twenty, twenty vision
clear insights enable to see
all the stuff coming for  me

excepting my blindspot has
grown awful big about a decades
worth of blinkers, giving me tunnel vision

but there is light, up ahead
small and bright, leading me
away from darkest night
toward daybreak
future bright

step on into the day
make of the future
what we may
twenty twenty vision
all the way

thoughts upon my newly acquired orphan state.  i am fifty two and then a little more it should not matter that  i can  no longer knock and open that door to sit in the corner and quietly speak of matters small and large, joyous and bleak....it should not matter for now i am grown  with others to love a child of my own.... it should not matter  but oh how it does... it leaves me speechless, somedays and sometimes turned inside out....on a raft  alone in a sea of  thoughts.... all this in a grief so quietly my own... yet we go about the closing down of a life eighty years and more, taking things so precious to the local opportunity store... consoling ourselves with the mantra that mother loved her charities as we give away the clothes she wore.... we pack, up the unit in which she lived.....pore over the photos showing the love of the life she lived...we converse about memories and family lore...we laugh, we cry, we laugh some more....we note that the  photos we love the most are  those of her holding grandchildren  on  lap and in arm... we talk about the fierce, fierce love that would allow no lasting harm... to befall those in her care...we also talk about the fashions of clothes and  of hair....then... there are the silences so profound...... when we all realize once more she will no longer be around....at least in the physical....in our hearts she will alway be near and dear .....we pack up her rugs and chair....her cookbooks  and clutter, bed bath towels, a myriad of things  in my mind i hear her mutter... such a fuss, such a palaver!....finally all is done...
her  place a shell....empty and forlorn ...we walk out the door as we quietly mourn.....we three orphans, my brothers and me....
stand in the moonlight and stare at the sea....all thinking the same ....poor orphaned me....

tommorrow, a new day,
yesterday, history forgiven
now, a a long drink of regret
...... and anticipation

I wish for you my little big love
a life of soft landings
of easy struggles and
short battles

but  I know my little big love
that this will not, should not,
be the case, for if you have only
soft, easy and short, you will not
appreciate the life you live

no my little big love, my heart knows
you must sometimes fight long,
struggle with all your being
land hard and hurt, to  earn
the victory, to see the win
in all it's glory, to accept
the prize

my heart wishes you soft landings
my head tempers the wish  with wisdom
so I send you forth to live your life
this day and the next, with humour
kindness and fortitude...hoping
you you return with stories and a smile

is as if it grew
as limb of
the gnarled
stringybark

it sat, still
so very still
grey feathers
blended to
perfection

beak ****** up
at an angle
mimicking
the broken edge
of storm damaged
branch

only when
we had passed
it gave itself
away, with slow
blink of tawny eye
then shuttered again
it returned
to it's hidden glory

nothing to see here
just us branches

monsoonal like heat
saps the strength
from my bones
one day into the new year
and i am weary beyond belief

sitting on the back step
a beer sweating itself
slippery in my hand
thinking sandwiches
and fruit salad
may well be our dinner
if i could be bothered
i don't think any one
is hungry anyway

the humidity creates
stickiness, so that flesh
melds together, i would
shower but it would
be my fourth today

and the beach is closed
due to a shark sighting
so i sit and ponder
as my beer warms
and the back
of my knees sweat
little puddles


thunder rumbles
and i hope that soon
a storm  will break
at least then we will
be able to sleep tonight

sheesh it is  hot.....

is my truth yours
perhaps for a nano second
when we meet in the middle
of the burning bridge
on which we stand

is my truth universal
at death, at birth
mayhaps we see
the truth the same

is my truth mine
yes and no, in so much that
the intereaction of multitudes
dilute the same, creating
ripples and waves
that create convex and concave
versions of the truth

is my truth, but a game
with out scores or winners
but continual substitions

is my truth sane
on a good day, there is
a semblance  of sincerity
on a bad day there is
a rambling tour of my reality

groper lips speak
vowels fall forth
chipped pearls of wisdom
skitter about the ground
seeking purchase
in mud pockets
finding only dry sand
and bitter salt

******* in salt
for forty years
can do that
curdle the cream
of wisdom leaving
just the sour to spew out

but if clever you can sift
the  detrius and make
cheesecake with
chipped pearls  on top

pin dropping
silence shattered by whispers
gossip abounds
pinpricking comments
draw beads of bright red
food for the masses
spindoctors prescribing
the ****** of the day
click and share the apple
the new fashioned way
fast to the patient
science is blind
social media
the panacea for
the mordern mind
drink up the draught
of absinthe light
drink again
follow the plight
of the reality ****
and more
**** till your full
drink till
you pour your
intelligence
down the drain
drink and dance
till you feel no pain
then wander oblivious
until you can do it again
sense and money
down the drain
no longer able
to hear the cries
of other's nearby
just caught in your
own  circle of lies

pins drop
but no one hears
all caught up
with little screens
and musical ears

all caught up
in soapbox tears
all bound up
with first world fears

all we hear now
are the silent screams
muted by apathy

just a background murmur
......getting softer...as we walk away
with faces averted....

it gleams
it glows
and refracts light
into rainbows
on the shadowed walls
flickering with the last fire
of this winter

this faceted crystal
lives in the amber lights
speaking of it's years underground
of the smell of peat and other organic matter
it talks of presing and pressure,
of waiting, of dormancy
of silence and solitude
of tetonic shifts, and little landslips

of the sound of pick and axe
and the rumble of machinery
the gabble of voices, the greed of man

it talks of admiration followed by
cleaving and faceting and grinding
it speaks of currencies

it speaks of love, of exicitement
and trepidation, of yearning
and of acceptance and joy

it tells of years of happiness
of washing up and of being held
in quiet embrace, it tells of nights
just like this,  sitting in front of the fire
basking in it's glow, making rainbows
on shadowed walls

syringe push driver
medical implement
that aids in supplying drugs
a comfort measure

the pathway home
you lie in bed so small
all the freice fighting spirit
leached away, just needing rest

you ask me to ring"the boys"
let them know you aren't doing well
they ask me to set up a family meeting
to discuss the use of the push driver
all these things i do.....all the time
wanting to hide, put my hands to my ears
and cry, lalalals, not listening

but I cannot, I am the adult now....

Toes cold and aching
Fires flicker in amber dance
Red wine warms the soul

at night
it manifests
this dream of mine
to write my world
my hopes, my decline
and rise again to fall
it to this pit of words,
to break this wall
that lies betwixt us,
your world...
so different to the one
i inhabit.
these words like songlines,
leylines for you to follow
down into the depths
down past the dressings
into the magma
into......

raindrop reflecting
stand of eucalyptus trees
nature is sublime

green frog serenade
love a truly splendid song
if you know the words

on rock
in centre stream
I balance,ungainly

slick dark green algae
and well worn sneakers
do not provide adequate
friction, to maintain
perpendicular functions

in centre stream
on rock
I sit, hard and painfully

there is something truly
enticing, about the curve
of  back, as you sit
on the edge of the bed,

lost in that moment between
being  abed and rising
that delay, whilst you decide
yay or nay, to the day.

there is a challenge in the
***** of shoulders
and the swell of good eating
that rests upon your hips

that makes me want leap into action
and draw you back
from the edgeof mundanity,
of everyday routine
and ravage you silly,
make you howl
and make you moan..

i want to taste your sleep drenched skin
and feast upon the energy kept quiet
i want wake you, make your open eyes
make your pupils dilate,
as i drink the night out of the depths of you...

but I am to slow, in my langour
i have lost the moment,
you stand and stride off
into the day
i turn and lay on my side
hoping the sun will leach
the frustration from my being

puddles
places where
rain juice gathers
so you can startle
your own reflection
with a rewarding splash

we stay still
the surfers and I
caught in
the moment

as the sun breaks
the horizon
a whale breaches
the water

the  apricot light
plays off the slick
oil black sides
of the massive beast

it was a moment
of  grandeur
broken by
the massive
water slap of
whale as it dropped
back into the blue water

and still, we stayed still
the surfers and I
caught in the glory

of the bellyflop

we bought our tickets
and now take our place
on the flying ship of fools
denying rules...
and rising into clouded skies

four days in the big smoked
town with grit and dust
in every breath
going to turn cement beige
into dappled rainbow red

see some shows...
get over or underfed ....
sleep in ...1000 other peoples bed...
aquarium, Lunatic Park and zoo...
museum a  must, halls of old things,
covered in aged dust
but only interested
to see  thebreally old dino poo

ride on a train....go insane
in peak hour traffic...
buy extra stuff on
credit-instamatic.
watch buskers be
musical and dramatic.

swim in the harbour
not thinking of sharks
in the dark deep water

flap our wings,  see what the waiter
feed the ducks in the big city pond.
see old aunts of which we are fond

fly on home....
and take a two day
recuperation holiday...
before singing
the workday blues...

i want to write something,
bright and beautiful.
but those things,
are memories,
out of reach,
on a high shelf.

i see them, in crooked
neck glimpses,
as they gather dust.

i hope to find my
rose tinted glasses
soon,
perhaps,
when i get home
and have some rest and sleep,
i will find them nestled,waiting,
in my bedside drawer.

i know my record has,
but a few grooves right now,
and sings only lamentations.

the fragility of my body,
assults my mind.
and the reliance on chemical
relief provides, physical respite.
but brings,a side order of
mental frailty.
so anything you get...
has those filters attached.

my world right now,
is miniscule.
this is my window...

but i know,
things will get better.
bear with me friends...
i will write,
beautiful  again.

what if, we just smiled at people who looked different
what if we listened to what the old haave to say
what if we taught children to wonder at small miracles
what if we cried out for peace
what if we hugged a person less fortunate
what if we made kindness our calling card
what if we stood up and listen to other's woes
what if we light small fires of hope
what if we stopped before saying something hurtful
what if we made it our mantra to do good things

what would happen if we take small steps in grace,
spoken for the better world and left and trail of small
kindnesses in our wake......

what if, one day we made some ones life better,
with no thought of acknowledgement or reward

what if one day some one did the same for us

there is much power in this quiet reflection
what if we take it on board,  seed it within our hearts
watch it grow and give fruit

cherry red, dark skins
hard-hearted fruit, flesh such sweet
succulent morsels

kindness given
kindness received
small transactions
unseen, .
but not unnoticed
are the true pennies
from heaven
tossed with love,
into the wells
of our tired hearts

Can any one spare
a penny.... or two
                     ......today

Plenty of time to write,
now as the doors stay closed
at the knowledge factory
and we wave goodbye
to  common sense.
Plenty of time to write,
as we keep our youngers
home and teach them
distance education
the art of befriending
from a socially
acceptable distance.
Plenty if time to write,
small shopping lists,
so one can dart
in and out of local shops
Plenty of time on our hands
as we realize that our house
may not be as large as we thought
Plenty of time to think
the thoughts we probably
should not think..but do
Plenty of information shared
but how much of social pages
armchair experting is truth .
Most importantly plenty of love
and hope and joy to be found
hidden amongst the angst.
Plenty of time to write
of this, to spread the love
and not the fear..
Plenty of time..

Foggy breath on glass
As I wrap my scarf tighter
Crisp and clear today.

with the taste of burnt and burning on my tongue
i look out to the mountains,
hidden by haze and slow drifting smoke

it is the day we put up our tree
but this year it seems  bittersweet
there are many who have lost houses
some who have lost family
all of us have lost innocence
with regard to the wrath of fire

we carry on unpacking boxes
of tinsel and bric a brac
remembering thosee who gave us
special items, remembering christmas past

we laugh and love, easing the tension
and soon the tree is done, toto green
for our climate but cheerful and robust

this afternoon the town tree light festival begins
a parade and gathering, this year an opportunity
to thank the firefighters and their families

and another new tradition, a christmas tree
where you can leave gifts for those,
who have lost something or everything
in the fires

singing songs in my head
reminding me of days
long dead, lives lived and lost
all that remains is the moss
shed from the stone rolling away
penny thoughts and diamond dreams
written on forgotten reams of parchment fine
vellum too, written when the dodo's ruled the zoo
words so divine, sieved through linen fine
stitched in dainty tapestry, told to me by a flea
given to him by a dog, barking mad, or mad barking
wisdom begining at a silly place, is still wisdom
if given from lessons learnt in strife.
life your life, in love, love your life and live

Flower sticks dried out
Stand sentenal to
a life ruled by busy laziness

Once vibrant petals
Hang with tenacious
grace, determined in death
to remain relevant,
Notes of a happier time

There epitaph ..
need to do something
with those flowers
echoes in my mind as
i again brush pass them on
my way out the door

dawn chorus awakes
the tired mind revolts' groans
pillow over  ears

one more year
all but done
2 4 mins to spare

cold beers in hand
we sit on grass
and listen to folk band

our fingers touch
our hearts combine as
the years dwindles

the god boy dreams
with arms thrown wide
the lateness having beaten
his desire to see in the new

i think of those who
drifted of to places better
so far beyond our human touch
and to those we welcomed

the time counts down
as i stare at the sky
and wish for blessings and grace
but knowing that there
will be measures of sadness too

farewell to you 017
you were mostly good
and yes  i will
remember you kindly

the night becimes a carnival
the god boy lurches awake
and we stand hand in hand
as the new rushes to meet us

the state of the human heart

both, astoundingly abstract
and sumptuously surreal

born of colours kaleidescoped
by fractured fractaled emotions

painted with either abandon
or cramped contractions

framed by circumstance
guided by thought,
or thoughtlessness

hung by guilt,hope arrogance

viewed through binoculars,
keyholes, rose tinted spectacles
seen in clouds and reflections

reviewed with misunderstanding

sold for praise and cheers

gifted to uninterested or uninteresting

left to gather dust....

held tightly, torturously so
for  fear of it flying free

weighed, found wanting
yet alway needing more

when  the heart smiles
the whole body sings
when it cries,
we often look away
from it's sorrow.

we can be heartfelt
heartless, hard harted
soft of heart, heart sore
we can have a heart
overwhelmed, full of grief
overflowing with love

we need it to beat,
be strong, faithful, steady

all this: ascribed to a muscle,
inside a cage, inside a bag
working hard to keep us upright

look, at the state of it.......

stealing time
to pen some words
that may be
considerate  enough
to rhyme

stealing time
to sit  apace
with  myself
and muse away
a small portion of
this humid hour

stealing time
to stare at space
and watch
the dust motes
dance with
ballerina grace

stealing time
with vacant smile
as the world and
his wife, walk on by

it is  in moments
like these stolen away
that i gather the beauty
of each and every day

on a twig  so fine
bumble bee sits, wings quiet
worker on a break

Sun rises,
softly  creeping across the  leaf
upon which I sit.
Quiet and serene.

Green is the leaf,
Green I have become,
still and serene
I am leaf, leaf is me,
We are one under this day's sun.
Do not see me,
see me not.

I am leaf,
I am not here.
I am chlorophyll, dozing they day away..
I am leaf,
leaf is me.

I am still,
Quiet and serene
I am green,
blend, blending
into  green.
Unseen, serenely
green.

Verdant, is my name
Statue - like
stillness
is my game.
Still, serene, green

I am leaf,
Leaf is me..
I am leaf,
I am leaf...

the afterthought of rain
lies heavy in the air tonight
the earth slowly steams
aand on the elctricity lines
the  family pink  of galahs
amuse themselves
doing 360 degree loops
on the rain slippery wires
round and round and round
with child-like glee

down tne road, the  jackos
settle in for the night
amid laughter and gossip
and much flapping of wings

i watch the geckos race up
the wall to postion themselves
under the porch light
and await the night's buffet

somewhere over near the pond
the old frog begins to sing
i am pleased to hear him
i thought we had lost him to the heat
his basso profundo love cries
follow me into the house
as the mosquitoes  begin their
bloodsucking serenades.

and the earth slowly steams

there was blood
a pinprick of it
bright red viscous
glowing with health

because of the blood
there were bandaids
two big plastic strips
colored like the flesh of
a zombie hand, placed in a cross
like the x on a treasure map
straddling the knee
of the small person
with tears in her eyes
as she retold her story

there was blood
and it hurt
but then we
had ice cream

now the blood is dried
the tears too
but still the bandaids remain
x marking the spot

flat as a tack
nailed firmly
into ironbark

thats me
after marking
over 120 essays

the words blurred
near the end
and now the world is blurry
so takeaway tea
a large g&t times two
and bed for as long as i can

then i may just be userfriendly again
but i am not promising anything

orchid mother
my niece so proud
because she has kept
an orchid alive
and had it bud and bloom
in winter

first year out of home
she lives in our backyard
and stumbles through
grown up  requirements
such as order and bill paying

the way she hangs clothes
on a line to dry is a form
of origami made into abstract art

but she is so proud of the big white
bloom and growing green buds

in truth
the sadness
weighs upon me

in truth
i see light
but so far away

in truth
i am unreachable
alone in the night

in truth
this is but a passing phase
one i must endure

in truth
i find my strength  in others
as we come together

in truth
gladness comes
like seeds seek the sun

in truth
i find my way
as strength returns

in truth
i am  not one
but many conflicted thoughts

in truth...

clipped and shorn
close to breaking
the thin skin
on the wrinkly bits

words
sharp and terse
leaving marks
unseen
on the inside

criticism
meant to be constructive
but became destructive
with a turn of the shears

this baa, baa black sheep cries all the way home

springs first butterfly
shyly sits on teacup rim
showing her colours

my first encounter
bodes well for the days remainder
i smile, joy blossoms

then leaves to sample the peonies,

i wish I did not
have the taste of
burnt dust always
on my tongue

i wish  i could go
one day without
tears in my eyes

to turn on the tv
and not see another
burnt out bouse  or
ravaging flames

i wish i did not
have to thank
volunteer fire fighters
those who risk themselves
daily to help others

i wish i did not silently weep
for the future of this land
as it goes up in flame
as flora and fauna
become extinct
in one terrible day

i wish i could get
the burnt dust smell
out of my house,
my clothes,
my nose and mouth

but apperently, this..
this new catastrophe
is the new norm around here

High tide ebbs away
Leaving surprised immigrants
In temporary accommodations.
Awaiting the next surge out.

ten thousand tears
fall to your memory
enough to water
a grove of magnolia trees

ten thousand joys
remembered there
give light and sun
to the soul, stripped bare

and as those trees
grow with light and water
we sit and revisit sorrow and joys
and contemplate, the art of bee's
to bring colour to the palest day
before leading us home
to hive and life, leaving behind
toys and strife....before we succumb
before we falter...to the melancholy
of those that remain

big, bright ole moon
on the rise tonight
turning red, being blue
butter and cheese
on a dark indigo plate

only problem being
that the god's in their
gluttony and disregard
have dropped
the clouded napkins
over the cheese platter

so we here, hear about
the beauty of the dish
but only here the clatter
of the cutlery and feel
the overflow from the dishwasher

Possums playing tag
In hob-nailed boots on the roof.
All sound and fury

cold weather outside
sad thoughts within

rains cleanses the windows
tears cleanse the hearts

rain gives water for growth
tears acknowledge slow death

clouds blanket the sky
my other gives me a blanket
both make the day warmer

the sun breaks through cloud
that heavenly beam of light
reminds me of my mothers faith
for her, everything will be alright

me, I gather my blanket closer
and cry into his broad shoulders

puddles of sky water
lay awaiting the sun's kiss
back to cloudy homes

black night sky, listens
withholding judgement, absorbing all
whilst the sea whispers.,