And it is what it is....
This life of mine,
Some days good and joyous
Some days fine,
And some days....
Everything is askew
and no matter
What I do....
The world is contrary.....
and unfucking fixable.....

Those are the days of...
chocolate and wine

smooth
this pebble
worn down
by waters gentle
abrasion

so to i
worn smooth
by life's storm's
now living
a pebble's life.

all washes over me..

there is a poet
who flirts with words
who dances the tango
and fandango
who's poetry is a joy
to read,
and among all this wonderous word tapping
there are truths seeded
waiting to grow....
and flower....
so thank you, Wordvango
for your flair and style
and thank you for the
thousands of smiles
and the beautiful garden
you have sown
in the place of my word's
home...

there is a leak
                    in the roof
            of our house
                 no doubt
                   caused by,
   the winds of the past week.

           now
                  the rains
       are coming in.....
                      one drippity
                 drop
                       at
                          time

we put a bucket under it, at
                    first,
            splosh, splosh
                    but
now have replaced it with a
              glass bowl
                  plink
              plink,plink
                plinkety
                  plink

  tommorow my husband
    will climb up and fix
                the roof

until then, we will listen to
                  the rain's
                      song

so the stars are hiding
tonight...

perhaps they make a deal
with the clouds,
so every now and then,
they can kick back,
drink a beer and go
to the movies....

it must be hard,
to keep your twinkle, sparkly
night, after night, after night,

everybody....
even the heavenly ones deserve some....
                        down-time.

am i right or am i right!!!!

we stand in silence,
as the bugle calls,
out across this seat of learning.

lost in gratitude,
to warriors past
and present....
who live now,
in vallaha's halls.
and those returned...
and those few...
still missing...

we stand and think,
of those families,
their sacrifice and loss.

we remember wars past....
and pray for the cessasation,
of present conflict..

and then we move on,
with our day.....with hearts
both sad and grateful.

it is the day
after
rememberance day

the day when....
those who fought
in jungles and desert sand,
in the air and on the sea
who fought for king, country
and land.

those who....
stood shoulder to shoulder
proud and straight and strong,
on parade grounds,
before,
embarking off to battle....

those who....
watched mates,
fall, suffer and die...

those who....
pulled the trigger
amd killed men,
who in basic essense,
where just like them.
who had swethearts, families, lives...

those who......
returned,

this is the day after rememberance

this is the day, they begin
to, try to forget....they pack
away, the horror, the panic,
the regrets....
pack them down,
pack them down,
into a tight little ball
so they can move on, move
forth....
walk in the world
of all the other, brighter
every days....

this is the day....this is the day...this is the day....
to begin to forget anew....

if it were to be,
my last day on earth.

i would wish it to be like
this....
gray flannel clouds,
set against a blue,blue sky.

puddles, glassiene,
on the ground
and water dripping,
an unsteady rhythm,
from leaf to leaf,
to ground...

there is a...
soft edged feel
to the world,
newly cleaned,
full of promise and hope
and the scent of frangipani.

if it were my time,  
i would love to leave
on a promise,
of hope and frangipani...
wouldn't you?

found,
one heart....
slightly scarred,
but willing to
give love another...
chance, a twirl, one more go
at letting the balloon float...
upon the winds of,    
                        happenstance,
to find the fickle creature....
                              called love.

i think,
with years of sunday school,
indoctrinated guilt....

there is a small wavering
line between......
                              deceit
and kindness....

as i tell my aging mother....

she looks fine.

found...
to be,
accepted,
for one's own self.
at last to be found
and taken from this storm,
this tumultuous **** storm  
and given, a place of refuge...
in the warmth, of another's
                                 heartbeat.

lost,
adrift,
led astray,
just disappeared,
nowhere to be found,
slipped, down, between    
                                the cracks.
irretrievably, wayward.
gone... the way of flying pigs.
that qoundam, thought has
                     now...gone awry.

we wear grieving, like a        
                              heavy cloak,
with a large cowl and  
                   theadbare sleeves,
it gives, some measure of
                                     warmth,
but never, quiet enough.
as we stand alone,
facing the winds,
that howl... sad,
sighing,
loss.

loss.
complete
and utter
abanbdonment.
....by design or fate,
leaves your heart, foresaken,
your soul, ***** and      
                                     ravaged.
meanwhile, the world
                  moves on, blind to,
the mad monk,
        that inhabits your mind.

the days subsides,
with adoring colour
and the racous choral,
of retiring lorikeets.

we sit upon the deck,
cold bevvies in hand
and watch the master
painter at work,

over on the mountain range
the clouds gather.
ben, laconically states,

"storm tonight"

and yes that smell,
so wonderful,
sits heavy in the twilight air.

petrichor, heavy on the eucalypt, ****** beer,
and warm tar....
the smells of a stormy,summer afternoon.

reading poetry fills
my soul with words
and my heart,
with light.

even the darkest poem
lights a candle.....

so for this,
                 i thank you all.....

it's one of those days....
when you wake,
with the birds singing,
the sun shining,
everything washed clean,
by the previous nights storm.

your little one standing,
by your bedside, smiling,
holding the purring cat.

your partners voice,
whispering... i love you
and his body shouting
...i want you,
as he leans, into your back.

it's one of those days,
where all is well,
with world....

and all you want to do
is SCREAM....
                   blue ******....

wind rattling the windows
while rain drenches all

blucat prowling
checking window and doors

the small boy snuggles
and listens to dreams

mothers and father
play scrabble, by candlight

the storm has won,
the electricity has gone

and now lights up
the clouded sky

the voice,
sultry, smooth...
like warm cream
sings, songs
of sad acceptence
as we drink,
our gaily coloured
cocktails
and talked
of small
and always,
insignificant things.
his breath warm,
insipid, sursurrating
upon my ear

the l.b.d.
still has power....
to attract.
the wearer
however
is far past ...
bored,
with the swirling,
synergies
of the academic pond.

......too many barracudas

and the voice
sings on...

when
did the crisp,clean edge
on which
my poetic self....
balanced,
become obese and dull.

a ledge,
upon which i sit,
feet dangling
and make inane
conversations
with the pigeons
that  now
reside in my brain.
when?

for me
between
the points of A&B;

there is a world
of meandering serenity

of roses to be smelt
and duly admired

of love and laughter
to indugle in

food to be desired
and consumed with
gusto

words and their meanings
in which to become
joyfully mired

synapses to be fired
by moments so wonderful
they can not be described

by kisses, short sweet pecks
or long langorous invitations

by studying raindrops
and watching things grow

in spending moments
finding the sun
becoming one being
in tune with so many

from A to B

never a straight line
for me...

time
and time
again

i awake
my soul
surprised
by the
blessings
in my life

somewhere
sometime
i must have
done something

exceptionally
wonderful
because

karma
gave
me

you..
­
and
the little
boy god

and
all the other
multitudinal
bits of
good stuff

that
make me
smile

each
and
every
day

you
sitting all the way
over there

me sitting all the way
over here

inbetween us
a tabletop lake
of frosted silence

all that remains
the question

who will go
ice skating
first

the night that
max wore his wolf suit
he swore the lycans came
and while he
hid under the bed

they prowled and growled
and howled out his name

but he stayed put
in the furthest corner
of gloom,
paralysed ....
by a feeling of
utter doom

he knew,
he was no wolf.
just boofy bloke wearing
the suit for a goof...

and as to being a hairy
werewolf...
all full of
bloodlust  and scare
he knew his head,
his heart, his soul
would not, could not,
go there....

he was if anything,
an aurilophile....
and would have worn
a cat suit....
but they, the shop of freak.

did not have any in his style,
that, being of the male
persausion.....
they had kitty
and pussycat suits
for all sorts of occasions

they had just rented,
the last tiger
and the lions had
all.... long gone.

so he got stuck
with the wolf
and thought, at the time...

what could go wrong....

now in the hours of
one, two and three...
as the lycan prowled
and yodeled love songs
he knew full well,

what could go wrong...

max and his suit
trembled.along....
waiting for the sunrise
and the light of the day
to make this dogfest,
of a nightmare,

go far far away....

then, in the bright noonday sun
he would go out to the park.

and find a stray dog
give him the suit....
or at least hide it under
a log....

then to the pub,
to down many beers,
put an acholic fence,
between
him and his fears

send the last night,
on down the stream
of all those other
fog filled...
and fuzzy freaken
dreams...

where he was a dog,
a cat or a fly.....
or where he slipped....
off a tigtrope so high

and fell with a splat....

of strawberry jam
to be scraped up from the
sidewalk and into
a jar.....

that was the worst dream
the worst by far.....

so eventually  max,
walked into the bar
ordered a beer,
strolled around for a bit
then sat in the corner......
all naked as a jay.....
or a ***.

cause in all,
the dreaming and scheming.
he had forgot one thing,

to put on some clothes.

so now, the whole
world had,
had a view of both
the front and the rear,
fishing tackle and gear...
and
it was them,
that had something to fear,
for the sight of,
the above
mentioned junk....
had put all who had seen it
into a funk....

for max's **** was a foul mouthed punk....
and as for his ar$e...
a right royal farce

some one had to say...
with courage
so as to save the day...
max ......
for god's sake
and that of my poor sainted
granny....
take this table cloth
and cover your man-*****
then,
take the other
and cover your ***'s face....
you makin my pub
a down right disgrace....

max,
smiling sheepishly,
did as was said
and apologised profusely,
for having lost his head
... and normal,
day to day attire...
took a six pack,
for the road, on the slate
....and went on home
and back to bed...
to meet,
with drunken bravado,
his all hallows fate.....

i am just days away
from turning.....
older.

and in truth,
meloncholy with it....

this year has stretched,
long and hard with
sickness, accident and death.

and my feet drag,
in self indulgent sorrow.
i should be glad,
to have survived.
i should live my time
with joy.....and  vigour.

but...the empty places
at the table
and the cards...
unsent.....sadden me.

perhaps,
this is just another sign
of the wonky biological
clock that is mine...
that now works
on peri-menopausal time
and this sorrow,
is just hormones and
little baby loves
saying farewell
as they waft
into the never to be....

i am still young,
somewhere within me
full of promise, pleasure
and passion pop...

but, the me
that groans
and creaks
and clicks
as i fall out of bed
to feed the cat...
the child, and the man
then washes the clothes
and goes off to inspire
a class of
bright young things
come home, cooks diner
writes fatuous poetry
while watching tv
before falling back
into the unmade bed

looks upon this weekends
festivities with dread...
and if honest....
would much prefer that it
all be forgotten....or kept low key.....
bah....humbug....
little grumblebug bitten me..
time for another load of washing...

world washed clean
by last nights storm

except for that
one poor tree
four doors down
cleaved unevenly
in half

by a massive
lightning strike
still smoking
from the heart
of the gape-ing
amber-black wound

and the smell
of eucalypt oil
heavy in the air

the neighborhood
gathers
to see the sight

you leave me
alone.....
       to contemplate

and
all i can do
is
..........think of you

time apart
is ......
           anticipation
of
when we.......
can next
             be together....

they wait for godot....
                 i long for you....
this love
          so  unexpected
so....new
          
   my prayer......
                i hope  
we... possess...the stamina
to see it through.

it is sunday morning,
early....
the boys, still asleep
the nanna,  still asleep
just me....
and the recently fed,
but hoping for more,
blucat shadow,
walk in the garden,

leaving imprints in
the dew laden grass.
i make my way,
with murping shadow
to the fish pond.
we, sit upon the rocks
and watch the koi,
glide smoothly by...

i slowly introduce my
hand,
to the still night-cool water and wait....
for the fish kisses.
the blucat is entranced,
eyes intent on the slow moving tails,
ears forward and twitching....

overcome by
such blatant tempatation,
he makes a swipe
at the gold and black  
goodness.....
and in a flash.....
they are gone ....and he,
is left sheepishly licking
a wet veleveteen paw....

back to me....
not wanting to
see me laughing
.....at his foolishness.

.....and in between
the listening...
silence...

not strained
....but commfortable
an acknowledgement....
of a knowing love

.....and in between
the knowing...
years of ... learning
...to listen...

for the quiet times...
of knowing ....love

silence....profound
love.....aeonian.

I watch you
on this sultry afternoon
over under the flowering plum

back to the bark,
head bent over your
well loved acoustic,

fingers plucking,
stroking, strumming,
fondling... those strings

and I hear the notes
as they drift on the
breeze...
as I hang the bedsheets
on the washing line

the melody is
sweet, sweet seduction...
foreplay in three/four time

and I see in my mind
what those fingers...
strong, scarred and flexible
can do...
           to places sacred, tender
and oh! so divine...

followed by lips and mouth and all....
divinity sublime  and more....

perched,
on a tendril whisp,
of a synaptic vine.
the half formed
thought,
chirped and chirked,
as it chipped away
at the ovipidal embrace of  
sleepy, slothfulness....
sublime.

it wanted freedom,
to fly and sing....
no longer,
sleeping or,
being held within...
no longer,
hiding away
from the sun.
no longer,
fearful of becoming...
undone.
influencing,
nada and no-one.

just happy to be,
a small, but clear...
clarion call.

now, standing strong
singing out it's
life embracing, life renewing
song.....
this thought, now has,
substance ....
bright coloured wings
and pride....
in the joy, it brings.
it has grace and grattitude.
a name so wonderful....
to go with,
this bright and energetic
attitude...

meet my new, paridigm...
all bursting with love.

his name..... brio

and he is the bringer
of my new zest, zing
and vivacity......

here's the thing.....
no one has chained
you to the chair,
put your head
in a vice,
glued your eyes open,
turned on the computer
and is forcing you
to read this poem.....

or indeed any one elses
work either.....

if you don't like my work ....move on
if you find everybodies
work sub par.....
consider this revealation
it might be you....
not the forum.....
that has an issue...

words and the artistic placement of them.....
is or at least should be an activity open to all.
not just the elite....

lingering singles mingle
and mope

drinking links to hopeful
smiles
projecting mute desire
over sugar salted glass rims

as feet tap out the panic driven rythym of hormonal
need

whilst in the small room
lodged in the corner
of the eye

the single bed, beckons
with obscene familarity...

one more drink....
for the long walk home.

just a minute
to jot something
profound

mere seconds
to create
something
that
reverberates
resounds

uber meaningful
deep as the ocean
spiky and fierce
to create a commotion

nothing lame
keep it sane
wake up
the inert brain

love is
like water
to a starving soul
it replenishes
make growth
make whole

the argent sun,
has chased away
the piccaninny dawn
and is now lazily,
racing the clouds
to the apex of
the bright blue sky.

the dew is drying
on the grass
and the blucat
is seeking his first
triumph over his
lizard foes.

we sit on the back deck
eating a simple breakfast
cereal and toast.
while surveying
the burgeoning wealth
of our vegie garden.
tall shoots of corn,
and tomato vines,
laden with fruit,
just begining to blush red.
lettuce protected,
within their plastic tube forts
and carrots with their wavy
heads....
and overlaying all,
the smell of citrus,
both lemon and lime.
then, the heady fragrance
of the papaya trees
and the passion fruit vines...

we acknowledge,
with thankful hearts,
we  live in a little corner
of eden....
borrowed for a time....

then to break our reverie, the blucat,
drops a squirming skink, tailess,
on the top step
a murps his triumph...
and the kookaburras laugh
.......long and loud