one small leaf
set adrift
from the tree

torn asunder
in wind rain
and thunder

battered
by
life's storm

now balances
pecariously
on table's edge

not yet ready
to become
detrius underfoot

waiting
daring,
demanding
to become
just another
fond,
frail memory

pale
green
perfection

unblemished
bar the untimely
amputation

each cell
delineated
in cellular beauty

taken
far too
young

sometimes
you gotta
hate

natural
selection's
descisions

sometimes
mother nature
is dumb...

crushed
but
not defeated

they
leaf brothers
and sisters
will but
carry on....

for they
are
young and hopeful

ignorant
but
strong

one death
can be absorbed
and lost in living on

the tree
will
stretch
ever upward

for that
is the
tree's

everlasting
song

seek
the sun

seek
the sun

and you
can never
go wrong.

here i am

9 degrees celcius
dragging bins to the curb
breath frosting clouds
feet cringing from cold earth
muttering quiet obscenities
trying not to inhale trash perrfume
looking up to see sunrise colours dance
waving to brave/stupid morning walkers
thinking early birds are overrated
hearing  the resident kookaburras laugh
thinking caffiene, caffiene,  caffiene

here i am

sentient beings scream silently as
society simply seeks an illusive dream
as sombulant walkers
we sigh away the seconds
unable to sift significance from
the silty slurry of sordidness
sad to say....but sorry is not safety
safety is no longer the sucurity blanket
at which we suckle as we sleep
we the sentinels stumble and slip
on the ****, left out to dry in the sun
and the sinisters snicker
at our slack jawed  stupidity

at the present moment
my lexicology
lies midway
between
bavardage
and
toom
so for
the moment
i spare you
the
presence
of my prattle

samsonian hair litters the ground
the man I married looks
different shorn
like a raggedy sheepman
all naked and forlorn
head all baldy and bumpy
his curly locks
carefully sealed into a bag

this indigo night
spreads diamonds like confetti
across the heavens

one final cup of chamomile tea then to bed,
to bed, to lie drenched in sweat.
until the heat breaks
and the cool change sneaks on through.
one last sip to calm my mind.

so i can prepare
to itemize,
those **** pesky sheep.
i know them all by name now,

by dawn, i will know where they are going on their annual holidays.

rinse the cup and go to bed,
at least,
my foolish shepardess, my restless, droving, roving mind.
you will give you head,
a place to rest,
while you go on,
this  wooly,
sheep finding fact fest.

hey mister museman
float an idea my way

you see my brain is tired
and the creatives gone away

hey mister museman
give my some words
to play with
on this wet and grey
old day

and I will try to
string them together
so they have
something grand to say

hey mister museman
don't turn away
need me some
jot's and tittles
to chase these blues
and black grey hues
out into the middle
of Sunshine Bay

thanks mister museman
for taking the time
to help me rhyme
and float some words
out into the stratosphere

her fingers feathering the dark  magnolia leaves
stroking the foilage like it were a housecat

his fingers wrapped around the taped raquet handle
in a firm yet dexterous grip, waiting to enter the fray

her fingers deep within the loamy soil
communing with the larger whole

his fingers  testing  the grain of the wood
looking for the sweet spot, the soul

her fingers  raised to lips, creating  a mask
thoughts to the rest of the day

his fingers  poised above the computer
awaiting the spark to flare

her fingers in the tresses of his hair
asking for more connection

his fingers playing across the rise of her breast
answering all her questions

her fingers, her hands hard upon his shoulder blades
seeking the length, the depth, of him

his fingers, his hands on her ****
fullfilling their need

their fingers intertwined
as they sleep....together

memory by memory
i unfold the origami
of our friendship
until a crumpled
and lined piece
of paper lies forlorn
on the kitchen table

once an exquisite
paper crane.
now something
i wrap the vegetable
skins in.....

bewildered,
confused,
where did it go?
alienated,
dogday tired,
just all gone, gone, gone.
confounded,
out of place,
it was here, i left it right here.
muddled, jumbled, befuddled,
jumble thoughted,
stumble stepped,
tangle, tousled,
perturbed, perplexed,
just downright baffled,
snarled up, sixways, sideways
why is'nt it where i left it, dumbfounded, disconnected, dazed,
so discombobulated,
i am about to be,
bedlamized...
i could swear,
i left my youth right there,
on the hall table,
next to the car keys....
but now it is gone...
........and i am left bereft.

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....

i carry you, with me.....
etched on my bones.
anywhere, everywhere,

i go

you are my strength, my solidity.

all

my musings, mutterings,
my sonances, my oratory
exhortations....

sing

to your, soulful simplicity.

all

my waiting,
for you to...come.... become
is, as, was,
done by groaning
or is, as, was
birthing ecstasy
no redemption, from loving
no surcease, from lustful longings

(for you are my line,
my is, as, was, will be....)

now

i lay....open....

replete....sate...

before you... beneath you...

no page unturned
no secret lies fallow
no place unplough-ed
their you are... there you be

(my again, my line, my always was, my is)

and it's you... it is you...

you are....  
letters and numbers and music and coda
it always of is you

here is us,
we be here

all  

the graphite secrets
now engraved we have
upon one another
for of the ordering of
the paper-ed hearts

and

the inordanate wonder 
of an unspent page and lucent lines of lovers worth
we write,(wrote) and write again ..... 

(a mulling, mewling, mumuring togetherness line)

begetting
steaming, sensual, searing
metallicgraphics
filliagreed upon my bones to the isolation of the world we are lost, torn apart, asunder...

be we here, together be,

my soul

knows your love
etched upon my bones
we are never apart
we are all
we are line,
entwined together.

i have said,
goodbye to you
a thousand times, plus more
in both, small moments
and big.
when i turn,
to see your face
and then, remember you are no longer
so with smile, and a tear,
i  once again,
bid you goodbye.

it is now nigh,
on three years,
i have been saying
farewell.
all that time,
desperately missing you.
wishing i was,
saying,
hello, instead.


but the sad truth is,

dead is dead.

au revoir, dearheart

yet again.

grey is the day,
bleak is the heart,
rough winds bellow
and sadness stirs.

the little blue cat,
burrows
under the doona,
rejecting the light.

i turn and leave,
for work
wishing i was,
a little blue housecat.

tree
green
       knotty
      gnarled
               limbs
                      bark
                           rough
                           roots
                                  twigs
                   ­                 wood
                                          o­xygen
                        carbon-dioxide
                    ­                           xylem
                                                    leaf
  ­                                                        flower
  ­                                                                 ­  rings
                                                           ­                  seeds
                                                           ­                      earth
                                                           ­                              habitat
                                                         ­                                            timber
                                                          ­                                                  bole
          ­                                                                 ­                                 borers
                                                                ­                                                       sap
                                                             ­                                                          soil
                                                            ­                                                                 life
                                                            ­                                                                 ­    earth
                                                           ­                                                                 ­           trees
                                                           ­                                                                 ­         forrest
                                                         ­                                                                 ­             green
                                                           ­                                                                 ­              red
                                               ­                                                                 ­                 orange
                                                          ­                                                                 ­ autumnal
                                                       ­                                                                 ­                     livid
                                                           ­                                                                 ­            living
                                              ­                                                                 ­                     growing
                                    ­                                                                 ­                                      worlds

to make the choice, to use your words
for the betterment of others
is sometimes thought of
as  somewhat antiquated gesture

to use one's talent (which is sublime)
to draw attention to some one else's
achievements, with both grace and humour
not once or twice but time after time
is beautiful beyond my word ablitities

to do this with  such panache
to do this with absolute humility
to honour this with a joyful spirit
so as to, do this in a way
which gives the recipient, all the glory
is highest art form
it is the poetic way of chivalry
it is magnanimous beyond magnanimity

it is to my reckoning; this particular poets
way of giving, small peices of his very big heart away

it is confetti made up of admiration and love
thrown high in the sky for all to see
it is one man's ticker tape parade
that i stand on the kerb waiting for
each and every day......

the bones in me
seek out the sun today
desiring of,
it's warmth and nourishment

the rest of me follows
blindly  along.
i have always been one,
to accede to need

i am done with work,
for a week or two.
so, i sit in the park
and watch the human zoo.

with the sun,
beaming down
in gentle dismay,
over the seemingly,
awkward disarray
of poeple, dogs and birds,
(mostly pigeons),scattered everywhere.

and in this day
there is fulfillment

the sun has arrived
on cue.

and birds chirk

and dew sits diamond like
on green, green grass

and the mailboxis
collared by string
attatched to a bright red
balloon

drinks glisten in plastic cups
sauasge rolls warm in the oven
the chicken wings are in there too


bowls of lollies await consumption
and knicknacks are wrapped in
yesterday's news

today another year
rolls on bye
seems to this mother
in less than a blink
of an eye

gifts unwrapped
and a puppy
named Snap


pictures taken
measurement on the
kitchen door jamb

he grows
tall and strong


but still
and forever
my little man

i see you
run and leap
off the cliff-head
and plummet down

only to stretch your wings
and fly, skimming across
the white capped waves
before majestically  rising
into the endless sky

you are beyond me now
all potential and life for living
courage incarnate, dreaming large
and ineffable technicolor  dreams

yet to be broken,
or touched by brokeness
your light pure and shining

god, i envy you, but, yet
i don't want to be you...


i, too
once made that amazing leap
into nothingness
with the same grace and confidence..

but that was my journey
this is your day....your life

and icarus's all,
as you make your way
to the sun,
remember this
there is but one thing
that burns more brightly

and that thing is...

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...

breakfast with my mother
is now a song of
tapping,clinking noise
as the tremor in her hands
grow beyond the medications
control

she will be 85 within month
and has become small and birdlike in appetite

conversations have become
vocal exercises in loud short
projections
but she is not deaf
the world has just stopped
speaking clearly

her eyes
have seen so much,
her heart
has encompassed both
great joys
and deep sorrows

the sharp cutting edges of
her mind
are now becoming
butter knifes
it saddens me to know
her mental acuity
is dwindling like yarn
unraveling
to pool in a
muddled mess
of colour on
the dusty floor

i watch her
over my coffee cup
we are so
different and disparate
i once truly believed
my self
to be anothers child
our personalities
were so divided by lifes spectrum
but as i muse now
as a mother myself
watching her
it comes to me
if i am just an inkling
of her strength and grace
then i am an amazon
incarnate
incarnate

Pre dawn bird chorus
Awakening the feline
To begin dawn patrol.

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.

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.

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

i rest my hand lightly on your chest,
the crisp grey blond curls tickle my palm.

this is not invitation, not yet.

but a need to feel your essential substance underneath my fingertips.
i move to rest my head, my ear hovering
near your heart's steadying rhythm.
at counterpoint to the waves on from beach below.
you cup my face in your large carpenter's hands
and draw my head away from your drumbeat's base.
gentle calluses graze my cheeks.
your face, now in my curls inhaling me,
my thoughts, my grace.

we lean, into together emeshed, entwined,
ensnared.

we are our foundation pillars and piers.
we assay each other finding
the potch and opal dross and gold.
we accept the measure, allay the fears.

two seperate. two complete.
bound together.
made one.
intricate in design and blueprint.
layer by layer,
baggage and taught lies are lost,
forgotten and sundered.
we revived hearts atrophied, critical and dead. shifted paradigms, opened heads,
rehashed, reworked, rewired.
reawoke the sleeping giants,
found truth and honesty
and love and grace.

took a liking to this unkown place.
created gardens, from thought, tumbled weeds. we sought and saved and watered wilted needs.
our house, our home now, built strong
and stable.

we lean into together emeshed, entwined, ensnared,

your gentle calluses brush my cheeks,
finding salted water.
your deep rumbling resonance,
mumbles into my curly locks
"you ok babe?"
i turn my face to yours,
seek your eyes, smile and reply
"just thinking beautiful thoughts"
and gift my lips to yours,
lovingly lingeringly,

this, now,

is an invitation.

it is the little things
that consume me...
the daily minutea
that others miss...
or deem discardable.
it is these.....
small moments
i am drawn to..
that.. i focus on......
as the big picture sails by
piccolo thoughts
and lilliputian dreams...
.... engage me.
encouraging me to ..
flights of fancy....  
expansive in expression...
....snatches of conversation
half finished gestures.....
are bread and butter
.... sustaining me.
...tiny bits of tree twiglet,
when they grow...
what stories could they tell.
a christmas stamp stuck to the
cement pavement...
i would hate to pay
the postage on sending that package.
always...and always
in the back of my mind....
the sea....
full of teeming....
tiny floaty things for me...
to inadeaquately... describe
and love... i write love  well....
then there are....
.... the familys forgotten moments
...gathered by my quill
we..... as poets... are life's truest horder's .....inscribing life on sky and tree.....
we see and hold....
....and feel and scry.
the minikens... of all .....mankind
with little.. splot, spotches..? of inkspots ..joined to form a line.
of words to open hearts...
..and free encumbered mind

milk thick
with clotted cream
not conversant
with homogenization
sat it a sqaut blue
earthenware jug
in the coolness
of the foodsafe
with the pan of water
cold from being ice
below, the soothing drip
part of the melody
of the old kitchen
along with the slap of dough
on the slice of marble
cut from mountainside
in a counrty old and
across a sea of troubles
tibits of sweetness
handed down
for consumption
dough and flour dusted hands
leave imprints on cheeks
and warmth in hearts
in the oven thick ginger bread
rises bringing hunger
to stomachs already full
as women talkand bake
and solve the problems
of the world, banished now
we sit on the step, out the back,
the sun warm on our faces
waiting, waiting, waiting
for a slice of gingerbread
hot from the oven
and a glass of
cold, fresh, creamy milk

clarity ...
clear ..water ..view
....to the pebbles
and ..green ..pond life....
..fronds..
that sway  ..gentle..
in the current
...mezmerising the eye
hypnotizing ...the soul
..the koi  ..glide
....cruise
like .....teenage boys
........in first cars
lapping.... endlessly..
round..back..round
                                 ..until
the ...food .......hits..
            ...the water's...
surface....
             ....then
they are            ....glutinous
         ....fury...

....the little blue cat
comes ....to watch this show
with ..calculation ...inherit..
in..his eyes
..he wants ... wants...wants.........one ...of those ..big..juicy fish...
but.... they ...are to quick
.... for him....he has tried...

.....the pond settles
the ripples fade...
the fish ..swim ..more sedately
now..
....and the frogs ...skim the surface..
........to gather...... the insects
disturbed ...by the earlier...
maelstrom..

clarity... returns
                     the frogs ...begin
their nightly.... choral
as we.. turn and ...walk
into the house
...led by a ...hungry ...
little grey cat...

her light is dim,
her words are slow,
she ambles now.

no more for her,
the rat race.
no more,
the daily grind.

her food is mush,
she sits alseep, for hours,
in the warm sunshine.

no more hustle, nor
any hint of bustle.

she is stooped
and has made
an art,
of the acts of decline.

no more,
taking orders,
she, bides her own time.

she knows,
her coil is ending
and that, the gentle night
beckons.

but still she whines.

until shooshed and comforted and put up,
into bed.

this old dog, Bess
has lived,
long past her prime.

it is just a sense
of well- placed loyalty,
that keeps her mind
fixed on staying, here
with John...
way past her alloted time.

Heard today of the demise
of a couple elderly 78 and 73
caught in the malestorm
of a bushfire, unable to leave
the property they had  lived on
for more than 50 years...
they took shelter in the house
he built...only to have it become
their pyre ..they were found together
There is  poetry in this, love passion,tragedy, darkness and despair
and though these word do not come anywhere near describing the situation, it is my belief that these two people deserved some words written for them...
May they rest in peace...

it's a dan fogleberg sort
of day....
smooth and full of wist
as we do mundane things

full of odd jobs and kisses
in quiet moments
dusting off of yesterdays
and longings for tommorrows
fingers to fingers
and smiles promising
more....
sunshine through gentle rain
falling in love once more again
yeah it is definitely a
dan fogleberg sort of day....

the salt of the sea
calls to me...
it is time,

it is time,
for re-immersion
it is time,
to revitalize
your winter, wearied soul

come little being.....
be swaddled in my watery folds

be bold,
my little one....
tho the water, may be cold

my friend....
the sun shall
warm your skin
and in my depths
you know you will find,
joys untold.

i take my towel and heed,
the whispers of the waves.

for me....
my summer's soul
to brave, the tang  
and crisp, cool clarity,
to redeem my sanity.

i walk, run, and
dolphin dive past
the breakers,
into the depths
of watered reality.

the leaves are beginning to turn
the tips just edged with the glory
of colour

in the early morning air
that crisp nip
gnawing away at summer

and the birds are beginning to leave or forage for warm nesting

the little blucat, watches this
activity from the comfort
of the warm window ledges
in the sun room,
before dozing once more
head pressed to the warm glass

Monday morning
is singing the indigo blues

the sky is wearing
a grey duffel coat

still I gotta pay my dues
gotta get happy
gotta get happy
an pay my dues

Step into the winters day
Air so crisp and cold
Snows on the way

Somewhere they will be
Freezing today
Somewhere they will be
rubbing chilled hands together
draming of warm summer days

Inside boxes filled with red faces
they will be dreaming of faraway places
where the sand is warm underfoot
and  in the chambray sky there are no traces
of water accumulation, just an argent sun
and on the breeze exotic spices.

These are the dreams of the red faced
and blue handed masses that ride the buses
in this crisp winter morn
.....looking for a scrap of chambray,
in the cold flannel grey of this Monday

i place the configuration
of bones,
commonly known as hands
against the convex cusp
of my cheek,
then place the whole mad
contraption ,
elbow first onto the bench,
that seperates you
the bartender,
from me,
the person wishing,
to inhale copious amounts
of alcohol....
and say in my finest
of linguistic stylings....
"can i  ave  another....of
da ***** mules....ta

.....muchly luv...."


upon your denial,
of my well worded request,
i being both,
discombobulated and distraught,
cry,
into some one else's beer,
before leaving,
to stagger and stumble home....

where i puke $73.00+ dollars,
worth of cocktails,
into the porcelian bowl
of the only restroom,
in the apartment...

and then in
the Land of April
there was a
foolish fool
who did not
quite have either
the werewithal
or the the tools
to ably prank,
the citizens
of his town,
those citizens
did feel
awfully
let down by
the foolish fool
they often
thought
they may be
better served
by a mule
so after
much thought
they caught
a wild mule
dressed him
in a tutu
of tulle
and a paper
crown
and made
him
the ruler
of the
foolish fools
foolish town
the foolish fool
gave up his
foolhardly ways
and became
the keeper
of King Mules
royal maze

feet cold
even in the
thickest socks

not used to
mountain weather
years in temperate climes

have softened my ability
to suffer silently
i feel ancient as  i walk
about, muttering....
too cold, too cold

the little heater
working overtime
but doing naught
mocks me with it's
white noise rattle

hot showers are great
til you have to leave
the steamy warmth

bed is the warmest place
so we, all  are in it ...
like puppies in a box

too cold, too cold

what was nothing

becomes reality

it happens momentarily

a thought creates an action

which sets the heart alight.

then reason takes flight

on wings of  purported glory

we skim the stratosphere

oblivious to gravity

we soar in graceless ecstasy


until ..... until....

tis time
to let the words
tumble mumble forth

tis time
to let the laughter
gambol and play

tis time
to let the tears
slide down my cheeks

tis time
to sort the boxes
that contain your life

tis time
to dwell in memory
of many precious days

tis time, tis time.

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?