec 2014 · 436
oasis...
betterdays Dec 2014
poems, poetry, words
are but mirages, today
wavering,
on a distant horizon
nebulous, yet so enticing

and i,
the thirsty traveller,
caught out,
hatless,
in the sandy dessert...
Dec 2014 · 791
highest order
betterdays Dec 2014
as i walk past
the almost god of wrinkly
things and his new apprentice,
lying wrapped about each
other, in food filled plumpness, lying sate,
in the morning sun....

i can not but help ponder,
a house cat,
loved through and through, is probably,
one of the highest levels
of reincarnation......
no offense meant.....but by golly they have it good.
Dec 2014 · 1.5k
sparrows
betterdays Dec 2014
sparrows, three
now four, sit
chirking,
on the cherrywood
branch....
if i were a fanciful poet,
i would suggest they gossip,
but i think it is more, base
than that.....
it appears that three, vie
for the attentions of one...
it is then, a matter of courtship...
as they bounce
and fly and sing.....
and me a ******,
...marveling.
at the ardour of the dusty fluffs of feathers
....and the uncanny joy,
their antics bring....
must be the romance,      
fluttering in the air....
Nov 2014 · 767
spent(sensual)
betterdays Nov 2014
i am left
with out want
or passion.

.....spent.....

yet when lifetimes
ago,
but, just moments,

i was the eye,
of a malestrom,
caught between,
the fall of water
from the shower's head
and the waterfall
of lust,

converted into love....

as hips ******
and receded,
in waves, tidal
i became....
but a delta,
for the rushing tides
and we met,
                    as liquid.
Nov 2014 · 1.2k
tiger(challenge # 2)
betterdays Nov 2014
tiger, he was,
could not honestly,
tell you the breed...
he was a mispent afternoon's produce....
but by the stock of his body
and the smile on his face
some one's prize corgi,
was now in disgrace...

allways a smile and a little
yip-yap...
he was my childhood,
of running and jumping,
just because, we could.
the picking of blackberries,
the finding of mushrooms,
wandering along creeks
and afternoon naps,
with his soft furriness,
under my palm....

mottled through, ginger
and blue,
with an under-carriage,
supposedly white,
but more often muddy or dustily brown....

a co-conspirator of the highest degree....
would  sit under the table
and eat pumpkin for me.
but not the beans....
they made him smell...

his tongue so long and pink,
his ears ***** and mobile, tail was docked,
but his *** it did wag,
with such a unique style.

he was my childhood,
but then,
he was gone...
off to chase rabbits up
on the farm...

good boy tiger....good boy
you where my protector
with you i came to no harm...
marian....again you have given me the gift of childhood memories....
thank you.
Nov 2014 · 535
settling down to read.
betterdays Nov 2014
keyan blend
in coffee ***
                             sun smiling
                             high in sky

maramalade
of crisp muffin
                            
                          sea sparkiling
                          breeze cooling

lawn mowers
cutting green
                    
                           my boys
                          gone fishin
                        
                        
lazy sunday
has begun..
Nov 2014 · 348
a waking dream....
betterdays Nov 2014
between the early morning
calls of waking birds
there is a calmness

as you lie in bed,
reveling,
in the potential of the coming day....
right now, with lover asleep
beside you....
all is right and good.....
Nov 2014 · 643
starlet
betterdays Nov 2014
sadness
seeps
silently
from
beneath
her
lashes
spreading
salted
w­ater
down
her
cheeks,
sighing
she
swipes
the
offending
sorrow
aside...
smiles
­and
steps up
into
the
startling
bright
spotlight
to
sing
the
saddest
of
songs
......
Nov 2014 · 988
the house @ book corner.
betterdays Nov 2014
it was only a little house,
two bedrooms, small in space, a kitchen, bathroom
and living area..
some woul call it quaint,
others run-down and dilapidated...

...but it was
a happy place....even if it
sat alone ...bar a jacaranda tree...out in the middle of
a drygrass sea...

on the outside, the paint
had peeled and the boards
had begun to warp...
the yard was dry brown
grass and dryer red dust,
the roof, corrugated tin
was dull with age....

the door, was once painted
a bright hopeful blue
but now faded like old
denim... on the verandah
two chairs a table.....and
an old cattledog....
the bell, a suprising ******...


but inside that ramshackle
house... that stood by luck
and will alone....

was a home....filled to the brim with love....
the old couple who lived there...
still held hands ....still looked
at each other with love and
longing.....still danced to the old record player most nights....
still slept wrapped in each others arms....
still bickered and fought
then made up....with a lasting passion....
still wished for, more days
together in the sun....

these are my memories
of my aunt beth and uncle
wilf.....
and the house,
they made a home....
out in the middle of nowhere....
for marian's. challenge #1.
we only went to visit these relatives, childless, but so
entrancing a handful of times .....they made an impression....
the title....is not the true address of the farm...but more an allusion to the moral held loosely within these words.....the outside
does not ever portray the inside....of a book, house or indeed a human being....
not meaning to be patronizing....just explaining
myself.
Nov 2014 · 426
southbound...
betterdays Nov 2014
when i was young
i knew love.....
then  i lost it
left it on  southbound train
thinking
it, he would relent,
from the stubborn position
he, it had talked himself,
itself into, but that did not
happen...
i tried to find love,
i waited for his return
i asked for it
at the lost and found window
but nothing came of that

perhaps,
i should not
have been so adamant,
so stubborn in my views...

perhaps, we both should
of tried to understand
the meaning of love...
instead of insisting
that love was a
bargaining chip
with which we would
have the upperhand...

i lost a friend.... one with whom, i went through the machinations of making love....without understanding the creation
of relationship....is more than the pressing of skin...
left them
on a south bound train.. my
youthful arrogance....
and demands bound them
to the seat...
i never knew love...
i  did not understand...

i now stand often,
on the platform of the
station....and wonder....
writing exercise....
Nov 2014 · 575
little man...
betterdays Nov 2014
little man,
you are, skipping stones,
across the millpond,
of your mother's heart.

you are not a monkey
in the jungle
or a superhero in flight
you are breakable,
not undestructable...
and we are not always
there when you jump...

as much as i would like to be
we sit at the hospital,
tod, my five year old
has fallen/jumped from
the tree he was climbing...
one big scrape along his leg
a suspected greenstick fracture of the radius...
and lots of babble about flying.....
god preserve my sanity...
i fear...this may be one
of many visits ...
postscript.....next day one sore and sorry little man
who has learnt a valuable msg and one mother sighing
a breath of relief no fracture
just scrapes and bruises...
28/11/14
Nov 2014 · 552
the house
betterdays Nov 2014
my mother was
the kitchen of our house
the place of practical, purposeful sustenance
and my father,
the useless, flapping, broken
back door,
that was ripped away one
night in a storm...
gone forevermore

my mother's father, the strong beams, hardwood,
that held us altogether,
kept the roof over our head
held out the night....

my mother's sister, the soft
places to fall, to cuddle in to
to cry and bawl...

and us the kids, all three
i hope, we were the joy
the bright, painted things
the hope for bigger,
better days....
the windows that,
allowed the sun's gentle rays.

we were the laughter,
that i know....
as we grew,
out past the rafters ....
and into ourselves.

my mother was the hearth
around,
which we all where
warmed,
my mother,
was the architect
of how the house,
was reformed...
after the storm
and gave us all a strength
of beam and a go get the world gleam.

the house, was a metaphor,
for the childhood days,
understood, more and more now,
with the passing of days.
inspired by another poem on site....my apologies i read the poem yesterday, but cannot
find it again....it was based on the prompt of writing some one as a house or structure...
betterdays Nov 2014
i watch
with quiet intensity
as he, my man,
planes smooth as piece of lumber

because of the heat
he is shirt less and wears
shorts and work boots...
he is unaware of my scrutiny

long smooth strokes,
from one end of the board
to the other, create a swaying motion,
through his tanned torso
a flexing in his hips and
thighs and bunch of his
taut calfs....
but it is the rhythm and
curving of the long muscles
of his back that....has  me
entranced, and in need
of either a cold shower
or a fast and ***** session
in the bedroom.....

i choose the latter...and make my need known...
Nov 2014 · 583
tutelage
betterdays Nov 2014
today, my friend,

teach me in the ways
of joy,

i have had lessons enough
in sorrow,

i do not desire to learn the ways of anger.

so please, teach me joy.

i promise, i will learn,
with thoughtful, thoughtless abandon.
Nov 2014 · 815
callous growth
betterdays Nov 2014
bone...
clicking..
fine china flicking..
cracking, shattering..
greenstick fracture..
stalk, greengrass  waving, growing, changing, cutdown
fine inscision, muscle, mulch
resow, regrow meld together
memories flow, memories flow
bone
clicking, aching, rasping,
shaking
back bone pointing, picking
etching time.
line by line...
until the callous grows
Nov 2014 · 693
the art of mercy
betterdays Nov 2014
the art of mercy,
is not a hard thing,
to learn...

like pontilism,
you start...
with one small dot,
one act of kindness,
a smile, a word, a change
of heart,
to this add more,
build a picture of caritas....
shaded with compassion
and thoughtful deeds.

paint then, a new canvas
using, broad strokes of time
and heartfelt tears....
be magmanimous,
with colour,
care and altruism,
be bold and brave
with actions,
that come from
your need,
to see this world
as a legacy of love....

then, when you have mastered that,
take up your pencil
and draw,
in fine lined, forbearance and clemency,
a self portrait of forgiveness,
for we all need mercy....
and reminders,
to be of a heart most merciful...

then take your palette,
and new found skills
and become
an artist....
of the street,
teaching, giving showing mercy
at every turn or bus-stop,
every street corner....
under bridges, in tall towers
scrawl mercy, on walls
and sidewalks....
paint the town....
                   paint the town.....

the art of mercy....
               is simply,
                             beautiful,
               to behold,
                             at work,
               it changes,
                           just about,
               everything......
for the better...
inspired by, the creep that loves you...they set a  challenge to redefine something for the
betterment of the world...
this twists the definition
of mercy.....so it sorta fits
Nov 2014 · 425
storm god...
betterdays Nov 2014
the god of rain
just struck his drum
once twice and then once
more.....
the sound reverberates
and cracks the clouds
then down, down
pour his minions
drop by thousand drop...
to attack the land
with grand and furious passion.....
the sky alive with water
warriors and giant rattling
spears,
of light and anger,
hurled from cloud to cloud...

we watch, entranced from
our bunker, by the sea
as this god rails at the world
with mispent futility....

for with the rising of the sun
the night storms god... day is done...
betterdays Nov 2014
S Creeker

Just have to say
read your poems
and it was a wild ride.
from the hunter
onwards,
you laid down your words
in a pattern,
i read as truth...

at the moment,
your book here is small,
but i hope you stay....
and create a sheaf
of poetry so freakin tall.

you take me...
where i have never been,
or likely to go
and with style
and flair.....
i see it all.....
i be a ******, standing, gaping in the corner there.

so please,
take these words,
as  a compliment due...
and encouragement,
to let me again
ride pillion
on your mind's wild side.
as part of the dear blank challenge....
founs this new to here writer
great panache and style
give them a look-see
Nov 2014 · 989
shipwright.
betterdays Nov 2014
some days i write
rafts and barks,
kayaks and corricles.

some days, a mere log,
set hopefully upon the water.

some days, dories and yachts
pinnaces, sloops, ketches and tugboats

on rare occassions,
great two and three masted ships,
schooners and galleons
filled with treasure..

more often scows, punts
and barges,
work man like and useful,
but not alway pretty

all painstakingly,
crafted...
with planks of words
nailed together with punctuation...
and caulked, with my soul...
sanded down by thought
polished, oiled and varnished,
with love...

then i set my sails,
my inspiration,
to the mast of poetry

and push off....
into the great white yonder....
hoping my xebec...my catarmaran, my dinghy...
my log...
will find a fellow waterman....
sailing, on this...
the ocean of words.
please forgive me,
any nauticalogical mistakes
Nov 2014 · 594
simply love
betterdays Nov 2014
little words
with big meanings
shared over coffee
and toast

beginning the day
with sunshine, love
and ginger lime butter

it is the simple things
it is....the simple things
i love....
Nov 2014 · 923
saltwater washing
betterdays Nov 2014
i walk...
out into the sun,
through the creaking gate,
down accross the strip
of brown driedup grass,
over the already warm,
under my feet, tarmac
to the roads crumbling edge,
all the while, the kookaburras are laughing
with glee and the rainbow
lorikeets, are gossiping about me....
i walk down the cliff side steps, seventy three and
then one last, doozy jump,
onto the squeaking sand.
stop a moment now, to
shed my shoes and shirt,
down to the tideline...
now, i am leaving land,
for wave and froth and
beating water, keep striding
through, to the deeper salt
and then, suspended,
in the ocean.....
feeling free...
as i give myself to it and it gives to me....

          **back to the mother,
      my souls own, delight,          
   saltwater  washing
                           heals all.
betterdays Nov 2014
best way
to describe him
charlie chaplin
wearing stan laurel's
black and white suit.

black hat, white gloves
funny walk..
does not say much
but forever making us laugh

he is just not sure,
why that tail thing
follows him everywhere...

loves the blucat...
the blucat tolerates him
but is warming by the hour

he is tod's new cat...
the blucat....gus  is
geting on and prefers
to sleep...
timothy tuxedo
(he was going to be captain wrinkly drawers....but sanity
prevailed...can you imagine
standing at the the back door
and calling that cat..)
...plays
until he drops...
this will be a good thing

once tuxedo boy stops living
in the bottom of the shower...
that is his prefered quiet spot....
timothy tuxedo is our new
devon rex kitten....will try
to get picture soon
Nov 2014 · 1.2k
tuxedo boy
betterdays Nov 2014
soft soft softly
he creeps about
the edges of the room

finding his way....
with the precision
of a Noh dancer...

as the blucat watches
with gestapo stare...
the new kitten...
black and white
tuxedo...not quite right
all wrinkles and fuzz
and fffft, ffft fights

the blue cat...
old cantankerous king
looks at this scrap
of a thing...
growls, deep
from his belly rotound
turns his back...
in overstated disgust....

that wrinkly thing,
is not one of us!!!.....

later in the day...
i pass by the same way
to find blucat and tuxedo boy, wrapped up asleep
in sombulant joy...
new kitten...also a devon rex
has been accepted into the clan....
Nov 2014 · 612
useless prattling
betterdays Nov 2014
my words are ungracious
and spill forth today
like mewling puke....

it astounds me....
that we celebrate
landing, badly i might add,
an overpriced
piece of mechano
on the backside of a space rock...

while.....
there are people
dying... right here....
on earth....from...ebola cancer....and other diseases

it astounds me....
that one person,
can get paid, 20 million $$$$
for acting in a ****** movie
while....others beg for change and sleep rough
under park benches....

it amazes me,
that  so many in the world
cannot read or write
and do not have,
basic and i mean basic
sanitary facilities....

it confounds me.....
that wars are fought
over race and religion....

it scares me...
that my son, will grow up
in a world where safety is
far less of a gaurantee...

it saddens me....
that i am as guilty
as the next person
of passing by
oe looking the other way
become too busy, too be
involved...in other peoples
pain...

my words,
ungracious
and hypocritical
are but the useless prattle
of a ranting raving imbicele
mere  spit upon the winds
of a word in turmoil....

but come on...
should we not try
to fix this world
before discovering others
insomnia... and too many
thoughts.... created this monster of a rant....
Nov 2014 · 688
hard times.
betterdays Nov 2014
this is a poem...pre thanksgiving....
and is written for a number
of people on site who will
be either alone....or find the
holiday difficult....for various reasons....
please be kind....and share the love....some are going through....hard times.

i know this lady
a friend of mine
who will sit alone on thanksgiving

to her, in many  ways
this year has been unkind
with death, sickness and
memories that bind....

she still has much to be thankful for and this she
knows....
but the table is lonesome
and the world has lost it's
glow....

at present housebound
or i know...she would go
ease the suffering of others
passing turkey and stuffing
around,
with a kind word and a smile...
for she is known to go the extra mile...

when one thinks....
there are many like this....
many who spend the holidays
adrift....
or lost in a place...hard to find
we are thankful for this day
but don't let the celebrations
get in the way....
reach out in kindness,
and let it be known....
these people marginalized
are not alone....
as an australian...this holiday is but a novelty to me....but for some...it is a great celebration of love and family...and for some...it is a sad weekend of loneliness and losss....this poem is about no single person...but rather a conglomerate of
comments that have come to
my inbox from several people
...
Nov 2014 · 596
liquid silk
betterdays Nov 2014
i slip into
the embrace
of the sea,
this morning
and it,
welcomes me.

the salt,
carresses my skin
and the cool water,
captures my mind

i swim out,
past the breakline
and into the green

who knows,
what swims beneath....
when i dive
i see nothing,
but seaweed
yet there is,
a whole world
down there...
watching,

as i stroke,
my way back and forth across the cove...

the worries of the landlocked cease,
and i am...
at one...
with the rythm...
of my body,
as the water,
slides,
past each and every,
skincell,

it is like...
weaving liquid silk,
into the weft,
of my tattered soul ...
and in doing so,
renewing vigour
and purpose.

the sun rises,
and the surfers come...
at last i am done....
and leave the water,
slipping quietly
back on to the sand...

and back into the less fluid
being of me....
patched....and embroidered
ready .....for another day
i swim most mornings at dawn break.....sometimes
i beat the surfers ....to the fresh water....
Nov 2014 · 2.0k
how to be polite...
betterdays Nov 2014
we walk the path
set before us
admitting
we walk
into the known
and comfort of
affability
just once
i would like
to
explore
new worlds
some not so bright
and beautiful..

to tresspass in
an unkown jungle
of acerberic words
and roaring truth
would be and adventure

to kayak down
the rapids of
neighborhood insanity
would be a refreshing
thrill....

but once again...
we walk politely
in single file
around the zoo...

all well manicured
all maintained
secrets locked
within gilded cages

will that be one sugar
or two...
and keep off the grass
now.....that means you...
Nov 2014 · 585
earlybird...
betterdays Nov 2014
i love these few moments
of the morning....
when the house bustles
but in essence..i am
alone...
the boys are still sleeping
but restless...
the house creaks and groans
as i prepare for the day
supervised by the blue cat's
eyes as he sits at the window and calls for a bird rollcall...

this is our time...
sandwiches made...
magpies called to order
we sit is companionable silence...
watching the neigborhood
awake and catch up to us
the early risers....

today...will be a good day...
Nov 2014 · 438
overflow....
betterdays Nov 2014
what is this thing
between us
that changes grey
to light
that makes words simple
create the world aright
that whispers life
in the listening ear
that makes dreams
long forgot
dance delightfully near...

it smooths the world's
wrinkles and makes
the days, fly by....

what is this thing,
that burrows down, down
into my heart.
and seeds and grows
a garden...full of flowering
words...
and trees of  treacle toffee
and anything i please...

this thing.....this love
is my life longs day...
           the day that is always
                       blessed..
tis, the wine and chocolate
singing....sweet,sultry and low
betterdays Nov 2014
Years
Learning to talk
Learning to read
Falling in love with words
Playing with,flirting with language
And now.....now.....you give me ten words
To describe it....ALL.....where is the equanamity in that!!!!
The world a marble, magical, marvelous, waiting to be explored....
Nov 2014 · 1.4k
Ms Walden(for Viki)
betterdays Nov 2014
You...
To me...
Are the essence,
of the earth mother...
As you watch over your pond,
with an easy, laidback,  grace..
and help us see it grow and
chart it's every, every season.
Turtles, weeds and all...

I adore the fact, that you,
write love with an earthy lust
And you lust with an earthy abandon....


You have an intelligence,
That always expands my mind
All the way over there
on the other upside...

You and I share old friends
Writers of art,
livers of life.
those who mark....
and make the small moments large

Yet, I know you not...
but fervently wish
We could sit and pass time
Over tea or coffee..

You are one of many....
Who write voraciously
With life and passion in your pen
But so too,
You are one of the few
Who I go to read ....again and again.

So I thank you...
My very own  female
Walden...
For the lessons
of the earth, life, loving
and humbly implore you
write again and again..
Til the world stops turning...
Then....just write it's begining again...
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