when i stop for a moment
during this busy day
my mind always wanders
off to think of you...

and in these pleasant moments of which
there are far too few
i am to be found dreamily
gazing back to a sky blue day

and as i awake from these
moments of unadultered bliss
i am often wont to sigh
and blow a secret ,
kiss...your way...

i would, if i could write.
this in the layers of your skin
a tattoo  of my love....

you are my songline
every note, beat and pause
melody and harmony
you make my soul sing
and smile.
lover of my life
still nine years past
one look undoes me
one look and i am on
my knees
one word and i am begging
you....please
mother of my child
what an amazing thing we
made!
you think yourself fragile
but you are strong
you keep going, keep smiling
keep loving.

you are just so *******
gorgeous, all those curves
and curls, with eyes of sea blue ever changing

this year has been hard,
but we struggled through
you think i am your rock
or oak tree..
but honey it is all you.
you tie us alltoghether
with cords of sweet love
and i just need you to know
i see what you do
and i love you so very much
and everyday i hunger for
you...
have a great day..

and underneath your skin
lies a heart no longer beating

and you lay
cold and still

and you ask
of me questions
with lips tinged blue

to which
there are no
answers


i know not why
and where to now

i know there is sorrow

i know we move on somehow...

but underneath your skin
your heart has finished
it's toil.....

it is okay...old friend
you can rest now.

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.

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"

you came home, the other day
blessed, with a boon
from a friend's market garden.
the first
strawberries,
of the season

sweet little ruby jewels,
kissed by the sun

how we feasted,
we selfish two
popping those lovlies
past pursed lips,
to crush the flesh
between the tongue
and teeth
letting the juice
run..
down..
the back..
of our throats.
grinding the seeds, macerating the flesh
in a ****
of ****-sweetness
and
afterwards
we
kissed,
nibbled,
and ******,
the last taste
from each other's
lips, chins, fingertips.

...and that led ...
                       to other..
                       ...un-writable..
                                              fun.

we are home,
from our first day
back... at the salt-mines.

ben, heads for the shower
to loosen, the muscles
tightened, by a day of
hammer and saw.

tod, sits, one blink shy
of comatose..in front of
a blaring t.v....
we need him awake,
for another hour and a bit.
or none of us,
will sleep, through the night.

me i stand in the kitchen
in front of the fridge
weighing up options..
will say G&T; looking
awfully good...

mother nestled out
in the nanexxe...
engrossed in afternoon
gameshows...
best not to disturb.
she bites!(or at least snaps)

only thing in the house
that's happy,
tonight,
is the little blucat.
who purrs up a storm,
as he figure-eights
about my legs.
in the ecstasy of
the un-abandoned pet.

we did, come home,
to feed him...we did....we did...we did!

they come,
noisy and jostling,
to the first class.

their breath's
misting in,
the cold crisp air.
as they enter
and disrobe,
unwinding scarves,
removing jackets
and shoes.

to stand,
lithe, limber
and youthful before me.
ready to perform.

and i feel....
                  so...
                       ...old and tired.

as i watch them,
twist and turn,
their young bodies,
into shapes,
that are but,
a hazy memory,
for me....

and i will admit....
i am both,
downright jealous
and a little bit sad....
as the class continues.

listened to leonard cohen
last last night as he sang
"always, hallelujha, anthem,
in my secret life"...
and so much more in my
ear....

now, as i sit at my desk,
finely filmed in dust.
the memory, brings
a tear to my eye.

as i watch the sparrow,
alight from it's nest
and take to,
the clear blue sky.
just outside my window...

and i sit and try,
to make sense
of  month old notes,
scrawled to myself....

*"i do what i have to do..."

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...

you smile, in your sleep,
as i crawl into bed
and i feel, so loved...

as we sleep, you reach
for me and draw
me to you
and i feel, so loved...

when you leave, the bed
you kiss my shoulder,
or my breast
and i feel, so loved...

i just hope,
you feel the same.
as i wrap myself
around you....

you are, so loved...

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...

this morning,
i take my coffee
on the front porch
and in the argent rays
of a cheery, winter sun.

i watch, the young birds,
learn,
the art and politics,
of perching on the wire.

the manouvering required
to keep,the heirachy entire.
the cheering, chirping refrain, undertaken, to remain in the game.

all lessons to be learnt
if to gain
a place within the
highwire elite echelon
of local birds of fame.

a quick word for paula lee
and  pamela rae
members of
the ditzy is as ditzy does club
may i join you ladies fair

my applicatory action
took place this morning
while labouring under distraction
i washed my husbands(a chippie) workwear
with cat's chicken flavoured kibble

it is now out drying on the line
with a row of cat's divine
staring at the brown streaked
grime in nose wrinkling adoration.

so ladies i think i made the cut
and can become a fully fledg-ed
member of this club refined
of absent mindedness defined....
(i plead pmt ...
intelligence in, sharp decline)
what say you..

..over ....there..    ..... .. .    ...
in the fogged....corner ...     ......of my mind.... ..sits.........
a ragged girl... ..making.. knitted scarfs. ....out of archaic thoughts... of fear and darkness.. ..she knits .. on rusted steel pins....
with sinews of .... scar and ...mis-threaded ... ......thoughts of disdain...the scarfs..... great.............spiderwebb-ed ...........things designed ....not .....for warmth....but to catch ......and.. choke...and.. confound......the ....mind unwary. ...she...... the girl ragged and........unkempt .....plucks
              ......   ..   .fluff..
and ........lintcrap ........and ....feared.. ...sacred.... fuzz. ....then felts and twists it..... ......into ....straggle-taggle, tangled...... twines.......
she is .......the keeper.......... ...of the ..drives..... i.. took.... with my father.... of the nights..... stood upon ledges. .. gleaning courage to stay...or ...to leave same...     courage .....different
                           outcome....
of the ......blackouts.... and ............grey days of the words... ........
.....spoken........................
. ......................unspoken..... that stripped ....my youth... of meaning and life....
and joy... these are the ragged ...straggled......scarfs of memory....
i will not wear.... .
........  .....this is why........  ..... she.........the ragged unkempt .... relic..... of my youth .....resides..... unloved.....
in the ...back... alley..... ............corners of my mind... so that..... ninety five ...percentofthetime.........
i can forget .......
               .....she is there...

....itisthefivepercent.....
                                         like .....tonight ....when she raises her eyes...
     .... and stares me down..... that it is the time...... for the tide ....of regret to run.......... .....for a short while.....
before.. the ebb...of memory.

a poets heart...
so very far,
outside
of my,
whitebread imagination.

sun and earth,
to, two, little moons.

a man, true,
who has made mistakes,
but owns them
and then pushes on through.

a craftsman,
of a passionate poems
and substantial verse.

no idol, no god
just a man,
who deals in words.

a poet,
a heart,
a pen,
some paper,
builder, of a universe.

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

frosted
lawn
freezing

toetips
through
sheepskin
uggboots

but
st­ill
we
prance
dance

leaving
tracks
in
the
delicate
purity

of
this
cold
unexpected
mid-winter
morning
gift

this is the time
of the year,
when the cold
asserts itself
and the near naked,
little blucat,
makes cocoons and nests,
under any towel,
jumper or rugs, left lying about.

we have learnt,
to pat the cushions on the couch,
to see if they meow....
and check the chimney,
before lighting, a new fire...

for if the days are grey
and bleak.....

gus will find warmth, somewhere, somehow.....

i once got all the way
to work....
and worked till lunchtime,
when in the comfort of my office.
...i opened up my, satchel
to find a little,
blue-grey kitten-cat,
curled up, around my thermos flask, of chicken noodle soup....
he was, soundly asleep,
i may add.
.
he will not be dressed
for this cold weather, squirming,out of coats
and specially knitted sweaters....

but will find places,
to nest and ride out
the cold snap.
only coming out....
when the fire has warmed the air...
or for furtive and hurried trips to dinner bowl
and litter tray...
before snuggling,
back into the cocoon
he has created.

what if
the moon was just the sun
after it had been peeled
and showing all it's pith
and whote underwear revealed.

what if
the stars are just the peephole in the sky
so that those that went
before us never have to
say goodbye

what if
the sea was just a teardrop
from some sad god's eye

what if
we are just ants in a science
project
for alien humanlogist
from the planet fitahw....

what if
this is all absurd...but true?????

as i and my red pen,
climb and clamber,
about in the latest,
offerings,
of inked thoughts
and dead trees.

i think of,
junglegym minds
and elegant phrasings.
of eagle eyed ids
and nuanced persuasions.

i think of,
 words and worlds, aged
and then discovered
and since and again, interpreted anew.

and i wonder ......
mr shakespeare,
if you lived today.

what would be,
your world view?

five thousand hearts.
turned, from grey to red.
so to all who made my day.
made my heart, poetic.
beat, a little less grey
some karmic grattitude,
i send your way...

and it is,
when i am with you....
i shed all my outer coverings,
take the sledge hammer
to my walls,
drop pretence and artifice,
like beggar's rags
and stand.

my scarred and naked body,
before you.....
with beautific but battered mind  intact
and heart beaten and besieged

i stand naked before you

and you......
gather me up... and love me
with your besieged and beaten heart ,
battered but beautiful mind
and scarred and naked skin
and it is when we are together....
like this
that our weary souls entwine
and provide the love
that allows us to believe
we are both human...
                                    .... and divine.

and give strength to each
other...

hey little one
i see you sitting
over there
on the fringe
of society

i see behind your
smile
to the tears pooling
in the corners
of your eyes

little one...
it is ok to be
so scared
life is a big thing
to undertake

yet you have to
take a step
and join the fray

little one
sitting quiet in
the shadows
waiting for
your spotlight,
your allocated time...
your little ray of sunshine....

little one....
i see you there
waiting to be told
but you gotta
make your own stories
and create
your own fold and creases
in the game of paper
and life's origami  leases

give it time
                 give it time
i promise you, little one
                          you will find  
                                    your way

almost words
             eddy in the murked
corners of my mind

they lack
                clarity
                       and  purpose
they lack
               need
                    and wanting

they lie
      fooled by the worth they
think they should have
   and so.... dissapate having
               never been
formed into  words....
         never having been
more than the
                   grunts and groans
of an overtired....mind
         fecund in potential...yet
barren in time.

              almost...words
gone upon the tidal surge

shadows long,
fall on pavement wet

and inside the teetering,
jenga blocks, people reside
in caves opulent and electric.

and green is a colour,
forgotten
and  bluesky,
a patchwork quilt,
seen in fractured glimpses,
on the way to and from.

flowers bright and vivid,
come delivered
and earth the thing,
we save by sitting.
in the almost, dark
for an hour a year.

shadows short,
fall on barren ground.
as city dwellers, breathe
grey air and expell
trash and detrius muck

no shadows now
just black all around
no dwellers, no sound....

perhaps we needed to sit
in the almost dark much
longer and  love the ground
on which our life is found.

sunday morning
sleep-in
sticky cinnamon rolls
fresh from the oven
in front of the fire
coffee brewed and poured

lazy day ahead...
may even
make it back to bed...

cold weather makes
for an inside day...
movies and popcorn

roast lamb
later in the day

good book and chocolate
curled up in a sunnyspot.


for now cuddles
and lego, a ticklefest

gotta love me
a lazy winter sunday...

there is a door....
eight weathered, slats of wood.
each slat, about four inches wide.

the door has,
in it's upper-right quadrant,  
a small, face sized window,
with,a pale,dove-blue curtain.

this door, has been painted
purple,
the colour, difficult to describe,
tho, reminiscent of shades of
carbon paper, or gentian violet....
deep, vibrant, solid, regal,
intriguing....

the path, which leads to the
door,
is gently curved, across the lawn.

blocked sandstone,
in a mix of large and small stone,
the colours of,
clotted cream and aged parchment paper.
and on either side,
a mix of, blue lobelia and  
happy faced purple pansies.

the door handle is bronze.
large and ornate
and on closer inspection,
is in the form of a mermaid.

the letter slot, etched with
seashells and starfish

at my feet, inscribed into
the top step...
"those who don't believe,
in magic,
will....
.....never find it."* R.Dahl.

and next to this door,
set into the wall.
an exact replica, of what i have just described,
only, nine inches tall

do not know,
who lives,
behind this door....
but i am, so going to find out.

i met her once
just once at an educators
conference....
she was a nun in modern
habit....
a older lady with a beatific
smile.... a sparkling intelligence, a love for life,
a glowing from within...
and now she is a photo on
the news.....
one of those taken from the sky.......

Sho, who is strong,
is really but a tiny
thing....

always the outcast,
always thought,
to be...
somehow, wrong.

but ever,
with a smile
and a song.

no matter, what
sticks or stones,
are flung his way.
no matter, what
unkind, unthinking
words they say.

Sho Enuff, would smile,
and sing a showtune. sometimes that's
why people would,
call him a loon.

but,
Sho, knew,
something we did not.
his heart was pure
it was in theirs,
the insecurity, the rot.

Sho, was strong,
within himself,
knew he was made
from god's wealth,
of love and compassion

so took no heed,
of others and their,
trashing.

Sho Enuff was tiny
Sho Enuff was small
but Sho Enuff
was the best....
of them all.

in the middle of the night.
when your snores,
snorts and grinding teeth
serenade, my fancies flight
i choose, to love you....

in the cool of the dawn.
when you, leave your
towels on the floor
and your beard's
shorn-shearings, in the sink,
but kiss me gently, as you go
i choose, to love you....

at noon, when i open
my lunch, to see the gingerbread,
gone, replaced with the
words from "our song."
i choose, to love you.....

and at the descent of the evening.
when, instead of putting
our boy to bed,
you fill his head, with dragons and monsters
i choose, to love you........

and when i say,
i choose, to love you............
....... i lie.......
              there is no choice....

i am yours,
till....
the end of....
                      forevermore...

it is the end of the month
and the moths have
taken up residence
in my wallet.

so glad they can't eat
the visa card....

whis, whisp, whispering
sibulantly
soulfully
in my
ear

the deep darkness
speaks to the
kindred lost
inside the
synapses

break free
breakfree
she is a
broken
thing

but
still
my heart
holds strong
against the desire
for madness to reign

it is a
battle
fought long
and desperately hard
each and every moment

i prevail, the voices
only, whisper now -
once they were clarion
bells, ringing loud and long

i prevail
            and will be
                              sane soon.

                               sane, soon
                 i will be
prevail i will...i will...

ten words, to sum up
this magnificent morning
                      
                      feels...mise­rly

another postcard came,
sent from the hollowman.

bright, happy pictures
on the front.
and terse, inked messages
on the back.
"am ok" or "doin fine"
"still here"
&  "i am living my life"

anger and grief,
etched in each
& every  penstroke.

he, rings ben,
& they talk,
like lovers , in hushed
& secretive tones,
for long periods of time.

but he won't speak to me.
ben says,
he says, it is still .....
too hard, to fresh & raw
....and i remind him,
to much of her...
(she has a name,
i say angrily)

but, really,
i don't know,
what to do with that.....
any more than i know
what to do with.....
the boxes, stacked,
in our garage.
your bequest to me,
the residue of your life.

each time i open
one to unpack.....
i add,
a cupful of salty tears,
before resealing it....
god!  
it might be years,
before i get them done.

and i know,
this is not so much,
about his all encompassing grief,
or the tidal heft of mine.

as much,
as it is about,
my need to make,
things, better and smooth and fine.

you,
in your much missed
wisdom,
once said,
"we are the sisters sisyphus'.
me, i am wanting to be,
glue,
always, holding things together,
often, way past, their prime.

and you,
you, want to take,
a jagged pebble
and work and polish it,
till smooth as a marble...

but really,
both these things,
are tasks never done....

and in the end,
the world has it's way..... things, lives,
come apart and shatter
and we are left,
to begin again, again....

so, sue for you
and  in your memory...

to laz,the hollowman
i give his mispent anger
and recieve his postcards
and hope that time will heal.

as to, the gift of your boxes.
i seed my salted love...
they will be there,
when i am ready
and the tide is right.

and i let the world have
it's way...
in hope you are smiling down from above....

and i think you are...
this weeks message,
    
                               "got a dog"

it is in these last few
moments of my day
when the house is quiet
and my boys,
big and small...are asleep.
when all the daily
chores are done
and it is time for,
one last cup of tea...

i often sit,
silently by the big,
bay windows and watch
the moonlight dance,
upon a silvered sea.

and see the owl,
swoop down and take a small mouse morsel,
from the ground.

or watch the possums scamper down,
to steal the petals from
a flower and delicately, nibble away...

it is in these,
silent moments.
that i pinch myself....
and sigh in relief...
that i am not some,
poor sad woman. ....dreaming
of this beautiful life
i am so blessed, to be living....

then i check my baby boy,
once more....
kissing his little head...
and slide into my bed,
to curl myself about,
the man i am enamoured of.

my destiny,
is suffering from,
looking....into my history.

my life...
a time warp,
gone all,wrong.

i was meant
for happiness.
not this feeling
...of being out of place.
this is just wrong!!!!

i watch with,
sadness and much fear,
the young man,
unravelling,
so very publicly,
over in the corner,
proclaim, this mantra.
all the while waving,
around, erratically,
the steel barrel.
of his new best friend....
the loaded gun.

i was never loved,
never strong,
all was an afterthought,
i don't belong...

i tried so many times
and failed....

and failed so many times
to try...

see even now, i fail to die...

or even ****.

i want,
a better destiny
than this
than standing,
demanding
my hurt be heard...

hoping i will be missed.
i know i won't...no one cares

i will be,
just one more soundbyte,
on tonites news...
and that is only if i ****
all of you....

then the history,
of my suffering.
will be blamed
for my destiny....

as you all,
try to figure out
where it all... went wrong.

the wind sings a song
of howling sadness today
catching at the corners of
the old teak farmhouse

as the sky cries in long
exclamation points
and puddles of loss
form on the ground...

we stay inside away
from the worlds pain
cocooned in warmth


the blucat a sleeping
hearth stone...
me making soup a
nd scones
to the sounds of my clan
the click of knitting needles and building blocks followed by demolition...and laughter

this is love.
this is easy,
everyday love.
under a grey and
brooding winter sky.

some where in my house sits a cute little monster
in dragon like pose
on top of his purlioned
and just found lying around,
trove of treasure.

fifty seven odd socks
(i counted the others)
and three pair to boot shoelaces and metres of string
an inch of fragrant ginger root
a tie patterned cleverly with clowns
a beĺl that swallowed it's ding
used tissues galore
fifteen duplo men,
in various stages
three circus lions sans,
their cages
a sherrifs badge
about ten dollars roughly,
in loose change
a tiny baby dulldozer,
to shift it all about silverware, cottonbuds, lipsticks,
hundreds of chinese takeaway chops sticks
mr potato head's nose,
a squad of g.i joes
a ping pong ball that
has lost it's zing
a ring of keys for,
no longer locks
pencils, crayons, texta pens
all in a woodwork,
pencil box.


now this monster is cute
and he is twee
he loves all his treasures with cheery equanimity fussing and fixing
his stash he wanders about just out of sight
looking to add to his *****.

friday's child
out of place
on a tuesday

swimming 'gainst
the tide
wish it was sunday

just  losing grace
all discomfited
wearing hand me down
depression 'n blues

and a tentative face

friday's child
running from emptiness
and
just finding open space
and
a drought of happiness

sunshine, a mirage
on a far away horizion

but she keeps,
keeping on
knowing, hoping,
one day...someday....

i stand on the grass,
and above me tonight.
the sky an upturned bowl,
no.. a collander,
with stars streaming
bright...through the blue
metal sky...
and thus the moon is, dinner plate big
and  cottage cheese lumpy.

and i hear the sea sighing
and fretting away...

but not too hard.
there is, enchantment
in the air.. .
and i wait a few moments
more,
in the crisp, winter
night's air... for magic
to happen....
before walking inside,
to a child asleep,
a husband reading
and a little blue, grey cat
washing the day away,
in front of the fire...
and i thank the night,
for the magic...
it has sent,
as i turn off,
the porchlight.
and enter into
my haven.

so...... we going to fight
there is a pebble in your shoe
there is a pebble in your heart

let it out, make angry
word art... lighting up
the sky with firework
words and bonfire hurts

i stand and watch you fizz
and flame..... words like lava
leaping off your tongue
and wait for the rage to
subside....
then i step gently on  the embers as you cry...

little man your tantrums
done
time for a nap... too much
time in the sun...
and sometimes an almost four year old heart... just gets too full...and then kaboomsky...you just blow...
but you will be better soon...
i know....it's so unfair...
but now my friend...off to bed.

sun plays peekaboo
with the horizon
i am awake
my hip aches
age playing tag
no...no,  i have dinosaur hip when i reach down
to massage the place
i find a gift from my boy
a tiny tyranasaurous rex
has left a lasting imprint
i am branded by toy

now sitting at the table kitchen
i read the mornings joy.... and despair from the
world of poets. hello!
gathering myself
together
over early morning tea
i organize my tin soldiers and wind up my clocks mentally.
big game today
big game everyday
the season  is long,
have to finish out strong
be crowd pleasin
no bench warming allowed forward full throttle
life is playing on thru...
life is  coming on strong
life the game we play
til the game's all gone.

go team!!!!

the boy,
trails a piece
of brown twine,
with paper tied loosely,
to one end, around the dry green brown lawn.
it is for the little
grey, blue cat, to chase
and pounce upon,
a game, they never tire of.

the father,
tends to the flowerbeds,
with copious trips of
the watering can.
the water restrictions
forbid the use of the hose, and the plants must drink
to survive.
whilst to-ing, back and forth, from tap to plant,
he keeps an eye
on the boy as he plays.

the mother,
sits on the front steps
and watches all,
with cool drink in hand.
she has just finished, preparing the night's repast and has left it
simmering, gently
on the stove.
she takes this moment,
to escape the kitchens heat and sits in the cool sea breeze.
taking immense joy, in watching the afternoon, wind down in such a restful way.
the cat,
pounces on the string
pulling it gently from the boys grasp.

the family
laughs at his rolling,
pawing antics, as he, truimphs in his catch.

before picking up
the cat and boy
and walking inside,
to the smell of chicken curry, green but mild.

bullet bitten
coffee smelt
road been beaten
ducks in a row
pigs grounded
box shredded
roses smelt
chewing the elephant
as we speak
no looking back
dusting the cowbwebs
offa the shelf
and the tigers in my eyeline now me and my betterself gonna take a timeout
talk about my life
got the box list here
love check,check,check
life double check
home check
health check
wow !!!
all silver and gold affirmitive wealth
so now i can,
kick back,
relax and grow
disgracefully old.
jeez i just love
this new
self management gig .....lol