quiet the night,
calm the heart,
sleepy the baby,
gentle the man,
soft the guitar,
done the dishes,
good the book,
warm the breeze,
bright the stars,
kissed the brow,
somnulant the child,
dreaming the dreams,
watched the moon,
held the hand,
drank the wine,
intense the look,
long the kiss,
delicate the caress,
soft the bed,
crazy the ***,
satiated the longing,
forever the love,
deep the sleep,
rested the soul

The sound of cars
Streaming through puddles
Competes with rain rattling
On the old tin roof

Underneath that roof
We listen to the percussion
of the log fire as it consumes
twig and tree.

The purr of the cat  stretched
out in basking bliss
Competes with the snore
of the man asleep with book
resting upon his chest

And from down the hallway
the soundtrack of a young man
defeating armies and building
empires.

All this I hear as I break from marking essays and take a sip
of lukewarm Earl Grey tea..

In the kitchen, dinner is roasting
away in the oven..with the not so small pup standing hungry guard.

By the door coats, boots, scarfs and facemasks await our after dinner walk..half an hour around the neighborhood, then back into  the house. This is our lock down life...

i had forgotten
the rage and anguish
of a two year old boy
who is just too tired
and overwhelmed

i had forgotten
the frustation and angst
of  the mother of a two year
whose answer to every question
in a howling NOooooo

both almost in tears
i so wanted to help
but remembered
outside influence
at this juncture
is often more
of a hinderence

but still i smiled
and leant over
and whispered
in her ear...
it does get better
and yes you are
doing a great job

sometimes it helps
to be told you are
even if it feels
like you ain't

it will be alright
my child
it will be fine
in time

things
will go your way
sometimes
and then
somtimes
life will be difficult

but love is like water
and given tim will smooth
the roughest of edges
and when it rains it
will bring the hidden joys
to light like flowers
in the sandy dessert

it will be alright....
but for now, cry my child
and seed the new growth

Tis the bad gateway boogie
The records spinning round
Can hardly get a foot in
Hardly make a sound.
Trying really hard  to make a comeback tour
But you all know it's been 6 months or more
But you need to know
I'm kicking
Heels and toes.
..hoping to check in
Seeing how it goes

Not sure if you will see this

But if you do know those Bad Gateway Boogies

Has me singing the blues

empty coffee cup
door ajar, lets in cool air
scented with salt air

If i could make a poem
of this day.
It would be quiet
still and contemplative.

It would talk of
calm acceptance,
of things unchangeble.

It would mention colours,
grey, green and snippets of blue.

It would allude to the
opinion,
that sometimes, we just
have to wait,
until the skies clear
and then tommorrows path
lies set out before us.

It would whisper of hope,
faith and walking unsighted, blindfolded, through our lives.

It would sigh and politely
state, that time is fleeting
and we must begin,
to take care
of precious moments.

It would silently wrap me
up in warmth and love
and kiss my lips in adoration.

I find i don't need to make
a poem of this day.

For that i have you
my love.

we stand in silence,
as the bugle calls,
out across this seat of learning.

lost in gratitude,
to warriors past
and present....
who live now,
in vallaha's halls.
and those returned...
and those few...
still missing...

we stand and think,
of those families,
their sacrifice and loss.

we remember wars past....
and pray for the cessasation,
of present conflict..

and then we move on,
with our day.....with hearts
both sad and grateful.

one leaf
sits upon
the ground
blown here
from afar,
as it is lies in
the deep
darkness
of the
concrete jungle
there are
no trees
nearby
just
this leaf
dusky green
smooth and waxy
to the touch
and smelling
of the weekend

sun shines overbright
bee's harvest the lavender
precursor to spring

night too cold with frost
even the owls stay in, silent
winters reminder

the fan chops the turgid air
as the moon settles lower in the sky
and we lie as far from each other as we can
with just our fingertips touching
love on a muggy heat driven night
is a matter of thought as opposed to action,

we are beyond languid and are now puddles
of tired humanity, just waiting for the tipping hour
when the temperature drops enough to sleep

til then we commune with the darkness and wait

one moment ago
every thing was fine
the starter was fine
the main exceptional
the conversation whilst
not exceptional held nuggets
of interest and hints of wit.
dessert came, looked scrumptious
but before fork hit pastry
it happened
something was said,
umbrage was taken
and now we all sit,
in the middle of a ferociously cold war,
my husband caught with
forkful between bowl and mouth
gulps loudly and places fork back on plate
apart from the two combatants,
everyonehas become interested in
the state of  their shoes,
mine are in need of a polish.
and still the fury roils around.
i ask for the bill, pay our share
leaving the cash on the plate..
we are too old, too tired
to take part in what has become
some one elses public domestic

we grab some pastries to go..
and in a blink of an eye
we depart the field...
leaving the two sides blinking

the imaginings
of the lonely heart

wander within this page
and beyond.
sent like beacon lights

out into the darknes
of the heart's distress

out across the waves
seeking another life,
another living

seeking connection,
a return other than
plaintive echoes reply

into the dark
the deep, deep, dark

a butterfly
of heartstrings
and hope,
sent out
into a hurricane

and somewhere
there sits a soul,
weaving a net
of love and lonliness
awaiting a battered
but hopeful butterfly

nine lines long
this poem shall be
it is apparently poem
one thousand and one
on hello poetry
so thank you all
for reading me
and mine musings
my heart is full

leapfrog, crawlfrog
sitting frogs,  snogging frogs
frogs, frogs, frogs
making pollywogs

sudden downpour
rainfall and now we have been
stopped by froggy urban sprawl

all over the road, expanding
the tadpole nation
every frog hop jumping
to their station.

uncle toad needs you

all the little froglets
stand up and take your
place in the human
eradication
we are small, we are cute
and soon we will be many
and our conflagration will bear fruit
the ribbet will roar
the pobblebonk will rise
watch out humans, watch out flies
time you realise...the frogs are coming
looking out for more...it is written
in our sacred lore...we are the future

another coffee,
another time.
****!!
we were the it girls,
we were sublime.

all perfect legs
and matching hair
telling all,
what was just and fair

we ruled with an iron fist,
you were **** if...
you didn't make our list.


and now we meet again today.
our high school empire,
long ago and far away.

now two mothers,
standing on the side-line,
wrapped up in chunky clothes
just to stay warm.
so very distant,
far away from, looking fine

but we are happy now.
you with your third
and me with mine,
in chatting we discover
we have both redefined sublime.

and so,
we make time for coffee.
time to share,
the path that led us,
from there to here.

paul kelly telling yarns
in the background,
harmonica and guitar

vista: spring hopeful
as a large butterfly
scads on by

temperature a perfect mix
of balmy and zephyr breeze

on that breeze the salt and coconut
foretelling summertime glories

condensation pearls, then rolls gently
down the glass of my g&t

the remnants of a crab and prawn roll
lay on the indgo blue plate, like art abstract

a single tear slides down my cheek
as I acknowledge it is one more year

happy birthday ....dear departed you

chasing his tail
to the point of dizziness
before running the race track
defined only in his head

streaking past in a doppler like blur
all scrabble and drift on the hallway turn
ending with a clumping thumping fullstop
into his bed/sack/bed....and then two blinks
and asleep,  limp like a ragdoll.

this is the nightly ritual

random beauty
calls to my soul
so much so
that I must stop
and ponder
before
recording the whole
maginificent mess
in my musings.
a poetic thesis
in many chapters
on the visual, aural
and emotional impact
of the small mudanities
of a life lived in the mind
and in the reality of multiple roles
the words as an artform to makes
sense of the idiosyncratic intricacies
of the world....according to me...

Not a poem
as such
more a reminder
or indeed
a heads up
NapoWrimo begins
April 1

A challenge  of sorts
a month of  poetry
ideas, prompts, explorationof styles
a fuse waiting to be lit

you are the match

why not strike the fuse
and watch the fireworks fly.....

the smell of used books
and years of young love
wafts through the
airconditioning

it is quiet, but not silent
with mumured questions
and conversations being
puntuated by electronics

still there are heads bent
in the pursuit of knowledge
some deep, some philosophical
some kardashianesque.

i sit in comfort, in a nook
breathing in must and thought
and ponder the quest for knowledge

the tour passes by, the guide intones;
there is over 46 kilometres of shelving
in this library, each shelf stacks six high.
just under two hundred computers
and of course access  to wifi...this is
the hub of  knowledge and should
well become your second home

i smile as i watch the bright young things
in the nook across  from me,  
devour  the knowledge of each others face
learning diversified....

Years
Learning to talk
Learning to read
Falling in love with words
Playing with,flirting with language
And now.....now.....you give me ten words
To describe it....ALL.....where is the equanamity in that!!!!

reading poetry fills
my soul with words
and my heart,
with light.

even the darkest poem
lights a candle.....

so for this,
                 i thank you all.....

one thousand feathers,
a bird does not make,
less there are wings
a heart and beak
and such a deseperate
want to fly,
into the upper reaches
of the bluest, widest sky.

without these things,
it is just a pile of dreams,
lost and forgotten.

no, it seems to be,
one thousand feathers
in a pile, is a sad
and sorry thing.

standing on the verge
between black and green
standing on grey gravel
the verge between
freedom and rules

behind me the cattle grid
stepping stones over
a pit filled with purple crocodiles
stepping stones between
joyful ignorance and knowledge

waiting for the big bus
peering down the road
waiting to become bigger
not knowing down the road
is just about waiting to come home

singing a little song
watching my breath
swinging my bag
all impatience and energy
waiting on the verge

i have a wanderer's heart
always wanting to be elsewhere
a wanderers mind looking
to the next horizon...for a new and exciting view...

but alas my feet are lazy
they are settled and sodden
with the clay soil  in which
i grew
they are rooted to home and
hearth
and thus i am bound
my heart soars
my mind dreams
my feet stay firmly
placed on homeground

but one day
i will clay feet and all
travel this world...i will

is it
absurd
that i sometimes
think
that your non fiction
is my
fiction...???

that life
and the interpretation
thereof
is a just
a matter of perspective...!!!

radiant is thy smile,
smallboy love, exudes
from you,
like a flower god's nectar,
bestowed,
with negligent love,
upon a mother's world.
i will drink my fill,
everyday, whilst i can,
for far to soon will you
grow up.

i woke up today,
to find:
my husband still loves and
desires me,
my child still thinks, i am
wonderful,
my cat thinks, i control
the weather and is grateful
i made the sun shine.
i have a job i adore
and  it allows me to play
and in playing ignite
the creativity in young
and bright souls,
i still fit comfortably into
last years spring clothes,
i, with my husband own our
own home and are finacially
secure,
i and my family, are all
happy and healthy,
i am surrounded by friends
who value my worth
and whose worth and love, is of inestimable value to me,
i still love and desire my husband... and think my child wonderful,

and that,
some number of people, read my poetry
and enjoy it.....

i thank the gods,
for all of the above.....
but if honest,
the last is but icing
on the best tasting,
chocolate cake....
that is the rest of my life....

when i stop for a moment
during this busy day
my mind always wanders
off to think of you...

and in these pleasant moments of which
there are far too few
i am to be found dreamily
gazing back to a sky blue day

and as i awake from these
moments of unadultered bliss
i am often wont to sigh
and blow a secret ,
kiss...your way...

slap on a smile.
greet the world.
don't dare think thoughts,
sad and unfurled.

make small talk.
the smaller the better.
do not think to burden
and fetter,
others with the sadness,
hidden behind,
those smiling glassy eyes.

walk the happy walk.
win the useless prize.

wave away the despair
and the complex layers
of grief.
breathe in the clean air.
if you must cry,
keep it brief.

think of all the useless
words,
that people say.
make them your mantra
against these sad and woeful days.

the future is bright,
for some if not all.

but the thing you need
remember,
most of all.
is these days too shall pass.
until then,
slap on a smile and hold fast.

**** on the tongue
like citrus sour drops
my words made you blink
made you think and grimace

they wre meant too
too long have people fed
you pap and honey
leaving you siated
and dozy, porridge
for brains, will get you
nowhere

time to wake up
time to taste the wind
and  live....

pepper, ginger, chilli
feed your slack soul
chew on life, gristle and all

life is a banquet
                    **** it....partake

fires all about
sky orange
not from flame
but refracted light from
smoke so thick
you can gather it
in your hand

the flames miles away
for us but for some
on their doorstep
devouring house

ash falls like snow
and sits in drifts
up against firetruck tires

men and women
volunteer warriors
return soot black
and exhuasted
to rest before
returning
to the front

devastation
of wildlife corridors
devastion of small towns
live's lost and broken

and it is still only spring

today....i took my mothers glasses to the local optometrists
they have a donation box, in which you place unused glasses
then, they are given to people in third world countries,
giving them the gift of better sight...
i have been meaning to do this for a month or so
ever since mum passed away, but it was harder than i thought
it felt too intimate to give that part of her away
but today it happened...and some day soon someone
who was pretty near blind,  given the prescription
will see the world in a whole new way
...through my mum's eyes
and there is a goodness in that..

the small bird
calls to the too
long absent sun

all fluff and feathers
voice strident chirking
demanding audience

oh! to have the confidence
to rule the orb of life
as a handful of bones
and a little yellow beak

size don't matter
to him at all.......

an hour
and an hour,
past,
the twelve struck gong.
my eyes lie open,
my heart awakened
by the notes,
of a sad, sad song
of longing,
now,
lounging ,
in my psyche
and i see the wisps
of half-remembered
dreams fading in
the moon bright air.....
oblivious,
to my waking.
my lover slumbers on,
as i try,
to capture the words
of the sad, sad song....

1.
Christmas bugs litter
the verandah's floor glittering S
Season's memories

2.
Recycling bins
Full of  spent wrapping paper
Await removal

3.
Bleary eyed I sit
Nursing coffee, eating ham leftover Christmas

4.
Deck the halls with all
things beautiful n' shiny
Just to take them down.

slap on a smile.
greet the world.
don't dare think thoughts,
sad and unfurled.

make small talk.
the smaller the better.
do not think to burden
and fetter,
others with the sadness,
hidden behind,
those smiling glassy eyes.

walk the happy walk.
win the useless prize.

wave away the despair
and the complex layers
of grief.
breathe in the clean air.
if you must cry,
keep it brief.

think of all the useless
words,
that people say.
make them your mantra
against these sad and woeful days.

the future is bright,
for some if not all.

but the thing you need
remember,
most of all.
is these days too shall pass.
until then,
slap on a smile and hold fast.

i long for
             quiet
                     today,

a silence, so complete.

that,
i can not hear
my breath
whistling,
in and out
of my
genetically
imperfect lungs.

a silence, so serene

that,
i cannot
hear my
brain creaking,
as i think
thoughts,
far,
too heavy.

a silence, so magnificent

that,
i am  lost
in it's glory.

just for a heartbeat,
                                unheard.    
just for a synapse,
                               snapped.

silence

not, death, far too final.

silence

in all it's
              profound,
                             simplicity.

and then
              i opened the door
and the sunshine
             came in.... allelujah!!!

looked for my
poet in residence
this morning...
all i could find
was a badly scrawled
note
that said,
gone, need me, some
me time.
back whenever.

moths blatter against the 40 watt light of
the midnight sun, the softest of deaths,
all need, wings and fairy dust, in the dawns light
become their requiem, the dustpan their hearse
as they become tidbits for the hungry koi sharks