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427 · Nov 2014
southbound...
betterdays Nov 2014
when i was young
i knew love.....
then  i lost it
left it on  southbound train
thinking
it, he would relent,
from the stubborn position
he, it had talked himself,
itself into, but that did not
happen...
i tried to find love,
i waited for his return
i asked for it
at the lost and found window
but nothing came of that

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

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

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

i now stand often,
on the platform of the
station....and wonder....
writing exercise....
427 · Nov 2014
storm god...
betterdays Nov 2014
the god of rain
just struck his drum
once twice and then once
more.....
the sound reverberates
and cracks the clouds
then down, down
pour his minions
drop by thousand drop...
to attack the land
with grand and furious passion.....
the sky alive with water
warriors and giant rattling
spears,
of light and anger,
hurled from cloud to cloud...

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

for with the rising of the sun
the night storms god... day is done...
427 · Nov 2014
Those are the...
betterdays Nov 2014
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
Need a trolley full...of both tonight.....lol
427 · Jul 2014
the traveller
betterdays Jul 2014
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.
saw a old and grizzled biker,on the side of the road, ******* at his thumb...on the way home.
427 · Dec 2014
boxed set
betterdays Dec 2014
we move
             s-l-o-w-l-y
                            today
d
  r
   a
     g
       g
         i
          n
             g
                yesterdays excess
about, in still gurgling        
                                   tummies and pickled synapses....

even the boy, stagnates in
front of new videos....
we are lizards on the lounge
me pretending to be engrossed in a new book
him.....awaiting the first
ball of the cricket...

we are a boxed set of...
self induced apathy...
the day pearl grey and
crying....
                 forgives us our
                                        sloth....
as i hear my bed beckoning..
Boxing Day 2014...
426 · Mar 2014
can we.......
betterdays Mar 2014
can we start the....world anew
can we forget....forgo
the....(colour) blue
where do i apply to re
a do..(done).. over
world anew now!!
order on(e) up
can we stop....turn back...
the clock to before
the (my)...world stopped
turning.....started crumbling
stone....cold...iceaged...
can we just stop the world
please ... do not get
off(line/side)
canwe....cani... talk.... listen
(try to) ....explain?????
words don't come.....easy
back(for)lash(ing)
rework old refrain...disdain
my portions...keeper
do not maintain....contain...
innocence....(no)one can(is)...
does
can we not give...take blame
we both burnt bridges
got. ...caught... in flame's (f)ire
can we rewind ....unwind
desire unravel..
hate retire...
anger
....rework the paradigm
can we make....bake ...  the
world anew
aspect....ratio... payedforview designed....
  ....realligned for me...you
can we.... dare we ..must we
will we .....
can....you forgive me
i ....can...not....lose
again
experimental work
(at least for me it was)
426 · Jul 2017
sing
betterdays Jul 2017
singing love songs
to one he will not meet
living pipe dreams
he can not complete

how can I make him
understand the gland
required was removed
whilst he snored

tux the cat,
singing love songs
to a lonely moon
like a flippin loon
There is out in the garden a little girl cat,
swinging her hips, thinking she is all that
Little does she know the tuxedo bro, she wants
is all growl and song...no show, but they sing
and sigh and carry on... young love in the suburbs
426 · Mar 2014
life clock's a'ticking
betterdays Mar 2014
death...  on gossamer wings
alights,
on my bed head
to watch with......... disgust
and rude dissappointment.
as i open my eyes
and greet the dawn of
another day full of potential....
summarily for us both.

this is the ....9862nd time for this
particular ritua.... there are other rituals with a higher
number.... but this one is important and not to be missed.
for death.... this is but the
start of his working day ...
as he trails behind me, in anticipation ....
watching and waiting for my
demise....
as i grow old his blood grow thinner.... greyer ....
but to his task, so grim....
he is chained .....and full
well knows that..... in the end
he will not ever... be denied.

besides it could be worse
he could have been cursed
to have as his prize.....
one of those centenanarians....
but then this one is sanguinely
stubborn....drat it may still happen ... and that would be
.....tragic... for you see...
.....the deaths that follow them.. the old... old.....
are now..... nanoscopicly
microscopicly minute
... in size

so now to explain....the way it works.....(as seen inside this .....................quirky brain)
is this..... when born..
.....death looms big and large.
as you grow garnering fear
wisdom and years..... it's size
decreases.
and one other thing death
......is one and...... is many

one, final call gifted to us all.
many, differing ways and
needs.

so.... we all have somewhere
in our blood... our brain our
eyes.... in our home and our surrounds.
a little bit of death
waiting........  to be found
he is patient and through
the many, many ...many years of his existance.....
not one has he lost.... forever
although some miss the early
call.....abscond.....refuse to fall at first or second sounding..

when your time is done ......
he will be waiting... on
wings of gossemer dark
and forthright...

for you and i...til then..
he flys close by
as we ....whistle our days away
frustrating this deaths play
.....for early completion
426 · Nov 2015
colour wheeling
betterdays Nov 2015
it is in the cool green edges
of my memory
that i see you
                            standing, talking, with other men
                            cigarette in hand, a hat cocked on head
                             all tall and strong and smelling of brylcream
      

it is in the deep purple
of my mind
that i love you
                                 remembering days stolen from a lost childhood
                                 beacons on shipwrecked love
                                 admist the heaving sea of a saddened childhood


it is with orange streaked red rage
that i hate you
when i can be bothered to hate you
                  
                                for parties lost, birthdays  fogotten
                                for questions asked and gossip whispered
                                for the belief instilled by lack of interest
                                 that i was not enough, that i was the problem


it is with a tired sky blue
that i forgive and recognize you
    

                                                as  a man who wished, and wanted
                                                but was unable to give and recieve
                                               a world of wonder and days of sweet wine

it is with white...i let your memory drift...into the dark  of your making

and it is to the bright welcoming yellow of my life
to be lived, that i turn and embrace....
an older piece i found again today
423 · Mar 2018
vigil
betterdays Mar 2018
and in the quiets times
between the ministrations
of those angels called nurse
i sit  and watch you breathe
pray for your god to bring you comfort
pray for my god to bring me strength
in this quiet love i hope i honour you
i hope i thank you for times
you watched over me and prayed
at mum's bedside...things are simple...
423 · Aug 2014
at the end of the day
betterdays Aug 2014
the day's breathe
runs thick in my brain.
a heaving mucoudial sigh.

words play tag and dodge
but will not stand still
prefering to run and trill.

the hum of traffic
soporforic....
and it
takes all of me
to concentrate on
the simple art of
driving....

i am at the end of this day
so drawn out and opratically
long...

i sit now, numb,
from all the academic,
angst and drama.
in the car,
in the driveway.

the home straight,
laid out, right before me.

the lights on in welcome,
inside husband and child
dinner for the table
the fires warmth beckoning


but still i sit
here ensconced,
in the quiet cocoon,
of the car, parked in the driveway.

where,
no one wants
or needs , a piece of me.
exceptionally long and difficult day..... not quite
ready for the second shift...
422 · Jun 2014
..25..
betterdays Jun 2014
twenty five syllables,
make up this poem.
i  checked them, for
poetic correctness.
just, to be sure.
a pinch of satire to start the day......
422 · Apr 2015
three-step.
betterdays Apr 2015
betwixt me and myself
but not I
thoughts are
muddled, befuddled
and often obtuse

but I is,
concise and acutely aware
of the confabulation
within the world
of weirdly wild will-fulness
contained within the brain-pan
I shares with me and myself

I wishes it were different
but knows it cannot be
for they are co-dependant
the id of the three
just doodling.....lol
420 · Nov 2014
new order#8
betterdays Nov 2014
yet,
be not afraid

to wander from the path

and create new perspectives
420 · Nov 2014
to walk in my shoes
betterdays Nov 2014
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...
so easily i stray
off the path....
so easily  i sit
and listen to the worlds wonder
i am a daydreamer....
through and through.
420 · May 2014
feelin' it.....
betterdays May 2014
tonight as we settle in
the sky a lavender- grey
twilight
seems ancient, eons old
but then again...maybe it's just me
419 · Mar 2014
circa; summer 2005
betterdays Mar 2014
standing in the cool of
the summer night,
the grass, lush dampness beneath my naked feet.

i want to grow roots down into this place

the stars, stammer in the sky
bright chips and slivers of diamantine, on an inked cloth.

i want to **** my heart onto this place

to the west, the ridge of  mountains, nestle with chocolate ease into clouds
of clotted cream.

i want to hunger from my heart, to feed and comfort this place

the lights of the town below,
gleam like a clowder of feral cat's, their eyes watching.

i want to tame this place

to the east, the beaches tide and sand, the white breakers
glisten.

i want to dive and delve the depths of this place.

the air is scented with orange blossom and jasmine and fresh hope.

i want to breathe the breath
of this place.

behind me, a half renovated
teak farmhouse.
inside, my new lover resides

i want to make this place home.

i am going to make this place,
this man, my home.
all this i did
and then we birthed
a family
me, he and mr just about three
and im'a lovin it all.
418 · May 2014
god's eye .......
betterdays May 2014
the little brown sparrows,
perch on the barbed
string fence,
feathers ruffled and puffed
against the cold, of the morning air
they knatter and gossip away among themselves.

they know nothing  of the sorrow of this day..

the thought comes to mind,
why would they care,
god's eye is upon them,
as they bask in the sunshine.
i sigh and crumble a corner
of my toast and scatter it to
the ground.
even god needs a hand,
in the practical aspects of caring, sometimes.
as the sparrows dart in to consume the crumbs,
i smile at their squabbling
antics....
and come to understand why god loves to watch the
tiny little things.
418 · Apr 2019
living in the globe...
betterdays Apr 2019
stay sane
within the insanity
draw a line in the sand
make it straight, yet flexible
enough to withstand
the  rough winds of argument

watch the sand blow away
still the line remains,
a furrow on the brow.
a burning bridge
beacon to  the too dark night
burning fever, feverbright

stay strong as belief does
becomes ash and ash does
becomes sky, flying forth
as squiggles written on ephemera

stay sane, within the insanity
this brief, brief, briefest time
for once the line is
broken and sundered
and the reality cold, enters in

then the sad, sad, sadness shatters
the snowglobe world within

water on the floorboards
may be tears or not.

glass shards scattered everywhere
and ginger bread house lost

once the ball is broken,
it cannot be retrieved

gliitter once unfrozen
will not be tamed again.

you will find that stuff for decades
and remember the insanity again...
418 · Oct 2016
mr ....
betterdays Oct 2016
he climbs aboard the bus
denying all offers of help


he rides most every day i do
he due to neccessity,
me more of a luxury,
the luxury being i can take part in
long, lightly alcohol, lubricated lunch discussions,
after  teaching class and then not having to decide
whether to drive or bus.

he is old, so very old,
each movement is both precise
and yet wavering, as he makes his way to his seat
then, as he thuds down,the bus moves off again

he rests awkwardly, the slight corkscrew in his spine
causes him to perch, more than sit,
the calves in his legs flexing constantly,
making adjustments, so he remains balanced
ever on the precipice...

yet he smiles, a wide toothy
grin, as he acknowledges
the crowd, most by name...
for that alone, he is a legend.

he is dressed in khaki shorts
double pocketed shirt,
one pocket for pens
and one for the pipe
that even unlit,
has an odour though not unpleasant,
it is slightly oppressive.

and across his chest the wide band
of the old leather satchel he carries,
often filled with books on a myriad of subjects
but sometimes empty bar an old thermos

he is the universities oldest student,
old enough to be father and grandfather
to those who teach him.
he has multiple degrees and a love of learning
yet to be assuaged, he loves the gathering of knowledge
the ****** and parry of intellectual debate

he is known as Mr Proffessor
and often has a group of his younger peers
set about him as he leads younger minds
down the oft convuluted paths of learning

but today he is an old man, on the bus.
trying to maintain his balance...
and I admire his style
418 · Jan 2015
the god of heavenly light.
betterdays Jan 2015
sometimes the god
would fold his wings
                  
kenneth slessor*

sometimes...
the god would,
fold his wings,
so as
to look less
terrible...

for when,
he stood,
with wings
outstretched,
spanning the heavens
width,
the strain...
of holding the stars
aloft
would show upon his
face,

a grimace of agony,
would crease and mar
perfection's smile.

so, sometimes
he, the god of,
heavenly light,
would fold his wings
and close his eyes,

so as not to see
the stars,
fall from the skies
and the dark night
encompass the world....

at these times
he chose, to be deaf
to the cries...
of the lesser beings,
as he rested from
the weight of might...

then resolute
he, the god,
of heavenly light
would stretch out his wings
of a mottled indigo hue, gather up
the stars and begin anew...

for what else is a,
god to do?...
kenneth slessor...an australian poet...
this quote comes from "the five visions of captain cook"
417 · Apr 2014
hugmugged
betterdays Apr 2014
it was pushing toward the midnight hour
here was me
struggling with words gone sour.
in to the lazee boy
i go to sit and "read".
turning on the light beside me
when looking to the ceiling
a shadow play in progress
i see...
a little bug being hugmugged
by an inky dinky foe
this little bug he fought
back he tried so....
very hard to leave the dinner table
but the inky dinky spider was more than able.....
to rug n tug the poor little thing,
into his pantry to...
marinate until spring.
so hugmugged snugrugwrapped spiderzapped
was the little bug
little mr inky dinky
was proper impressed with himself
as he confessed
to friends later at the pub that little bug
almost had me...
he had the heart of a grub.
some silliness for a sunday night.
416 · Nov 2014
new order#14
betterdays Nov 2014
imbide the beauty,

let it place seeds

in your heart,

from beauty, grows beauty
415 · Sep 2014
fingerlime
betterdays Sep 2014
the citrus caviar
of the finger lime
is introduced to the
tongue

where the spheres
of sunshine and
pale green love
sit tingling.

until upward
pressure is applied
by the tongue being
placed against the roof
of the mouth

and the jewelled sacs
burst, releasing their cargo,
all **** and refreshing,
evoking a fine summers day
with just a hint of,
exotic islands in the aftertaste

and a desire,
for more delicate,
citrus love...
414 · Jul 2014
one day....
betterdays Jul 2014
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....
for my niece... kayla
she is at that awkward
place ...between
child and woman...
413 · Nov 2017
wishes
betterdays Nov 2017
tiny bird thief, that cheeky sparrow
lionheart in brown tweed plumage as he
steals  breakfast from the cat's bowl

the cat looks on confused
dinner (he only wishes) stealing breakfast
what a topsy turvy world
must go contemplate this,
conundrum  in the sun patch, by the window
413 · Jun 2014
i can...(somewhat explicit)
betterdays Jun 2014
i can write you love poems
on parchment cream.
i can sway, and dance
through a moonless night
i can undress us both in
sweet slow torture
i can whisper loving words
in your ear
and write hot sultry nothings
on you skin,
with my burning, hungry
tongue
i can make you shiver, moan
and beg
i can stroke your manhood
til you can no longer stand
i can give you entry,
time and time again,
to my soul.
i can give you,
fast and *****
or, slow and trantric
love in so many ways,
i can take you,
to the brink, of madness
and back again.
i can keep you in my bed
for hours and days.
i can with love
unpick your seams
i can mix our essences
and make a new being
a godlet of love, hope
and daily joy.

i can and do and will do
all this....

again and again.

but sometimes all you want
is a bite of my toast a kiss and
a smile...

i can do that too...

love is...
sometimes,
complex
and
sometimes,
simple....
but mostly
it is somewhere,
in the middle.
412 · May 2014
first day jitters
betterdays May 2014
first day back.....
and i am faltering,
creative flint is drenching wet.
no spark of inspiration here.
end up comparing myself,
to the ghosts in my head.
as i stumble through the steps of the well worn dance
feeling out of step....
hearing a totally dirrerent song......
take a breath... while the students prepare short pieces based on emotional key words....

mine at the present FEAR
there is fear in my heart...
that i have lost
the unameable thing
that makes
teaching a joy.....
and in that joy i
become a good.... no great
teacher.....
is it lost or buried??....
i go back and watch....
with growing delight
at the sorrow, joy, anger
and love
that parades before me in different guises.

at the end of the lesson,
a group of students
come and chat,
these are students
who are new to me.
amongst the chatter
these breadcrumbs thrown  unknowingly to my frail heart....to my sparrow id
freezing on the winter branch
"we really liked the class,"
"that thing at the end way cool".... and "glad we took this option"...
my little sparrow heart
flew down and gobbled them up...
and the flint began to dry..
i may be okay yet....
this is  mostly a free flow brainstream thing, ordering thought and emotion
in Jan i broke my leg (badly) at work and had been off or part time (office duties only)until today, when i went back to practical teaching ..... i do about eight to ten prac sessions a week
along with lectures and for the third years small group
tutorials.... it was so hard...self doubt almost had me by the throat... a class of first years i did not know and unfamilar with the way
i build a session...
a particularly hard start.
  ....but i think.... i will be ok....just need to stick with it...tommorrow a betterday
412 · Dec 2018
wordmoth flies high
betterdays Dec 2018
this was meant to be a minute,
but then i began to spin it
and the words just took a hold,
so bold so bright
thrown like torches
into the indigo night
casting shadows on the back of
the retreating blocked,
blockhead blight,
setting grass and tree alight,  
loosing  now the tight hold
of  poetblock fear
loosening the reins of rage
making the transition
into the feathered thing
that takes flight
and flys upward
on mirrored wing
to the sky,  
not tethered
but also raw
and unweathered
unlimited by time,
but destined to fall
as energy becomes
one with all,
did not touch moon ,
did not see the sun
but this minutě wordmoth
soared and swooped
before it's minute was done
And now it flutters
down to earth,
saited and pleased
to have been..
birthed, never to die
but become byte eternal,
read once twice or more..
does not matter
wordmoths
have learnt
never
try to keep score
412 · Mar 2014
float
betterdays Mar 2014
god made beauty sing
when he painted myriad
designs on butterfly wings

delicate and so sublime
they float on by
graffitti artists of the sky
412 · May 2014
mountain morning air
betterdays May 2014
i sit on the bathtub's edge
weeping
not from grief,
tho i still wear it's coarse haired, grey cardigan
but from the pain,
emenating,
from my recently reconstructed leg.

broken and pinned
in summer, to all intents and purposes healed.
it and me have been ****** into the pre winter cold snap
on the moutains,
it is so freaking cold,
my breathe splumes
before me
and my poor mangled apendage, with the livid scars, where the bone had silvered through
is protesting with
a ferocious, throbbing ache.

i have tablets, and have taken them,  but i am in here
trying to warm the air with
the water running hot from
the shower.
i cannot stand long enough to stand under the water's spray yet.

ben, sleeps still,
in the other room,
he is exhausted,
from bearing the grieved desolation that is Laz.
he could do nothing to help,
at present, no one could.
but tried so very hard.
so i leave him to sleep......

...and hope the pills kick in
soon.
412 · Mar 2015
this way up
betterdays Mar 2015
fragile,
needing care,
impermanent,
not quite all there

standing
gently swaying
with wavering stare
hand held out
needing care

but garnering
indifference
and  misplaced disgust

what if that was
you or me,
or uncle alf
or sister beth

would you want
the world to walk by
deaf to the mumbled cry

these are people
just like us....
these are people...
give a f...

not just a ******* up
sweat stained buck
thrown at them
like they are muck
scraped off the bottom
of your shoe...

cause by god,
this might well
one day be you
seeking truth
and sanity
in the gutter...

fragile...so very fragile
411 · Jan 2015
and yet....
betterdays Jan 2015
this body electric,
has sung far too long.

now the fuse has blown
the lights have gone.
so now she stands in the dark,
the blessed, blessed dark,

slowly, she undresses
removing,
her stage show finery,
glitter and glam.
climbs wearily into
her favourite flannel pyjamas
and takes herself off to bed
with a nice cup of cocoa
...
and yet she remembers
in the quiet stillness
how desperately,
how completely,
he loved her....

and the scent of  flowers
and pine woods
fill the air...

the body electric sleeps now,
with tears upon wrinkled
cheeks...
411 · Jan 2015
damn it!!!!
betterdays Jan 2015
argent light signals the new day
far to early for this befuddled mind...
a few more hours sleep
please.....

but no.....cats to be fed
humans too
washing, cleaning,
baking all sorts of things
need doing....

but the brain says no
stay in bed....
the body feels encased
in lead...

today...
i just don't want to play
can't i just warm the bench
sit on the fence....

the cat is trying to sit on
my face....so i think the answer is a resounding
NO.....

**** it....
411 · Apr 2017
intangible
betterdays Apr 2017
you float
so lightly
upon the waters
of my soul

and when
in the sun
brightly
iridescent
do you shine

sometimes
you hide
whisper quiet

often
found though
in the strangest
of places
putting smiles
on sad faces

always in reach
for those who
extend their faith

light as feather
able to lift
the heaviest
of weights

like a smile
from a friend
or a sun shower
always welcome
especially  in
the eleventh  hour

intangible, you are
the small flame
that starts big fires....
Napowrimo Day4.... write an enigma poem...for more details
http://www.napowrimo.net/
411 · Mar 2015
all the signs say...Autumn
betterdays Mar 2015
the mornings are now cold
and we stay in bed
as long as we can

rushing through breakfast
stampeding to the car
wrapped in many layers

and then the sun finds
it's warmth and we peel
ourselves like onions

the washing lines
are full of clothes
flapping the in the autumn breeze

and the leaves
are turning into artwork
the days are getting short
I hear the sound of axes
in the fields the birds are leaving
flying up to the north.

all the signs say autumn
all the signs are true
another year is flying by
winter's coming soon
411 · Aug 2014
caught
betterdays Aug 2014
four twenty three,
antipodean time
and i am caught,
wide awake
between, my thoughts
and the sounds of
a snoring husband
and a cat purring
hungrily....
for an early breakfast.

i have a feeling,
no... i have a knowing.
this is...
going to be a long, long day.
410 · Jul 2014
i forget myself
betterdays Jul 2014
sometimes i forget
the beauty of my life
when struggling with
issues
when locked into gear
when busy is only my
morning cup and the rest of the day frantic
when weary and fatigued
my socks and shoes
i forget that there are colours beyond black, blue
and beige.

and then you come knocking
on my hearts door...with
a bunch of red,orange yellow and pink gerberers
and a goofy smile.

and i remember my soul
and the goodness within..
and i remember your soul
and the goodness within
and then i look at the world
and love the beauty,
and the tragedy too.

and i smile ......
at the potential
of the world
within all it's craziness
and me within it
within all my craziness

and i think, time to get on
with it.... no one else can
410 · Apr 2014
Doppleganger
betterdays Apr 2014
Somewhere
my
doppleganger
sits eating
chinese take out
for one
watching reruns of Friends
alone  
except for
the cat on her lap
and the four more
scattered about her flat.
She sits
thinking
wishing
life was different
How do I know this
because
that would be me
IF
you had found her first
410 · May 2014
between the lines
betterdays May 2014
got up,
had coffee.
showered, dressed
drove to work.
sat at a desk,
shuffled papers,
moved a mouse.
took some bathroom breaks.
came home,
deheaded camelia's.
fed the cat.
and the family.
read a bedtime story.
made love, in a desultory way, while watching telly.
went to bed.
and still.....
in that, there was poetry,
if you look....
between the lines.
410 · Mar 2014
ink #1
betterdays Mar 2014
i have an obsession,
at present
with the concept
of
ink to paper.

the embodiment of
imbuing fibreous materials with tinted liquid,
by way of sharp pointed etching,
in flurries of creative osmosis,
to create,
imprinted strokeplay
is to me fascinating.

perhaps i need to practise
the art of calligraphy,
but my penmanship,
the epitome of
the word illegable,
makes that thought
a quixotic notion.
not worth pursuing,
unless this is my
opportunity to
tilt at windmalls.

it may end badly.
but so what,
sometimes,
that is the fun of finding
out the parameters of
ones limitations.
410 · Jun 2014
what is? (#1)
betterdays Jun 2014
what is your shadow?
if not the conglomeration
of memories...
you drag through your
days.
409 · Apr 2014
a poem about sunshine
betterdays Apr 2014
i would write
for you, sunshine
friend.
but it is just past
midnite.

i would write
for you sky, clear
bright blue.
but outside my
window,
stormy grey.


so i write for
you.
this...
as i go
to my slumber.

i check my toddler
boy.
who sleeps like
a snail,
*** in the air,
and feet tucked
under.
and glorious sleepy
face.

as i watch
sunshine
blooms
once again
in my heart
and the
world sings joy.

this, friend,
noah blue.
this sunshine,
i share with you.
response to poem from
tim emminger
cheers dude
409 · Oct 2018
dustbowl
betterdays Oct 2018
words are not easy now
they turn their back an slink away
i mutter soliloquys of gibberish
hoping to entice them home
but no, they laugh  and belittle me

my muse has  taken to reading  
other poet's work and nags
about the good old days
flouncing about and swaering

there are many theories, about
this dry spell, this soon to be drought
but really all i can do is sit
out on the back deck,
watch the dustbowl
and wait for the smell
of petrichor....
betterdays Oct 2014
was going to write,
about rain....
falling in torrents,
outside my door.

but i feel if i write,
another rain poem.
i may just drown...
in the wet wistfulness,
of it all.

then i thought to write,
about my family
and my home...
how we, while not perfect,
seem to muddle on through.

but on reflection,
that might be,
as boring to you
as it is to me...
it's been done,
to with an inch
of it's happy, humdrum
life.

i could write of past angst.
pour out my damaged soul,
like a child with a macbre
show and tell.
or i could write,
how i fought,
so very hard,
to recover my self

i could write about items,
of sentimental import,
on the **** mantle shelf.

perhaps,
i just string together,
some,
mismatched words
and call it experimental.

run some syllables,
five, seven, five, together.
claim it's a hiaku.

write a detailed description
of you,
as you sit reading
the paper,
hair unkempt,
more salt than pepper,
brow slightly furrowed,
glasses a'perch,
your battered nose

and the crisp rustling
of the paper,
the ink smudging, your fingertips and cheekbones

but all these...
words and phrases,
descriptive and thoughtful.

are really just,
redundant drivel
my mind sneezing,
syllabalitic snot....

is this repetitive...
guff and garbage.
the best i've got...
geez louise i hope not...
408 · Mar 2014
momentary
betterdays Mar 2014
-------- 25,729,437--------
(give or take a few)
minutes in my life.
the number is profound.

but,

it's not that easy, to break a life down.

i'm sure there is a calculation, that covers the basics bits, work, eating, sleeping, abultions.

but,

to bring the moments to the minutes,
thats a vastly different thing.

how do you count the moments of brillance,
that burn bright on the horizon beyond and before.

those moments of pure kindness or blind and ****** ignorance that elicit change.

the joy of the moment,
the rage of a second,
the hours borrowed
in worry never yet, to be repaid.

how many minutes wasted,
or not fully tasted,
devoured to quickly.

those seconds we fumble,
in awkward silences,
or those we waste wanting more.

then the hours of breastbeating
or simply bleating.
are they lesser in importance,

than,

the days lost in thought,
or in grief,
time spent, begging for relief,
from a heart so, so, sore.

remember the weeks,

when,

we sent packing,
the fox or the bear, the lion and the tiger from fear's flimsy,
fragile door.

months of not belonging,
then the longing
and finally
the lounging & laughing,
when tickled to our core,

the tock of the clock,
when we
are too cold,or too hot,
or
just,
not quite right.

time,
that keeps ticking,
while,
we are sticking our noses, where
they are not wanted.

time spent watching from afar,
minutes of small talk,
hours of deep
and meaningful,
days
of young lust,
months
of expectancy,
years
of togetherness,
decades
of love.
a delineation
of seperateness,
eons,  
immemorial,
of eternity.

these are the times,
of my minutes,
i want
ciphered,  
into
the fabric of time.
408 · Apr 2014
Waiting
betterdays Apr 2014
Waiting for the taxi,
sitting in the front room. Dressed in her very best.
A small posey of blooms, favourites of his youth
on the table beside.

A sepia photo of a young
and blushing bride.
The groom tall serious,
all pride,
stands at loose attention. Khaki clad romance, captured before war's incoming tide.

He left for the front,
she stayed behind.
Waited and prayed
for her God to hide,
her young strong lover
from war's unwavering gaze.

Letters came sporadically, cheerful but underscored with fear.
Speaking of a future now held more close and dear. The telegram came to her
as she pruned his roses.

Her march of tredpidation now over.
Her life long walk of grief begun.

She stands now,
and his medals brave
clink, *****,
over her lonely heart.

For while, her ride has come, so she can remember
with others.
In heart, alone, she awaits still and true,
her strong young soldier lost in yonder blue
for the wives
on ANZAC DAY 2014
Lest We Forget.
408 · Apr 2015
waiting for rain...
betterdays Apr 2015
the metaphors,
I  read today prove
to be depressing
my fault,
... not the writers

as I sat searching
the grey blue sky,
early this morning,
it's despondent nature
slipped quietly into my soul

and now I am mooching about,
waiting for the inevitable cloudburst.
as my mother was wont to say,
girl,there will be tears
before bedtime.
408 · May 2014
once and everafter
betterdays May 2014
ever after
             they lived
                         happily
why,
because, they took the time, to beat the wolf back from the front door.

because, they caught the sky, as it fell down on them.

because, they sold the magic beans on to some rube from another town.

because, they decided red was just not their colour.

because, they kissed enough frogs.

because, their knight did not get lost in the forrest.

because, they found they liked miners, ***** boots and all.

because, they did not ever develop a sweet tooth.

because, they knew they looked good!!
it was all those other ducks that had body issues

because, they knew by heart, the words to...
bippety-boppety-boo.

because.......

there was, a time,
                          once, they      
      wished.....        upon..
                            ....­..... a moon

and the wishes.... they came
                   .....true.....
407 · May 2014
getting buggy with it.
betterdays May 2014
there is a bug,
on the
windscreen,
hanging on tight.
they must
be
getting
the thrill of their
tiny life
we are zooming along
at  about 65k
irony is
the little bug
was
just looking
for
a quiet place
to stay.
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