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.

world washed clean
by last nights storm

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

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

and the smell
of eucalypt oil
heavy in the air

the neighborhood
gathers
to see the sight

four more hours to this
workday.
four more hours to the
weekend
four more hours to the
washing, cleaning,
cooking, planning,shopping,
four more hours, til i swap
this job for my other.....
god i am so tired...

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

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

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

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

suds on fingers leads to
slippery plate leads to
plate sliding leads to
slow motion gasp leads to
slapcrash on the wooden floors leads to
coloured glass shattering,
into 1000's of tiny knives leads to
glass entering ankle  leads to
blood lotsa blood  leads to
anguished cry leads to
low key panic leads to
hasty clean up and "it won't stop bleeding", leads to
fast trip to hospital, leads to
lengthy wait leads to
x-ray and 9 stitches leads to
bandage and crutches leads to
foot up, take away chinese & favourite chocolates
leads to ....writing this memoir.....

outside the window
the wind keens and roars

all the frustrations
of the world settle
within that voice,

and as it beats it's formless hands
against the the side of the house
and rattles the eaves...

small whispers of ice
sneak inside, under doors
and sigh into our bones

leaving  chills along our spines
and raising the skin in a morse
code message of  loss and sorrow

soon it will pass us over
to seek those who lack
this simple protection
and then, will share  it's misery
with a sad, sadistic joy

"what do you miss most?"
i asked.
turning to my friend sitting on the park bench.
she replied,
with a wistful smile.
" the colours in a rainbow"

"what do you miss most?"
i questioned.
as i dug the garden over with my grandfather.
"the smell of rain on dry soil"
he replied,
dusting his hands against his pants.

"what do you miss most?"
i queried.
my old mentor as we sat drinking tea, before a roaring fire.
"the warmth of the sun on my back."
she replied,
snuggling further down into the cosy chair.

"what do you miss most?"
i asked my forever young sister playing on monkey bars.
"the feeling of the ground under my feet."
she replied,
swinging upside down.

"what do you miss most?" the kindly old gentleman, asked me as we walked together.
" i miss the sounds of the wind rustling the leaves."
we paused to rest in the peace and quiet place.



" but i miss my heart beat most."

i said to no one

I send my poems off
like warriors to war

I send my poems off
like the adventurers of old

I send my poems off
to woo and ******,
to dance and entertain.

I send my poems off
to shine light into dark corners

I wish them luck,
as I wave them goodbye

All bravado and
bolstered confidence

Out into a world of
of readers and writers
and now....
when they, my words
are out in space
halfway between here
and wherever there ends up being

You want me to reel them in
to recant...to put a spear to them....

Palinode, be ******!!!

These words...
have paid their dues,
they have flown the coop
I'm not blowing
them out of the sky now.

her capacity for stoicism
is diminishing hourly
as pain becomes both
insidious and barefaced

her world is now small
one specailized chair
in one room and then
those who visit, catch her
attention, but for awhile

she seems to have shrunk
curling in upon herself
like a leaf, separated
from the tree

i have watched others die,
this, this is so much more
difficult and complex
there are so many ties
some made threadbare
by years of casual use,
some still strong that will need
to be unravelled over years of memory

she once was so large,
so vibrant and strong
but pain like water
is undercutting her banks
and soon this river will pass out to sea
as her wellspring gives out

then we all will be smaller for her passing

precipitate pontilism
art by small raindrops
painting the world a
cleaner shade of gray
this marled and stormy
afternoon.

time..

is the best gift
i have ever been given

time..
to see life anew

time..
to love and be,
beloved

time..
to see my baby grow

time..
to know what seems
insurmountable is not

time..
of joy unaccountable,
but well remembered

time..
of sorrow etched  
like milestones
on my brain's
memory cortex

time..
in between those markers

time..
to soar
with creations grace

time..
to quietly sit,
adoring his face

time..
to savour hearty food

time..
for a cup of tea
and a natter with friends

time..
to walk upon a lonely shore

time..
to laugh and tickle some more

time..
to write,to read,to learn

time..
to dance,to sing

time..
to bring perspective

time..
to see

time..
to wrest with ideas ginormous

time..
to stroke a sleeping cat

time..
to figure out how to be me

time to
wonder at it all
time....

time....
time....
for just,
about
        ......everything

one moment away,
from oblivion.

one hopeful moment

caught between thought
and action
one moment, one heart beat

one movement,

oblivion, or hope

his choice...his moment

we wait, with breath held.

one moment, a lifetime
one moment, an eternity

today,
this morn,
the sun shines through.

all the doom and gloom
may conspire and gather
at my back.

but,
today,
this morn,
the sun shines through.

and in it's argent glow,
we will love and play
and dare to know,
joy, unfettered.

because,
today,
this morn,
the sun shines through.

and
bears with it,
the great hope,
of a, better yet
tommorrow.

in my garden
a wren lies... dead
it flew with haste
from the lilac tree
and then fell
from mid air to the ground

a little blue black pebble
with soft downed contours
it lies motionless and cooling
as i watch....
half expecting the small beautiful beast to rise
...like lazarus and fly again...

...but no....
              and now i must go
pick up this scrap of god...
before it becomes a plaything for my cat...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

they are so very...
small and delicate
plump and oh so pink
these little hands
with tiny nails
that rest curled
upon your breast
I watch them  unfurl
like butterfly wings

and wonder at their beauty
it wiil be a while before
they are useful to you
at present they are just
object of amazement

oh, but the newness
of them, is beguiling
to both me and you.

friday, lunchtime
first week back at work

all i wanna know
is will anyone notice
if i take
a three hour nap
at my desk???

...and then head home

the metal teeth
of this year's counting,
gnash and groan,
grating slowly through...
the final hours
before, their midnight demise.

the world takes one
last look,
one more reprise....

like the overbearing actor,
one more accolade,
one more encore,
dear friends, hold me in
your heart.... once more
before i am "resting" forever

old and weary,
the day stumbles
to his wake
of a billion chemical fireflies
dancing in the night
as the adoring public sighs

and rockets blast with
daring might.
people sing refrains of
old lang syne,

a blurting, blurring drunken delight..
a bachanal of intimate sharing of iresolute promises that are,
sealed with a ***** kiss

then... old man is gone...
and in his place
a fresh hopeful face
begins tick-ticking along...

Night, blurred lines waver
Tired eyes read denouement
Now sweet sleep beckons.

This day different to the last
by the state of the weather
The length of the journey
The words both spoken and
left unshed.

This day constant in the heart
by the warmth of  the glances
The need of the touches and
The words unspoken, whispered
and openly stated

Now we are at days end
and night  throws it's cape wide
We settle the plotline and savour
the page...
Finis this chapter,
Tommorow a new page

four kilo's of skin
and scruff and fur

four kilos of wrinkled blue
of velveteen and corrugation
of bat ears and amber green eyes

four kilo's of meow
and  chatter and purr

given in love
given to love
lover of sun
and warmth
and all things
chicken

collector of hearts
and bugs, lizards
socks and *****

littleblucat
so very big
in heart
for one so small

it has been
just on a year
since you were
called back
to the mothership

and yet
I still look to find you
still expect to hear you
and wonder why the
new batch of skinks
still retain their tails

you were such a small thing
to leave such a big gap

tuxedo boycat
has learnt the art
of the early morning
tap slap

when one slumbers soundly
only to be rudely and roundly
awoken by the none too gentle
smack on the nose, by a catpaw
often not smelling like a rose
accompanied by a yowly growl
of a starving kitten cat
who has half a cup of chicken
kibble already awaiting in a bowl

but desires wetraw mince
and company to dine...

oh to have the confidence
in  desires like that
of a four pound kitten cat
and the knowledge
that the cute factor
far outweighs the
outrage of the human
being awoken by
the slap tap
of a kitten paw
as  long as it
comes with
a head bump
and a purr roar

Waiting,
on hold..
sappy muzak.
Dropping raindrops on my head.

All i want to do
is make an appointment about the voices in my mind

Still holding,
my call is important,
apparently.

Now sunshine is on my shoulders making me, happy.

Stupid musak,
my names not annie,
this is not my song....

Waiting still,
but they promise someone will answer...shortly.

But for now,
a baby elephant walking jauntily along.

Wait it's ringing...
Thank god i thought i might need a twelve bore shotgun.
(if that baby elephant got an idea to run)

Yes may i help yo......
Disconected line

Waiting,
on hold...
sappy musak
Telling me to stop in the name of love....

on our way home
driving through driving
rain and sleet
soft rock eighties mix
saving us from talk
Lazlo sitting in the back
lost in himself.... he has decide to travel for awhile
and is borrowing our R.V.

he closed up the house,
fostered out the indoor plants, gave the garden care
over to neighborhood friends, the carkeys too.

it has been a long battle,
and he just needs time...
that is not accountable to
anyone.
he has agreed to touch base
once or twice a week... but
other than that, he has no
plans.
l have to believe he will be okay... a good sign is he has packed his cameras and  laptop so will continue to
film and write as and when he can.

we ben and i are aching to see our boy tod....he grows
moment to moment these days

we are coming home....
driving through driving
rain.

the thought comes to mind
laz is running away from
a broken home, hoping to leave grief behind....

sometimes
      when i put pen to paper
i know exactly where i am
going... like i bus following
a well driven route.

other times
the pen hits the parchment
and takes me on a grand adventure.... skittering all
over the place

those are the sessions i like better....

hush,hush,
you clamouring crowd.
if you all scream at once,
you will never be heard.

form a line....form a line.
be patient, not loud.

oh, you little thoughts,
be not annoying or proud.
you will all get,
your turn,
even, if it be at three am,
tommorrow morning!
so! that is what  insomnia
is for....

that is when i
have the time to even
the score, to clear the
slate.

so please, don't yell
and make a fuss.
just bide your time.

and please, please,
do not disturb
the moment of,
blessed silence
standing quietly over there.

form a line, form a line,

one thought at a time,
maybe two.

oh, for crying out loud!!
you would think,
my mind is a zoo!

seasons change slowly
so does life, you think it's
an eyeblink but no the seeds
have been in the ground germinating
for a long time sometimes a long, long time
and then thenew growth breaks through
and reaches for sunlight, growth is change
but then at the other end of the spectrum
so is decay, the breaking down of structures
the returning to the basic matter...all changes
so ergo we are in a continuim of change
are some larger than others. you would have
to answer affirmatively but are large changes
more important than the miniscule. That
question requires more thought before
giving an answer. Change is neccessary
without it there is a standstill in the cycle
and when still, we create no impact, we have
little to no power to affect the circumstances
around us....but even then when still, the
circumstances around us effect change
like wind and water upon the rockface
it may be over many many years but
change is effected and the immovable is
reduced by the action of persistance...
We cannot avoid change...so we should
try to reach for  it as does the sapling
in the forest that seeks the sun .....

shadows fall
lengthen
and settle
into darkness

the only pool of light
one small window
glowing
golden amber

behind the glass
one woman
heavy
with child waits

looking out into
the darkness.

her name
HOPE

fickle......
             is the.. wind that blows tonight
                              tying...

knots in ..the... clothes
.....left  ..  
                on the line. ... . . . ..

     howling ........ ..... ...... ... . .                          

                   at the seams ...

..of this old place...
                                      raising..
the.. hackles.. on ..the ..cat...

...... ..raging..at  ...   ..... ..        ................the...flower..beds . . .
     .......       ..    . . ....     ..... ..  .

..creating ...pressure ..in our heads.... ripping.... my

thoughts ...... . . . into ...to .     .......shr.. ..ap......nel.. . . . ..

b.bl...blah..b..lah.blah...sting blasted .....wind...
.......    .............ratt... atattling the...... window.... frame

....and then....


                       silence reigns

the sun sidles off,
to it's next assignation
and the cool, nibbles
through my clothes.

still, i sit on the back deck,
waiting in wonder,
for a silver stiched sky.

right now....all shades of blue,
shimmer in the glow of the
sun's fond adieu...

this is, the time i love the best.
the betweening of sunset and twilight, mere moments
of turning ...
and then, into the break of night,
as the shadows deepen
and the scurrying things, come on myriad tiny feet.

the stars relax into their
rhythmic, beauty
the moon benign, looks upon
us all, in silence..

and behind me, the lights
flicker on...in my warm
and cosy life....

goodnight, to you,
little things,
that make your way
in the cold, dark...

                        goodnight.

found, held loosely
in lovers arms,
while listening
to child's laughter

one muse, refreshed
by the words of kindness
spilt from the pens
of distant friends

poised to write
poised to live
poised to .....

the writer and muse
together again

found

we will .....go.... to the woods
...soon... up on
..the mountains fringe...
that is ....where.... nature....
has placed.... it's great ..............demarcation line......
                                  where ...........the rat race ...ceases.......
          ...to exsist.....
                                   where......
the quiet just.... eases ..into your soul...

and ......
              your soul changes

first.... with momentary bliss
as.......you turn off.......
.... the technology
but... then you.... want....
                more
and... so you.... slow your step ... ....watch the wind.... in the trees
the birds.... over head,
...lizards ...in ...the leaf litter..
...undergrowth                                  a lady beetle ...bright jewel ...on your coatsleeve....
                       .......and that is when
..you sigh....
.......and truly let it go...
let it all drop... let it all behind
and.....
              i see my love
                          ........the world
.....roll off your shoulders
here ....in the woods...
....among the trees...

the cherry wood box
sits on the mantle
it is a reminder
of his love
handmade, upon a lathe
from a burl of an old sweet cherry
it is smooth as silk to touch
of a deep yellow redish hue
carved to look like the rounded back
of a cat curled in on itself, asleep
the rings once present in the tree
give the box the look of a tabby cat

inside the love notes we share
it has over time become a letterdrop
today....his note...invites me to
a night of gentle but thorough  love
my note....says...yes....please

my jaw aches...
with words unspoken
thoughts weighty
and pendulous
swing back and forth
in my calamitous mind

but still i smile....

back taut, muscles creaking
counting to ten, a million times

that little voice, that normally whispers
rocking away on  
a decibel high

but still i smile....

cause..
while i smile,
you have no idea
of the train of misery,
i am bringing
to crash your style.

you think, you done got
away with it...
well honeychile,
you be wrong by more
than a mile...

cause still i smile...

as i array an army
come get you guerilla style...

and when...
the stampede,
all done and over
and you be scraping
yourself up off the floor...

guess what....
i'm the one that's
gonna be smiling
all the more...

and you can bank on that
baby......for sure...for sure...

looking fo a pinprick of blue
among the silver linings today
but can only see cotton candy white
and  flannel grey

set my plane to fly high and straight
but all it seems to do is fly in an
eternal, infernal figure eight.

cannot see the horizion
or sight the sun
flying without sight
Is like trying to run
with your legs hobbled

you don't ever  get far
and you inevitably
end up with a cut,
a bruise or a scar.

o, come let us go....
to where the sidewalk ends
and verdant green grass beckons....

lets us dust the cement shimmer,
from our soul
and swim in water's clear,crystal, cleansing blue.

we will turn our back
to the city,
with it's loud
demanding voice
and listen for the whisper
of god's natural voice

as he speaks, in the wind, through the trees and
as he murmur's love, via the song of the bee's

we will forget,
the colour grey, and remember, the glory of
the rainbows spectrum.

we will shed,
our adult snakeskins
and become
the innocence of our
child within.

so come with me... i pray,
to where the sidewalk ends

hold my hand.. it will be grand.
as we step off.....
into the long forgotten land.

it still suprises me
how gentle his fingers
can touch and tease my skin

his mouth so insistent
to find the pulseline at my neck
raises  goosebumps along my being

the length of him finding the depth of me

his ardour and mone still fresh as when young
though now we take time before praking
and our langour is much longer
as his fingers play on my moist and
oh so satisfied skin.

as we murmur and smile and sleep
life's little surpises are wonderfully deep

apparently...
i have ...been told
i write organically
....from the soul.

spending my words
on healing...
on feeling.... empathy
....and seeding thoughts
sublime...

i am not sure... if ...this
is indeed...what i do..

it is what i feel,
i recieve.... from the
majority of you...

...when i write
the thoughts just
flow...
i do not sit and ponder
and construct....
....mostly .....i do not ....reconsider
but.. often leave the
punctuating marks....
to just before i deliver

i mostly.... do not capitalize
and is because it breaks
the flow...and then when
done....
well if honesty does now speak.....
i suppose it is my laziness
that keeps my poems in
the lower case...

i write... what is ...at that point me....
.. a reaction to what i feel
and see...
and i write.... to play...with words and thoughts.....
to have a voice.... to have
say...
but.... mostly and most importantly... i try to write
each and every day...

it is my... small voice
..in this ..crowded place.
it is me....
just happy to be....
...addicted .....to poetry..

wind raucous in it's endevours tonight
circling the house in a macabre yet joyous song
and dance routine, the tree's applaud
and the small cat curls tighter in on itself

rain falls with intense passion
scrubbing the grime away
and the moon is lost in the clouds
most things tuck themselves up
and wish  for a sunny day

but the old green treefrog
is singing  lovesongs
and his rival too
bass profundo
at just past two
serenading the ladies
as the wind croons along

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

what it is not...
forgiving or kind,
patient with time.
gentleness to the weary soul.

whilst it does allow smiles,
they are mostly,
of the wry
or pitying kind.

again,
whilst it gives,
much time for contemplation, rumination and wistful
and regretful dreaming
but in doing so
it often, so often, takes,
more than it gives.

it is not a gentle kitten.
more of a savage jungle beast,
ravaging not just you,
but your village too...

it does not respect,
station or situation...

yet sometimes,
it gives you an almighty fright.
taking hold and shaking
your ragdoll life.
only to let you go...
scarred,
but not defeated.

at other times...
it stalks you
through the years.

it is not necessarily
a death sentence,
but often so.

what it is,
is a puzzle to unravel
what it is,
is, in need of the best
minds in order to
bring about solutions

what it is,
is, small and large donations
required to change
the future of us all

what it is
is... cancer....
and given time
it can be cured.

my mother throws
the wet headed mop at him,
expecting him, nimble and atheletic
to jump over it
but it hits his calf
and ankle with
a sickening crack
and he falls
like tree felled in a storm
as he hits the too long green grass
there is a wet thud, thud.

then a momentary silence
striking in it's completeness
so profound, it is almost zen like

broken by the high pitched wail
as the pain receptors in my brothers brain
kick in to high gear,he writhes on the ground
my mother hovering over him
repeating this mantra
"you were supposed to jump!
you, were supposed to jump"

he was foueteen, the local sport star
arrogant as only teenagers can be.

she would have been middle to late forties
a single parent having worked a double shift

I cannot remember his infraction,
there were;  oh, so many
but still 38 years on
I can feel the silence
so absolute....
and hear the mantra....

you were supposed to jump
                                    you were supposed to jump

be a poet,
if you must...
but know this,
from one who cares.

it is an addiction,
that will cause strife.

you will,
learn stuff,
you never really wanted
to know.

you will,
find pieces
of your soul,
best forgotten.

you will,
stay awake
late into the night,
trying to twist a phrase
til, it turns out just right.

there will be,
tears and much,
frustration.

at times you will,
neglect your, everyday
life.

oh there will be, angst
and fear
as you let your poems go
and see your words fly...
or plummet to the unforgiving ground.

and yes i cannot deny
there will be joy,
much euphoric joy,
as you discover
new words
with which, to toy.

so be a poet, if you must
if you have,
a liking for
garrets and starvation.
enough to offset your
word lust.

...just be original
don't be a parrot
write for you first
and then for others
strive for exquisite
excellence....
but now it is
a fragile dissapearing
thing....


it is your life
you get to choose
your own folly...

after walking (for my health)
I sat on the old wooden bench
in the park (mostly to regain my breath)
and watched the world for a while...

it was pleasant, the sun warmed my face
my muscles felt good (not overused at all)
as I sat I was joined by a duck,  
who took an interest in the soles
of my walking shoes
(is it not decadent that we possess shoes  for walking)
the duck proceeded to give me a foot massage of sorts
before settling in to lean against my ankle
and we watched the world pass by

I stayed much longer than I should have
not wanting to disturb the duck
and now as I write, I feel a stiffness in my calves
(but  i cannot begrudge myself
the quiet wonder of the afternoon
spent in companionship  with a duck)

we stood
             transfixed
                         in disbelief
as the day of 9/11 unfurled

way down here ....
at the bottom of the world
  we cried in horror
        as the buildings died
            and so much was lost

all on small screens of despair....
and tho, life moves on...
the feeling of loss...
stays, right there.