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Jun 2014 · 777
orphaned hearts
betterdays Jun 2014
found a heartstone,
while walking yesterday.
cloudywhite, quartz,
with a streak of granite gray. it was, a sad little stone.

lost,

taken from the mountain,
to which it had  belonged. cast away,
having to find somewhere, else to be,
cold to touch.
slightly, assymetrical
plump in depth.

in it's own way,
it has a beauty.

found a lonely,
little heartstone,
orphaned,yesterday.
put in in my pocket,
to give it some love
and warmth.
perhaps, if i am lucky,
it will want to stay.
Jun 2014 · 1.2k
in a moment or two
betterdays Jun 2014
sitting in the sun,
with double-shot latte,
cooling in my hand.

i watch, a gangling youth, barely yet, a man.
fold his heart,
into a paperboat
and set it sail,
on the sea of  love.

destined for a young
maiden's land.....

he sails forth,
on the winds of hope
and mooning, soulful  looks.

she oblivious,
to his approach.
engrossed, in the book
at hand....

will they meet...
their hearts entwine,
will fates allow...
this sea of love is large...
will they love...
this, i will not, ever know.
...they, are not students of mine..

just two,
of  several thousand,
...that sit in the sun and dream...

but that moment,
when he...launched
his ship of hope
and lust...of the wanting,
youthful kind...
....o, my lord... that look....
love caught...in the,
totality, of it's prime.
Jun 2014 · 820
5.41 again.
betterdays Jun 2014
i wake up at 5.41
again...
curled up in my armpit
the little blucat
blusfully happy
loud rumbling purrs
assure me of that
on my other side
asleep with head
resting on my belly
my soon to be
four years old son
i lie awake
in the dark
smiling...
surrounded by love
and wait for the kookaburra's call
linked to 5.41am
Jun 2014 · 626
tea leaves
betterdays Jun 2014
as the tea leaf's
sacrifice
their essence
to the swirling hot water creating
a glorious steam

i look at the camelia's
pink green and unruly
next door.
i can't help but, think.
they are in serious want
of deadheading....
Jun 2014 · 283
a visit from the god's
betterdays Jun 2014
and then
              i opened the door
and the sunshine
             came in.... allelujah!!!
it is twelve words.... but also
an opening to a new story...
one yet to be written...
Jun 2014 · 466
when the romance is gone
betterdays Jun 2014
when you and i...
are apart, for a longer
length of time
i find....

i am a lop-sided,
mis-shapen thing.
stumbling along..
a straight and
narrow road.


simple things,
take more time
and difficult things,
are well... too...difficult.

it is not that,
i can't cope.
i do....
but life has,
become more
of a chore.
and less, of a game.

and it is the seperation.

i blame,
for the colours
becoming dull,
for the words
lacking purpose,
for the heart
beating  too slowly,
for the sun
losing it shine,
and food, it's taste.

and for me,
becoming a....
whinging, whining
waste of space!

lop-sidely,
stumble-grumbling,
along....
come home soon,
ya big lug....
i am drowning in self pity here..... lol.
betterdays Jun 2014
it seems, my words
have lost their allure,
this morning.
and i am too fixated,
on vainly scrawling.
to see
the crafts of others,
floating on the river poetry.
i am, hands to the oars, rowing against,
a beautiful tide.
endevouring,
to attain a mooring,
on the inside of a thought. what would happen,
if i.....
let go and read just
one or two poems
from other,
weary skullsmen
and made comment.
it mayhap...
nothing, but then it,
maybe...
instead of poetry,
decrying a dying state.

the poet in the other boat,
rowing silently,
for a moment, or a lifetime
is encouraged to,
greater acts
of creativity.
just maybe.....maybe.
Jun 2014 · 476
death of an old man.
betterdays Jun 2014
it was a blood vessel,
within the brain.
that gave out....
too much thinking.
no, more likely to be,
a genetic imperfection.
undectected until now.
the brain, became flooded
and succumbed...

it was mostly painless,
if confusing...
synapses firing,
one last time.
a fireworks moment,
of
absolute brillance.
of
knowing all questions
and answers.
of
rememberance sublime.

and
then the quieting
of the soul.

the folding of the deckchair,
the closing of the book,
receding steps...
some bars,
of classical music.
the light,
being switched off.
and
the closing
of the door..
all that is left .... is darkness

and the sound of distant...
                             ...weeping
upon hearing of the passing of one of my mother's friends husbands death....
anuerysm...i did not know the gentleman... so the poem
is more about the style of death, than the man.
may he rest ip peace.
Jun 2014 · 996
an afternoon detour
betterdays Jun 2014
the wavelets,
nibble
at our toes.
as my boy
and i comb
the tideline,
for tiny treasures.
curls blowing,
ever which way
in the salt
tanged breeze.
little hand holds
red bucket,
the
clicksnickclack
of shells
already collected
is a comforting sound.
as we
meander along,
soon we
will turn
and
wander homeward
to warmth
leaving the sealife
to their own
care.....until,
the next time.
on the way home, we stopped at beach... it enriches us both...
now time for chicken noodlesoup(home made)
big bubble bath and bed....
Jun 2014 · 1.1k
nana..rap...time
betterdays Jun 2014
outta step,
outta time
throwin out
misdirected rhyme
need a nap na.ya.
nanna need a slap
spittin poetry crime 101
betta than no one
just a face
with em t space
where da thoughts reside
splitin definitives
deselectin prime words
just to be
downright freakin absurd walkin out now
off to pout
cause my mind
just curdled cream
from a cranky cow
                     .......moo hoo hoo
Jun 2014 · 1.2k
5.41am
betterdays Jun 2014
5.41
is the time on the clock face,
when the first kookaburra
calls.
this corner of the world,
still dark and cold.
but then i suppose,
some poor sucker,
had to get the early bird gig
i just wish, it was'nt,
the noisiest bird in the park.

look out worms.....laughing death is on the wing.
and thus starts another day.
Jun 2014 · 586
echo of warmth.
betterdays Jun 2014
you leave me abed
with only the echo of your warmth...

my heart, sleepily bereft.
but my body, mindful
of opportunity stretches,
rolls over to sleep a few hours more.....

before waking to start the cool winters morn..
ben, left the warm bed at 3am.   to go further up the coast for four-five days for work.... my heart misses him
my body glories in the expanse of a bed all to oneself...
Jun 2014 · 935
Gad Zooks
betterdays Jun 2014
Gad Zooks,
the zedonk,
was mostly,
a happy little fellow.

but,
there did happen,
to be days,
when his,
incomplete
stripes,
got him down...
he was not horse,
not full zebra,
only part donkey.....

and that made him feel, shonky, wonky,
weird n'strange...
like an equine oddity.
not at all likin his ***-dity

when he felt like this,
he would run afar
and pray for god
to take,
his markings,
away.....

Granmama Zooks,
a zebra matriach
and of magnificent stripage,
found him this day
mumbling and crying away...

she then said to him,
in her best zebra neigh....
you are sad little zedonk,
to act this way....
you should think of yourself,
in a different mindset....
you have,
the best bits,
of zebra and donkey.
you just don't see it yet...

i've learnt in my time
you just have to work,
what your born with...
some times,
what you see,
as bad,
actually is,
a god given gift.

you, should be always
be proud of who you are
and what you will become...

people will travel,
for miles and miles,
to see your bars...
and will still be,
talking of you little gad..
as they leave, all smiles.

in their cars,
calling you,
either zedonk...or zonkey,
or zedonkedey  too.
telling each other,
you are,
both cute and bizarre..

so my little,
hotchpotch friend,
be proud of you...
for in the end,
you will,
stand out from
the crowd
just chill, little zook
                      ...and be zen.
a story for my son....
Jun 2014 · 837
points of light
betterdays Jun 2014
points of dust, moted light,
coded messages,
of indecipherable love,
from the sun and this day's dieties smile.
are....
siphoned through,
the dappled, green eucalypt
to become....
shafts of godly grace,
that tickle, wrinkle
and play hide and seek,
with the contours of your
handsome face,
weekend stubbled
and lax within,
the shadows of sleep's
suburban fringe.

curled up, on your lap
your child, golden, halo haired, head,
asleep.
ear at your heart's designation,
hand anchored,
in the flannel of your shirt,
foot tucked into, your trouser pocket.

a little, love limpet,
attatched firmly, to you.

you, and the littler you lie, serene and unaware,
in the old, striped deck chair.
quiet and together in,
restful, repose.

the remains of lunch...
now just, crumbs and
sticky fodder,
for busy trails of ants
and attracting the lazy bee's of bumble, that hover and hum, above.

and book reading's are open,
unfunished, scattered on the table..... waiting for the
eventual waking...

along with the cat,
perched imperial,
and purring,
on one ant free corner
of the old and faded,
rattan chair.
he stands watch,
dotingly, over,
his dozing clowder....

this is ... the wonder of,
sunday afternoon naptime.
Jun 2014 · 494
vagaries
betterdays Jun 2014
the morning has dawned
achingly bright
the clouds of yesterday
blown away in the night
after leaving.....
just a dusting of spherical
pearls on leaf and grass tips

the wind just now a breeze
giving the sea a herd of
white horses  to cross
the blue- green plain
and play tag with the sailor
in racing boats.

i stand inside, with the warmth of the fire at my
back , cup of tea steaming
in my hands...and make plans for this promising
winter's day...

full well knowing, in an hour
the vista could change....
thus are, the vagaries of life.
Jun 2014 · 359
whisper to me....(explicit)
betterdays Jun 2014
your mouth whispers,
sweet nothings,
to my skin...
i become, liquid,
in anticipation.

your tongue creates,
pathways, from mouth
to neck, to breast tips,
to *****....
i shiver, and sigh
in  gratification.

you, part my thighs
and enter my soul
and make the earth....
heaven.
i cry and weep,
in ecstatic, adulation.

but we have, just begun....

my mouth whispers,
sweet nothings,
to your skin.....
Jun 2014 · 1.1k
safe harbour.
betterdays Jun 2014
this i know.
without a skerrick of doubt.

if not for your hands,
holding gently, my fragile heart.

and our son's, trust and need,
giving roots,
to my runaway feet.

my vagabond soul,
                              would be, but dust,
                                   scattered, to the winds..

your heart... and his...are my anchors ....sturdy.
agin,
the present, malestorm.
that is my iconoclastic mind.
Jun 2014 · 499
2 poets...
betterdays Jun 2014
two poets,
came together,
after, much word love,
they had a vocabulary.
bought a tortoiseshell
thesuarus...and a golden pen
then, lived,
in a self written chapbook..
deliriously happy.

forever, amen
Jun 2014 · 527
heartsong
betterdays Jun 2014
stand me up
dust me off
wind my key
and set me off

i am your
clockwork
heart

and i will beat
for you
when your not strong

pay an extra ten dollars

and i will play this song....
*(insert song name here)
my song- all the small things: blink182
Jun 2014 · 725
mantra
betterdays Jun 2014
there is,
in my opinion,
nothing like,
the determination,
of  four and half kilos
of grey feline.
that wants...
to be fed at 5:37am.

the pushing
and bumfping,
the disproportinate roar,
of the basso profundo purr, in your right ear.

if still not convinced,
or just,
downright lazy
a whack with a southpaw
to the back of the head.
your attention will restore.
no you're still resisting
the charm.

then be aware,
of the flying leap & twist; landing on the midriff.

but, from years of dilligent training,
i have deduced,
the cold, wet nose, trailing across my exposed flesh,
is to best be avoided.

simply, by stumbling up,
from your rest....
and succumbing
to the mantra,
the cat knows best.....
fill the bowl,
be done with,
the furry pest.....

and hope you
can snooze for a while,
before.... you have to get up
and feed the rest....
Jun 2014 · 597
hanging in by a thread
betterdays Jun 2014
she sits, across from me
******* the loose threads
of her genes

they are attatched to the fraying of her mind
this, it girl
who is
falling apart, before us all
an honours student,
stumbling quickly down from grace....

silence, is her cloak...
these day....
and in this desperate,
wanting,
of invisablity.
her distress cries loud enough
for all ....to watch...

tears,
fall and track,
silently down her face,
as we quest for the canker...

reponses,
monosyllabic
and non commital...
issue forth....
defiance...
her weapon of choice....

we can,
but, reiterate,
our duty of care...
and hope....
that when she falls....
it is within earshot
of one who gives a ****....

she leaves....
no more intact...
than when she entered.... and hitches,
her ragged psyche
and theadbare jeans
up over
those slim, woman-girl hips.
...as she walks, out of
my office door.
it is beyond  sad, when a student of great promise...
goes off the tracks...
all we can do... is make ourselves available...for counsel... these are after all young adults.....
in this case...drugs and a bofriend of dubious nature...
have taken this ******* an emotional detour...
Jun 2014 · 1.0k
bound
betterdays Jun 2014
a poetic collaboration
with Elizabeth Squires,
(thank you for the privilege)*


high in the infinite skies,
above the clouds.
where no, naked eye can see 
particles in the ozone layer,
bounce around.
in a manner, most carefree. 
these minute, wee, little things,
e'er bobbing and moving,
so happily. 

we on the ground,
would delight,
in their existence of joy.
but we're tied to the prosaic, daily grind working,
in our nine to five,
coalface coal mines.

with axe and pick,
we chip and hack away...
whilst our minds delight,
in front-lobal play.
of waxed wing-ed flight,
of acrobatic, aerobatic display.

whilst working,
in the cramped and dubious
spaces we inhabit....
we dream, of spaces, blue, boundless and arcing-wide, forgeting, forgoing, forgiving the mindless, daily grind...
we leap,
with fragile hope,
into fledgling flight....
up to the ozone,
up toward the light...

there, in the freedom,
of this spacious playground,
we're at no command,
of employer's tools,
of work.

on our faces, we'll wear 
those  effervescent, unfettered smirks
hopping in rambunctious 
fun 
in the ozone's air,
upon the weary brow of labor release, is found.

in it's mirthful atmosphere,
which eliminates, our obligations, to our bosses.
we then farewell,
with liberating tosses.

and so we soar
in insouciant grace, unfettered,reckless,feckless 
freedom, sliced and pared, away across our wings
and faces,
joy ungaurded,
is this moment's prey
unbidden, unbound.

no longer hearing,
the sound of the grinding axe.... at play
we soar eagle high...
we soar to the sun's eye
but we are not made
for such undulterated bliss our wings of feather
and wax....
become, around us mist  
and to the ground
we do spiral....

into our adult occupations,
where there is little time.
for us to be engrossed,
in exuberant glee.
we're shackled 
and yoked to,
our heavy work day shrouds.
but our dreams of play,
with those ozone particles,
seem too impractical.

happy little vegemites
we'd be,
if our days were free.

take heart, our days off,
are nigh and on the lounge
we'll sigh, 
a well earned sigh.
Jun 2014 · 462
somethings never change...
betterdays Jun 2014
in the ironies,
of family status.
using
juxtapostion
as a measuring tool.
and even after
reliquishing
a rebellious, unstable nature,
for well adjusted,
educated, employed, ecstatically,
married, mother.
on
the families scales,
i don't know how,
i still,
measure up
as,
fool
&
family **** up
but it seems
i do!!!
response to the latest
round of the blame game
my family induges in.
Jun 2014 · 1.2k
how?
betterdays Jun 2014
.
                                    how is it?
you only live once.
but you can die,
a thousand deaths.


                                    how is it?
i can be blinded,
by your beauty.
but beauty is
in the eye,
of the beholder.


                                    how is it?
that i live,
only for you.
but i live,
to change the world.


                                    how is it?
love is a,
battlefield.
but love is,
life's refuge.


                                    how is it?
you loom large,
in my eyes.
but you make,
the big things,
seem small.


                                    how is it?
that to you,
i am a queen.
but to me,
i am love's
fool... lost.


                                    how is it?
history repeats,
itself.
but you are,
my first truelove.


                                         how....
*how...
Jun 2014 · 548
navigating today.
betterdays Jun 2014
my rhythm, which has never
been good
is decidedly off today
running up to catch myself
fumbling with words
not knowing what to say...
this is so.... one of those days

my brain overworked....and underslept....struggles to
make connections...and
mifires hapharzardly....

i  lucky that it is a day practical theatre classes
and most of my faux pas
are absorbed as cleverness in making a some what obscure point....

but this run of luck, can only
last so long....i must find time to recoup....some lost sleep...or the afternoon
could be a disaster of comedic proportions...

a quick lunch and forty winks, is the approved course.
one more theatresports class
and then i can set sail....
Jun 2014 · 999
plankton!
betterdays Jun 2014
me, a small fish
in a small pond, here
plankton, really.....

but hopefully,
intelligently,
so..

i is, just swimming along,
taking note....
of the self  proclaimed big fish.
as they bring their ego's
along....
and fight for space....
catfish style......
mroewspit-spit...slash-spit.
all words and claws and puffing of self.....

we the smallfish, plankton,
yabbies and frogs....
find ourselves other places to be not from fear, no
boredom(nuttin new to see)
and other poets to read....
ones with interesting words to eat(to feed the brain)

so while the big fish take
bites outta each other...
and muddy up the water

we the smaller fish...
(but might i say no less better)
are just getting on with
pondlife.....
               but ain't that always        
                             the way of it.

(and just as a postscript i may add that with out the plankton, the pond would die)
i am just writing poetry, not
marketing, politicking, or
degrading others ideas beliefs or dreams....that is not my place....or indeed my style.....or that of my poetry.
betterdays Jun 2014
red pen in hand....
i critique people's thoughts
and dreams

six years at university,
to become a god....
who moulds minds
and delivers future prophecies, ready for unwrapping.

who creates bell curves,
of fail to high distinctions.

that the undergrads,
follow like dancing, pavlovian dogs...

the posts...have slipped
the leash and ...
leave thoughtful piles of...extruded work, in the academic yard.

six years at uni...as a dog
nine years at uni ...as a god.

it is amazing,
how the garnering
of parchments
and strange hats,
can transpose a person's world.
i have marked 67 essays over the past two nights
and have 85 left to do....
3000words roughly a go....
on ritual and theatre
excuse me for not writing
muchat present...i am a bit
worded out.
Jun 2014 · 1.3k
coup
betterdays Jun 2014
it appears as though
there was a coup,
in kookaburra land,
this morning.

much fuss,
and cacophony.
as the brown and blue kingfisher clan, reassembled,
their royal court.

the big old king,
uncurled his talons,
unfurled his wings,
gave one last,
manical chuckle....
and fell from his perch.

to lie still,
upon the dusty,
brown earth.

shocked, silence for some seconds, and then...
the eucalypts erupted into, (what would appear to the outsider);
cold calculating mirth.

as the young jacko princes, all began the joking joust
for the top place berth.

in a melee of swooping, chuckling grace,
a contest no less,
set to test....
mettle, worth and cackle call.
each young bird,
takes to the wing and flies into the maddening...and how close,
         how loud,
                  how startling,
         they can be.
            is made known,      
by those,
whose years,    
            have flown.

when all, is said and done. tourney overflown,
feathers are preened.
then the winner
is presented,
with opportunity, bold....
to nest the queen.
as to the rest,
they take their place,
in the chaotic, cackling, cacophonous,
kookabuurra clan nests.
to bide their time,
until, the next coup,
                        comes calling...
this is fiction, i have no idea, really, how jackos sort out their hierarchy. they where just exceptionally excited at dawn this morning... and this flowed through.
Jun 2014 · 441
godsuite. (#7)
betterdays Jun 2014
of all god's great works
it's eagle and albatross
who inspire winged awe
Jun 2014 · 726
it is what it is...
betterdays Jun 2014
there is, lying within my soul,
an elusive dissatisfaction...
like the loss...of a red balloon,
floating up to the air...
and you, almost have a hold the string....
but then,  the balloon is not there.
it is gone.

it is like that aftertaste,
of the best meal....lobster, butter, brandy, garlic.
still tasty, on memories tongue.
but the restaurant, closed
and the recipe...long gone

it is that moment, remembered, of just we two,
of pristine blue water salty, manta rays dancing ballet and fish and coral and crab
sheer under water bliss...
but now, standing in cold winter rain....knowing,
you'll not soon know that connection  again....

it is knowing, that while
i can see your face
and hear you speak....
these are just, soundbytes, from the history we keep.

it is grief, and it comes
and it goes.....
it is sadness, wearing
the reaper's clothes.....
it is knowing, you are gone
and no-more.....

it is my late night tears,
quietly, falling to wood floor.
betterdays Jun 2014
when the world,
was much younger
and i was a stupid-crazy
girl-ly-chick, enamoured
with her youth.

i drove, a sunshine,
lemon, yellow bottomed, white pith on top combi van. coyly, cloyingly named Mello Martha.

it was...surfboards and swimsuits,
egg and bacon sangers,
early morning breezes,
after a blitz at the breadbox.

before... changing into
the structured, tortured baby, bank teller blues,
in the back,doors left open.

it was... rockin, knockin,
***, on credit,
to a promised future,
alluded to, but postponed,
for the moment.

it was... bruised back and
grazed knees,
harder, deeper oh god!
oh god! please... faster, fucken frenzies,
on a saturday night.

it was....running away to nowhere,
to find myself,
then finding me,
running away from,
the self i didn't want to know.
noway, nowhere, nohow.

it was... a barrel of monkeys, a barrel of laughs,
a keg of beer,
a box of wine,
under the crowded stars.

it was.... a roadtrip,
up the coast,
midnight bonfire,
midnight munchies,
playing hunches,
exploring reefs and reefers and such.

it was...far from family
and church rules,
a friendly rebellion,
of loud, proud youth.
totally and brazenly,
uncouth
it was... wham! and m.j.
cindy and boy george's culture club ,paperlace,
billy idol and the beach boys.
sung with abandon,
at spinal tap level eleven.

it was... peaceful, quiet, sleeping grace.
insanely in love with...
i forgot his name.

it was.... the birth of bodaciously me.
all brass hair and bosoms,
wild and carefree.

it was ....so long ago,

it was... yesterday night,

when i saw... Mello Martha's identical twin,
stopped at a traffic light.
it was... sunshine and lemon, bitter and sweet,
as she sailed off, down the street.
i sat and watched,
wist, full of recollect,
far and away, from my presently minded place...
sitting in, the driver's seat,
of my mom-blue subaru.
Jun 2014 · 752
do not disturb.
betterdays Jun 2014
the salt tangs and swirls
in the mist
giving the world outside
my door
an ocean lisp
all the tree's now indistinct
and ghostly
all the world now mostly
secrets and whispers, soft this morn
the cloud have come to visit
and the sun....
he is up there somewhere
the little blucat has made
his decision....hibernation
is the mode of coping...
the boys of the same intonation...
who am i to disturb the flow
....back to bed with book i go,
Jun 2014 · 446
of this night, speak gently
betterdays Jun 2014
the night, so still,
so close....
the surf holds it's breath.
clouds, hide the small crescent of the moon.....
and it is just, the blucat
and i still awake...
he, is curled, in upon himself and has only one eye,
half, open.....
one last chapter....and then a cup of peppermint tea.
and i shall be, done...
i am sure, the world can...
move, forward...
....to a new  dawn
while,  we here, slumber on....
Jun 2014 · 700
a small day....
betterdays Jun 2014
world, expect not to much
from me today ....no great song...today...i will just hum
along ....to other's music...

world ask not to much
from me .....no great tree
of wisdom....just perhaps
one sage leaf.....

today world i will not ask
much of you.....a little sun....some exercise...and love...a smile or two...and some blessed quietude....

and when we come to the
sunset.....we can both know
that not all days have to be
big adventures.....
some days can just be small
walks......  on well worn paths.....and there is much in
that.
Jun 2014 · 606
what is? (#5)
betterdays Jun 2014
what is hate?
if not a toddler's tantrum,
wearing hobnailed boots....
and stomping about.
Jun 2014 · 1.3k
magpie morning
betterdays Jun 2014
******* bug,
bled black blood.

crunching carapaces,
caught, crawling contentedly.

magpie's morning meal.

warbling, wistfully,woefully, wanting, weighty worms.

grabs, grub greedily,gulping.

magpie makes much, munch.

click, clack, clack, black beak.
famished family, finally, filled.
*****, flies.
finished, foraged feasting.
Jun 2014 · 521
godsuite (#6)
betterdays Jun 2014
praying mantis posed
vivid green, a deadly nun basking in noon's glare
Jun 2014 · 344
godsuite. (#5)
betterdays Jun 2014
sparrows and fieldmice memorandum from above all small things matter
Jun 2014 · 617
sweat
betterdays Jun 2014
one beaded drop of sweat, traverses the canyons
and ridges of his,
finely muscled back
slow ..quick.. slow
in rhythm with his .....
scintillating movement
i am transfixed,
by the little bead's progress
hesitant to portend
it's destination,
as it wends it's way downward.
i want to halt...
the glistening jewel's journey with the tip of my tongue.....cat-like,
lapping at smooth milk
but that would be.....




........a bit weird.....
i expect the young god cycling, before me in
the spin class may think me odd
if i leapt forward and licked his salty back....

...but an old girl can dream!
betterdays Jun 2014
have spent this morning,
counting and measuring
thoughts.....

they are like,
little exotic birds,
that have been caught,
in an ornithologist's net.


are there enough,
or are they in decline
do they have enough
weight,
will they fly,
if, or when,
i let them go?
or will they wander around,
in circles.
dragging, a broken wing
behind them...
will they sing, a cheery heart-warming song,
or will they, croak and caw and cackle.

or will they,
fall lifeless from the net
and lie, dead on the ground.
to frail, to cope with having,
been caught, counted and measured.
Jun 2014 · 381
godsuite(#4)
betterdays Jun 2014
chickens, ducks, pigeons
i ascribe these to the creator's
clockwork joys project
Jun 2014 · 992
blue rinse...and set
betterdays Jun 2014
Blue rinse  and set
home done.
Meant the colour changed every time,
from shades of pale lilac...
to electric neon light.
Always wave set never permed.
Hair too fine.

She was what they,
termed politely,
in those days:
"a large ***** woman."

Corseted nine to five,
in matrons whites.
Jiggly in a flambouyant orange muu muu by night.

A spinster, devoted to work and extended family,
large of heart and appetite.

A soft place to fall,
when the stonelike,
stoicism of my mother, became to harsh to bear.

I was flummoxed,
when in my teens,
I found a dog eared,
Kama Sutra,
in my blue haired aunts cupboard.
I can honestly say....

I learnt a lot... about a lot ...that day.
Jun 2014 · 618
god suite(#3)
betterdays Jun 2014
looking for unique
consider the platypus, god's blueprint for strange
Jun 2014 · 502
what is? (#4)
betterdays Jun 2014
what is fate?
if not, the hindsight
of hope and circumstance..
combined to form....
life's wibbly-wobbly jello....
Jun 2014 · 435
god suite (#1&2)
betterdays Jun 2014
creationary thoughts
bubble n'drift slow cross the eye of god

he breathes so gently
and they coalesce into butterfly and moth
hiaku suite
Jun 2014 · 738
opera of the night
betterdays Jun 2014
it is just after dusk,
and the day has gathered
it's coloured petticoats and
fled.

the sleek, white and black
patched cat,
from three doors
down, to the left
has taken up position,
on
the next door neighbor's shed.

she sits,
preening under the
moth dappled spotlight,
as she sings an aria
of love and seduction
* Un'aura amorosa—"
A loving breath"*
perhaps....

all the males
come to listen in,
testosterone,
induced adoration.

even the
little blucat
with only
vaguest memories
of infatuation, tries to heed
her siren call...
pressing
himself against
the glass sliding door
praying
for two miracles
the first being
osmosis
and the second
the reincarnation
of long lost testicles.

but
alas,
alack
god does not heed his
plaintive cries...

and besides the party
next door
is now over....
closed down
by a shower
of rain
sent by garden hose

all cats,  
now wend their
way home to
dinner's cold
and  hearth's warm
or to fight
as alley cats do
in dark corners
of this urban sprawl

awaiting the
midnite reprise
of the
operatic caterwaul
at number
two seventy four.
this will
be
the
third time
this week
Jun 2014 · 906
catapult.
betterdays Jun 2014
i am always amazed at how
my convoluted mind works.

just read sverre,s title...

my cup runneth over....

and was instantly, catapulted,
back to....
a sweltering, sunday morning.
sitting on a slippery gloss
painted bench...navy blue
and white....
in my itchy lace collared
dress....for best use only.
singing, angelicly.
the lord saved me
(sign of cross, then
hands pointing to the sky)
i am as happy as can be
(point to smiling face, then hands clapping)
my cup's full and .....running over.
(hands make cup,heels of palms together. then roll over each other.)
my hands reiterating the
words with the actions,
(in brackets).

i would not have sung
that gospel song,
for more
than thirty years...

my mind....is a funny thing
but the memory is a happy one.
thank sverre...i think...
it has now morphed into an earwig...
i liked the whole poem sverre
Jun 2014 · 616
entire & intact
betterdays Jun 2014
*******,down, sue
even from the grave,
you suprise....

i open the door to a knock,
two delivery men.
one burly, one stout,
stand on the threshold.
with a letter and a box.

the letter, from your solicitor
said.....
this is your bequest to me....
okay, i got a box of stuff....
nice, but then i read more...

you have bequeathed to me, your office, contents.
entire and intact....
the delivery men ask me where i want it put...

i say in the shed out the back
there....
so now an hour later...

33 boxes , computer, desk office chair, three foot mask
making block, and  various
posters, painting prints and
other items of theatre practitioner's paraphenalia,
sit in piles,
ordered and hapahazard,
in amongst ben's benches, tools and lathes.

and me,
i sit in, the old red leatherete, institutional,
easy chair,
holding the sack of paper and teabag infused garbage,
that came with your office.
entire and intact...

i am both laughing,
at this absurdity
and sobbing at the fact....
that this office,
will evermore,
not have,
the integeral piece,
that makes it whole,
....entire and intact...
for you my friend
....are gone
and not ever....
coming  back.
thier is a largesse in this gift
i cannot explain....but also a wicked sense of humour....
so very much my friend sue..
Jun 2014 · 577
three for the price of one
betterdays Jun 2014
this little poem
                        a pilgrim of
letters and words
                         my mind
zestings and oils
                          sent forth
to add my flavour
                          to the world
and now my thoughts
                  bubbling & boiling
to mingle with yours
                    with excitement
making a new world view
              just to serve & enjoy
three poems...here..braided
into one....an experiment of sorts....enjoy
Jun 2014 · 618
just a little inkling
betterdays Jun 2014
there it was,
sitting in the
tiny rainbow room
of my brain,
you know,
my joy's broom closet,
just behind the third eye.

was an inkling,
it was just a little one,
of an effervescent poem,
written with the love of silly.
it was born from,
the smackerel of hunny
held so stickily in the bear's paw(maw).
the one that lives
on the corner,
and is always looking
for more

it became then,
a twinkling.
it was growing you see,
expanding in girth,
learning of mirth,
the art of the funny.
it was begining to be,
the notion of an idea,
all perpertual motion
and fuzzy with glee.

it bursts forth from,
the closet and into the
brain,
in a wizzing, fizzing, ball,
too hard to contain.
around and about,
it ricochetted.

trying to find
a small pocket,
of spared thought
in which to fit
and sit for a while,
to cogitate it's
self into an amusing,
musing,
of rude and unseemly
health.

but alas and alack,
it could find no berth
in the banality,
no perch for it's caprice.

wrinkling now,
with the loss
of it's earlier gleam,
it suffers from
a bout of hysteria
and screams in futility.

please, let me  be,
a thought, complete
and in context.

let me, not suffer,
the fate of being,
just a half arsed dream.

it can see, no worse fate
for an inkling,
with some gumption.
to wither and die,
as a mere
whimsical fantasy.
with, proud and lofty thoughts, passing on by,
with not nary, a glance
in the direction,
and little to no,
compassion,
for the fate of
the poor inkling.

that once ,
had delusions of granduer.
far above, it's humble station.
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