beware the hermit crab
tucked up aslumber in  it shell
for when you pick him up to
say hello , he may
attach his pincers to your nose

beware the hippopotomus
do not dare tread on his toes
for he may just lean on you
with  little fuss,
then you are flatter
than a bread crust

beware the flamingo
with pink stalk legs
do not ever steal her eggs
for she can run you down
and peck til your blue and brown

beware the seal
the clown of the sea
If you come to close
They may kiss you
on the nose, now
while that sounds quite cute
remember fish is their fruit
and the never brush their teeth
so their kiss has it's own kapow

beware the wee small things
they need to be watched
for in their world they are Kings
and we are clod hopping giants
with no care...so of all other things
beware..be aware .

it's one of those days....
when you wake,
with the birds singing,
the sun shining,
everything washed clean,
by the previous nights storm.

your little one standing,
by your bedside, smiling,
holding the purring cat.

your partners voice,
whispering... i love you
and his body shouting
...i want you,
as he leans, into your back.

it's one of those days,
where all is well,
with world....

and all you want to do
is SCREAM....
                   blue ******....

sitting on the steps
gorging on  watermelon
spitting out the pips

kookaburras laugh
a shepards delight sunset
the cicadas sing

evening star rise
and now the gloaming begins
time to head inside

my mother is always right!!!
whether it be,
framed in the short or long.
took me nigh, on forty years
of being down-right wrong,
to finally get it right,
when my child came along.
so now  it so happens,
that  oftentimes,
i am wrong and i am right.
sometimes makes it,
a tad
difficult to sleep at night.

but as mother's always do
i'll just muddle on thru..

amid the disco beat
shots rang out
and stilled the dancing feet

and as the panic rose
heroes stepped up
and gathered those
scared and frightened
in the throes of despair instant
and acted despite america's
continuing  woe.

hate lashed out again and again
thinking the battle won
but whilst there was death
there is always more love
and love again to win
this infernal war

to those who have fallen
and to those who mourn
those inconsolable angry and forlorn
i give the love of not one but many hearts
and to america i pray for a new start

one of understanding and not hate
one in which love has the highest place

little birds
all yellow mouths
and hunger

chirp with needful bellies
keeping the olds
in frantic motion
to  silence the calamitous cries

you are the show of the day
for the half grown, well fed instinct
that sits on the other side of the window ledge
eyes wide, ears forward, poised to leap
he watches trembling, with adrenaline
filled need to hunt, years of
domestication be ******
he is tiger, you are prey

at least till the door to the
refrigerator opens.....

your words...
a balm...... to my
                .......careworn soul

words..... chosen
         ...with thought
                           and love
knit my radled brain....
**** the hole .......
.....in the heel of my heart

your words...
sought to save....
.. to bring life
.....seed inspiration
cease the strife...
and the pecking
       of the nagging hurt.....

your words.... water....
to my..... parched and
barren land....

....seeds of hope
and inspiration...
left in my heart grow..

...thank you ...for your kindness
and your.... courage to speak
with thought.... your words
...made my life brighter
a place.. now... a lot less... bleak.

she sits
pressed into the
corner of the sofa
a scrap of a thing
so frail
and beautiful
but
somehow
damaged

hee marks
have dropped
from
high distinctions
to
pass-fails
and
whilst
she attends class
her voice is
no longer heard
her body
barely there
she has gone
from vivacious
to corpse bride....

and we are worried

she is crying silently
big sad tears
roll down her cheeks
as she tries to
dissappear into
the fabric of the couch

the index finger
of her right hand
is desperately scratching
at the fabric

i ask the questions
gently.....interspersing
them with safe statements
what is wrong?
you are not in trouble
we just want to see you
happy.
is there any thing
i can do to help?
any thing you say
in here will not be
repeated without your
permission.
why are you so sad
at the moment?
you are safe in here


her lip quivers
she pulls into herself
even more
she is a ball of misery

we sit......

and then a whisper
so quiet and tremulous
i almost did not catch it

he ***** me.....
i said no....
but
he ***** me....

nine lives he had
that little blucat
the first he spent
as a kitten playing
on a mat he was
pretty ok with that
the second he spent
on a plane in the air
he really thought that
wasn't exactly fair
the third he found
his feet his feet in
cold hilly place
but heat was provided
and cuddles too
life four he threw away
escaping and then
climbing a tree
and losing his footing
too far from the ground
that was scary and painful
life number five he spent
it's years slow, looking
for the sun in summer
and in winter the doona
the sixth was all about food
and thefriendship
of his human things
by year seven
he was slowing down
no longer chasing mice
or feathered fare
by eight he just wanted
to lay down and sleep
be stroked by gentle hands
and purr as they ruffled
his fur
his ninth life was difficult
for all to contemplate
he tried so hard to stay
but in the end needed
to be at one with
his forebears
to join the family tree

nine lives he had
he used them all
living a life
that was in
no way small

NAPO WRIMO

Next month is  Poetry Month
Why not, endevour to write
a poem a day from provided prompt
Stretch yourself, find new sources of creativity.
Discover new poets, new resources,
Celebrate yourself and other poets
Check out the website:
http://www.napowrimo.net/

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

the balloons escaped the party
danced briefly on the wind
before being caught  in the
tendril grasps of the oak tree twigs

for a moment it looked like
the balloons all bright festive colours
were trying to lift the old tree
from the gloom of the grey winter day

but then the wind changed it's mind
and the strings untangled, the balloons
flew off toward the sea
and the tree settled back into a grumpy
acceptance of it's place in the word

as the children climbed up into
it's woody branches for a rough hug

woke up with nothing....
....stirring...in my brain.
a field unploughed.
a path yet to be trodden.

my eyes, blinking,
at the scarifiying sun.

my mouth, dry and barren

my bladder, shouting.

and my foot, fizzing
with nueralgia....
burning and itchy.
from forgetting the
medicinaltriptrap....

nope.....still got nothing.
still, quiet as a sleeping
churchmous. ....up there.....
....in the brilliance pavilion.

let me.... get back to you......

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.....

so very busy
not doing much
just living a life
on the edge of a crust

cold weather
makes  me sleep
seems I am powered
by solar rays as I reach
my latter middle aged days

but all is good, all is fine
as I pour  another wine
grab a book off the shelf
settle in and read
for my health.

Early this morning,
rain, hail,or shine.
They will gather in salute
to the fallen and frail.

The young soldier's body, now bowed with age unrepaired.
Yet they will stand
straight and strong
young in their minds.

And when the hymns
have been sung
and the words
"Lest We Forget"
have been spoken.

When the bugle's final note of the Last Post
is played.
Then they, who came home gather and speak
of those who,
now walk in the ranks
of the fallen,
the Jim's, Davo's and Pete's.

They raise their glasses,
high and with a tear salute, brothers of action with a small pony of beer.

And at day's end,
alone in their bedrooms, they sit remembering
again the death,
the war and the loss.

It abides within.
As the Last Post
plays them to bed.

I stand relaxed
on the headland
as the wind rustles
the branches of
the totem pines

looking out to
the horizon
smelling the mix
of salt  and pine sap

I breathe in the day
crisp morning air
bright golden light
the sound of waves
gently slapping sand

for the moment
the world is
good and whole
and complete

and I wish.....
I could hold my
breath....all day...

but alas...
all I am doing is
turning blue...

somedays it is an effort
to turn one's face to the sun

somedays all you want is to flee to hide one'self away

somedays the grey seeps in
under doorways and through window frames
and floods the barriers
of my soul

most days i am less than whole but then are'nt we all

but some days i am more
hole...deep dark and cavernous..... and far less than me.

somedays i am about an inch
and a quarter away from
insane.


and i be knowing....
     ....this is one of those days

seven.
it was at this point
I started running
because there was no way
three more numbers
were going to get
his temper/ rage
back into the box

eleven
that was the age
that I learnt the effect
of a fast moving patella
aimed at a *******

twenty nine
the number if times
that story has been told

forty three
that's  where he caught up
with me with a crash tackle
splitting his lip and my eyebrow
in the completion of it

thirty two
the number of stitches we got
me 14, him 18

fourteen
the number if days
we where grounded
no tv, no visitors

five
the times
I have used
that manoeuvre
since then

two
the visable scars
we still have.....

your car is still parked
in the drive way,
your coat slung over your favourite chair,
a half read book, some caramel fudge still sits on
the small box beside.
on the hall table,sunglasses
carkeys, handbag, all sit in place
by the door your shoes,dusty
and haphazardly placed.

your fragrance still hangs,
heavy in the air.

on the sink your favourite
teacup awaits, your never again lips.

out the back, in the sunset
of this grey day,
my lover and yours sit,
beer in hand.
i stand washing and drying
dishes..over and over again.
as my heart struggles, to take in the reality
your stuff is all here......

but you have gone
away.....ahead
to that ephemeral place..... you are now, with the stars....
and we... are left with our precious memories .....
and your stuff.

i was overtaken,
by a hearse,
this morning,
on my way to work.

two things, came to mind.
first,
where does a hearse go
in such a hurry....
and second,
it is always hard,
to get back in to
the workaday rhythm.
...rip... holiday mind ...rip...

today,
the little blucat...
dreams in hard edges
and of un-catch-able mice
and growls as he sleeps
under the old blanket.

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

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

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

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

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

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

we sit, with coffee steaming
gently before us, rugged up
tourists , waiting for the sun
to remember warmth.
our hands in pockets
but wanting to seek out each others, we constantly touch at present to reassure and bolster courage.
people walk briskly past us
a few nodding in half remembered acquaitance..
a lifetime ago, this was my
choice of abode, my seat of learning, and i reveled in the clear cold mornings, with the bite of wind and snow in the air.
now as we sit, hoping the bacon and eggs will arrive soon... i am thinking it was never this ****** cold before...

this bird
sings loud
and  joyous

unaware of gilded bars
they joy is in the song
not the space of singing

this bird is a big voice
in a little world
of another's making

age shall not define me,
never has,
i was born with old eyes.
now my joints are playing
catch up.
but my mind ever childlike
and carefree.

outside of the glass
crows complain about the cold
inside coffee calls

sometimes
you just have to let
your yesterdays
fall behind
and into the abyss....
sometimes

.....and in between
the listening...
silence...

not strained
....but commfortable
an acknowledgement....
of a knowing love

.....and in between
the knowing...
years of ... learning
...to listen...

for the quiet times...
of knowing ....love

silence....profound
love.....aeonian.

it is the day
after
rememberance day

the day when....
those who fought
in jungles and desert sand,
in the air and on the sea
who fought for king, country
and land.

those who....
stood shoulder to shoulder
proud and straight and strong,
on parade grounds,
before,
embarking off to battle....

those who....
watched mates,
fall, suffer and die...

those who....
pulled the trigger
amd killed men,
who in basic essense,
where just like them.
who had swethearts, families, lives...

those who......
returned,

this is the day after rememberance

this is the day, they begin
to, try to forget....they pack
away, the horror, the panic,
the regrets....
pack them down,
pack them down,
into a tight little ball
so they can move on, move
forth....
walk in the world
of all the other, brighter
every days....

this is the day....this is the day...this is the day....
to begin to forget anew....

sometimes, life is suprising....
the orchid I left to die of loneliness
has put forth a new shoot and seeks
the sunshine from the dusty window

my brother's daughter
has taken up residence
in the nannexe and
is exuberantlu adventurous
next weekend she jumps
from a plane, strapped
to a stranger...
this lifestyle is of course
my fault....

my mother enjoys having
her knees massagd by
the big muscle bound attendant
and flirts outrageously with him
(don't have the heart to tell her
he is gay..... a lot of the older women at
the residence also flirt, he takes it all with a
gentle smile)

the tuxedo devon rex has
taken to sleeping in the wok
sometimes with the purlioned
sock stash of the day...

one of the academics, a geologist
a gentle quiet man, steady as they come,
stripped naked before dancing
the charleston in the quad
....he is now under care

as I said sometimes life is suprising
sometimes a little sad

three bags,
two large
one small

two boxes,
of assorted
miscellany

photos of
one and all

two calendars
two clocks
one for the bedside
one for the wall

quilt and favoured pillow
one petite eletric recliner

assorted toiletries,
mostly pretty soaps

decorative pillows
nine in all...

this is what we moved
from place to place
gathering up the fraying
edges of a life unravelling
moving her one rung
closer to the divide

melancholy  thoughts
meloncholy thoughts

these are the small pieces
of a life lived large and hard

tears gathered in linen
as new friends  are lost
uncertain the path before
sadness at the cause

brave hearted she  is
at yet more loss....
brave hearted she is
at what lies before

pride wars with regret
old men march in ranks depleted
medals clink  in time to the town band
children hold grand childrens hands
then the bugler plays
and as the notes fly into silence
old men cry in defience of age
that has wearied
and remembrances of those gone before
they remember more and more
lest we forget ...
sunshines in the bluest of skies
and there is youth once more in tired eyes

i sit at the table
watching my fingertips
caress the wineglass
idly contemplating the day

no....my mind races  
and careens about
the alley and byways,
of my psyche
bouncing off
walls of guilt...
i am fast,
coming,
undone.

i look at you,
and know my world
is, safe and complete
a smile, comes to my face

no.... i grimace slightly
as i look at you...
your perfection
diminishes me
until i am,
but a whispered,
mockery of myself.

i lift my glass
to partake sparingly
of the rich woody red wine

no...i dive in headfirst
to the bottle of red wine
hoping, to get lost
in it's woods
and then drown
in the dregs.

we end the evening
on a gentle kiss.

no... we rut like animals
with out care
before you leave,
without a backward
glance.

i sigh in quiet happiness
as i watch you sleep.

no.... i weep as i retch
and *****...on the motel's
bathroom floor.

i am lucky
to be so loved

*no one
gives a ****
about me

books
stacked
atop
the table
holding them down
one skinny scrawny halfcat

upon sighting me
he scramble leaps
sending
books skidding helter skelter
across the table, gathering speed
like a sideways avalache
of pens paper, coffee cups,
plates of toast, random jams and cereals
all heading for the dead drop
of Calamity Pass A.K.A the floor

god boy watching with mouth agape
as tabletop avalanche, obeying
both physics and gravity
come to an ungodly
Pollack painting end on cleanish tile floor.

on fridgetop
scrawny halfcat
stretches, shows the world
his best downward dog
and gracefully leaps to cleanish
living room floor
before departing outside...
to terrorize the grasshoppers

from afar
we watch the implosion,
some regard as revolution
others desecration

from afar we watch
the unravelling
the words spooling
upon the floor

we watch sparks fly, hopes die
we watch tears fall, ruck and maul

we watch, disbelief, horror, jubilation
we watch this divided nation..

we watch and pray, we watch and pray
this is the view from far, far away...

curled in upon himself
the patched cat sleeps
tail twitching in cat dream
a little growl comes from
somewhere in the middle
and then the skin shifts
in a wrinkled wave

i open the tin of sardines
and the bundle resolves
it's self into a lanky legged
tuxedo devon rex,
all slink and stretch
eyes and ears, mouth opened
in an enormous yawn
and nose mobile seeking scent

sardine goes into bowl
nose finds sardine
mouth follows
in seconds the bowl is clean  
and a pink tongue wipes lips,
as eyes plead for more

when none is forthcoming
cat takes himself
back to basket
to sleep away
this wet afternoon

shadows creep this night,
from house to house
at the edge of day light

shadows creep this night
little goblins delight
dracula's bite
dino's and frankestiens might
stomp, fuzzy werewovles bite

shadows creep this night
little ducks and fishes fight
over candy morsels
cowboys and superheroes slight
in stature, giant in dreams bright

shadows creep this night
oddities, memes and more
knock shyly at the door
candy distribution  
not a chore

shadows sleep tis night
like little dragons,
with candy treasure galore

today
i celebrate
the small the mundane,
the almost forgotten
the things overlooked
push aside in the busyness

the tiny rainbows captured
in drops of dew on emerald leaf

the order in a trail of ants
working toward one goal
with synergy of belief

the grace of small birds as they commute

the song of the humble bumble bee

the energy in a grasshoppers legs

the mathematics of the small cat
sleeping curled in upon himself

the reassurance of my love's heartbeat

the smell of sea and salt

the warmth of sunkissed rock

the tick of the old hallclock

the slow avalanche of sand
***** by speck
falling through my fist

coffee in my hands, toast in my belly

the smile of the small boy
from inside...beside me

today I celebrate these small things
and more

today I celebrate,  
become inebriate
on miniscule minutia

so the the big
and the overwhelming
have no say at all...

tide is high
grasping at the sand
moon is low
caressing the wavetops
breeze is fresh
causing us to shiver
body is warm
suggesting we re-enter
the house is quiet
sharing our secret tryst
floor is hard
but not so much to matter
the stars are bright
but they see not, our wantoness
the night is quiet
as we contemplate, our aftermath

in times, long gone
to the books of ...
once upon memories,

she was,
a princess beautiful
and he,
a hero dashing and bold.

and they,
made adventures
of everyday things...

breakfast,
a sight to behold,
with armies,
of bread solidiers
waging an egg war
and maple bacon,
hors d' oeuvres,
breaking down,
pancake castle doors.

they,
played at history,
through out
the day,
creating mystery,
along the way
and after a dinner
of an inspirational stew.

they,
practised romance,
the whole night too.

they,
were young of heart
and wise of mind
but in one instance,
oh! so very blind.

because they,
forget one thing....
one very important thing...

they,
left the real world behind.

so now,
trapped in wonderous
fantasy....

they,
crave, with mindless,
intensity
a small glimpse,
of reality
to give balance,
to the fantasy.

that has now,
become a far less,
tantalizing thing
and is now,
more like a toturous,
slow closing...
neck ring.
stifling, all life,
causing,
no end of strife
in a world....
far less.... perfect,
than first thought,

this is the world, that
boredom wrought...
now, slowly come undone
now slowly, come undone
now slowly come, undone.

i want to bite
down,
on the word
and tell you the absolute
and dangerous truth.

that your bitterness,
has soured your
soul.

your famed stoicsism
has fled,
and most of
what you say, has become
a whine,
reedlike and annoying.


but i clench my fist,
against my thighs
and count to 97.

because,

you are my mother

and your life,
has been,
not exceptionaly
kind,

and at eighty five,
you may well be
entitled,
to luxuriate, in your pain.

but just,
sometimes,
could you do it  a bit
more quietly.
please....

between the early morning
calls of waking birds
there is a calmness

as you lie in bed,
reveling,
in the potential of the coming day....
right now, with lover asleep
beside you....
all is right and good.....