Atroshus spellink
Never stopped Owl's lessons
Kanga and Roo dance
A bear of little
Consequence can still win hearts
Christopher Robin
"Thank you" Eeyore said
"For unglooming me again"
Tail found, reattached.
Bouncing Tigger finds
Heffalumps in his P.J's
Piglet offers hugs.
Bother of bothers!
Honey jars attract Pooh Bear
Fat bottom fills hole.
Thursday
Spring Rain
Rain against the window
A staccato beat telling me
"Don't think I'll water your plants!
You should have left the clothes out.
I enjoy making them all wet again."
It thunders at me to pay attention,
Random flashes of temper light the room,
Wind howls around corners
A staccato beat telling me
"Don't think I'll water your plants!
You should have left the clothes out.
I enjoy making them all wet again."
It thunders at me to pay attention,
Random flashes of temper light the room,
Wind howls around corners
Flicking the electricity on and off
Angry children acting out
Each vying for center stage
On! Off! Crash! Flash! Beating
Ever softer a staccato rhythm
"You ruined all our fun...
You ruined all our fun..."
Margaret Atwood Quotes
A ratio of failures is built into the process of writing. The wastebasket has evolved for a reason.
Another belief of mine; that everyone else my age is an adult, whereas I am merely in disguise.
Gardening is not a rational act.
Their mothers had finally caught up to them and been proven right. There were consequences after all but they were the consequences to things you didn't even know you'd done.
I would like to be the air that inhabits you for a moment only. I would like to be that unnoticed and that necessary.
In the spring, at the end of the day, you should smell like dirt.
One I truly love of hers: "Longed for him. Got him. Shit."
Wednesday
Mahler
Warm dark chocolate slowly melting in the sun
Fingers travelling down, tracing contours, having fun
Traversing valleys, aromatic spices blending
One person beginning the other never ending
Music dripping into the empty spaces,
Past and present entwine. Embraces
gathering momentum, passion and heat.
Blind passions sweeping reason of it's feet.
Fingers travelling down, tracing contours, having fun
Traversing valleys, aromatic spices blending
One person beginning the other never ending
Music dripping into the empty spaces,
Past and present entwine. Embraces
gathering momentum, passion and heat.
Blind passions sweeping reason of it's feet.
Half formed ideas: Beginings, middle and endings that go or come from nowhere.
Icy, cold, empty, staring blankly into my heart
Commenting once again on my dead libido
Telling me why I am wrong, highlighting flaws,
Showing five minutes of affection laced with scorn
Commenting once again on my dead libido
Telling me why I am wrong, highlighting flaws,
Showing five minutes of affection laced with scorn
Monday
Howl (2010)
Oh My Gods! Exploration of Ginsberg's epic poem and the controversy surrounding it! Think about the fuss over Gable not giving a damn a few years earlier (1939) then Ginsberg comes out and talks about sodomy and male genitalia (1954)!
Ginsberg was a gay rights and mental health activist at a time when both were viewed as things to lock away and hide. He was a man searching for spirituality and peace in a country searching for another excuse to go to war and using the fear of Communism and the love of a White Baptist God to do so.
Howl breaks the poetic conventions of rhyme, line length, metrical pattern, and overall poetic structure. It is a free form streaming of consciousness exploring his own childhood, his countries politics and the lives of those around him.
When I first read Howl it opened my eyes to what language could be. Secondary school poetry was rigidly classified by meeting the conventions. It had to rhyme, it had to be in stanzas, it had to be able to be clapped to. Crassness had no place in poetry, you could use metaphor but not meta-phwoar.
For someone on a diet of Blake, Shelley, Keats, Lawson and Patterson Howl opened me to my own voice.
Stream of consciousness was OK. The poem became about expressing who you were, where you were, when you were. It became a statement of the larger picture and removed the constraints of "Today you will write a piece on happiness" which seemed to be the English teachers idea of introducing people to poetry. (No wonder so many of my friends think that poetry peaked with the Raven and the writings of Dr Suess!)
Howl helped me go from:
The little bird on it's branch
Dreams of the far off ranch
It spreads it's wings into the sky
Drifting on the wind up high
Freedom like this makes him happy
Meter and rhythm are so crappy
To:
Happiness... the hollow pursuit
The needing to own and be owned
Possessions filling the voids in our souls
The latest, the greatest, the next must have thing
Happiness... sitting alone in the dark
Waiting for a call you know won't come
Fooling yourself that his preoccupation is you
Dreaming that the next moment the cell will ring
Happiness... that myth espoused from the pulpit
That carrot dangled in our faces hinting
Showing us the afterlife that is gone!
An empty space filled with advertising and shopping
Happiness co-opted by corporations
Governments in four year spaces
Lies upon lies, smile it will be better,
The panacea of our times, the band-aid to fix all things
Thank you Mr Ginsberg.
Oh My Gods! Exploration of Ginsberg's epic poem and the controversy surrounding it! Think about the fuss over Gable not giving a damn a few years earlier (1939) then Ginsberg comes out and talks about sodomy and male genitalia (1954)!
Ginsberg was a gay rights and mental health activist at a time when both were viewed as things to lock away and hide. He was a man searching for spirituality and peace in a country searching for another excuse to go to war and using the fear of Communism and the love of a White Baptist God to do so.
Howl breaks the poetic conventions of rhyme, line length, metrical pattern, and overall poetic structure. It is a free form streaming of consciousness exploring his own childhood, his countries politics and the lives of those around him.
When I first read Howl it opened my eyes to what language could be. Secondary school poetry was rigidly classified by meeting the conventions. It had to rhyme, it had to be in stanzas, it had to be able to be clapped to. Crassness had no place in poetry, you could use metaphor but not meta-phwoar.
For someone on a diet of Blake, Shelley, Keats, Lawson and Patterson Howl opened me to my own voice.
Stream of consciousness was OK. The poem became about expressing who you were, where you were, when you were. It became a statement of the larger picture and removed the constraints of "Today you will write a piece on happiness" which seemed to be the English teachers idea of introducing people to poetry. (No wonder so many of my friends think that poetry peaked with the Raven and the writings of Dr Suess!)
Howl helped me go from:
The little bird on it's branch
Dreams of the far off ranch
It spreads it's wings into the sky
Drifting on the wind up high
Freedom like this makes him happy
Meter and rhythm are so crappy
To:
Happiness... the hollow pursuit
The needing to own and be owned
Possessions filling the voids in our souls
The latest, the greatest, the next must have thing
Happiness... sitting alone in the dark
Waiting for a call you know won't come
Fooling yourself that his preoccupation is you
Dreaming that the next moment the cell will ring
Happiness... that myth espoused from the pulpit
That carrot dangled in our faces hinting
Showing us the afterlife that is gone!
An empty space filled with advertising and shopping
Happiness co-opted by corporations
Governments in four year spaces
Lies upon lies, smile it will be better,
The panacea of our times, the band-aid to fix all things
Thank you Mr Ginsberg.
Thursday
Teen Angst: Valentine's Day and Suicidal Tendencies.
Written 1990 while bored out of my brain in a class at N* Secondary College. Doesn't seem too bad for a not yet Goth, cathartic, disenfranchised teen, angst piece.
Skulls and bones
Deserts Dry
Unanswered phones
No questions "Why?"
Stab through heart
Blood runs red
Lovers apart
Cupid dead
Where as this could be used as an example of why teenage girls who dream of Robert Smith and Sylvia Plath should maybe not put pen to paper...
Pray thee peace
Enter my realm
Let me sleep
Deep in the ground
Death, oh, Death
To thee I beseech!
Take my life
Into your firm reach!
Skulls and bones
Deserts Dry
Unanswered phones
No questions "Why?"
Stab through heart
Blood runs red
Lovers apart
Cupid dead
Where as this could be used as an example of why teenage girls who dream of Robert Smith and Sylvia Plath should maybe not put pen to paper...
Pray thee peace
Enter my realm
Let me sleep
Deep in the ground
Death, oh, Death
To thee I beseech!
Take my life
Into your firm reach!
Monday
Forth Birthday Fairy Greeting.
The fairies in the garden send you a little wish
They've sprinkled you with rainbow dust
Made by mermaid from the laughs of fish!
They've showered you with love,
Granted you a dream for every star
That twinkles in the eternal sky above!
Have a Happy Birthday girl of four
May this day bring you all that you want
and more
Saturday
Thanking a teacher for Ada Lovelace Day
I was reading this: http://findingada.com/ and it got me thinking about the female teachers I've had over time.
Miss Gunther who insisted I learn to write cursive and not in block capitals all the time. She also introduced me to the concept of misplaced rhyme, meter, metaphor and that poetry could be a construct and not a free form. (Misplaced rhyme: The rhyme comes but not at the end of the sentence. My term I can't think of hers.)
Miss Howe who told me that my poetry was good and encouraged me to keep writing.
Mrs Woods who I gave my very first story poem to. It was in 1984, I was 9. I now wish I had it back as I'd love to read it from an adult perspective. All I can remember is:
"The magician waves his magic wand,
The rabbit appears, the shows begun"
Mrs Hughes, who gave me readers beyond the other kids in the class. Being an uncoordinated 7 year old, with no social skills unless talking to people 50 years older, and a love of the written word means you get bullied a lot. Mrs Hughes gave me readers designed for the Grade 6 class. She also told me about authors that she felt I'd enjoy. When I had her again in grade 6 she handed me Tolstoy's Anna Karenina and told me to read it. I learned to wheelbarrow the names I couldn't pronounce but loved that an adult had so much belief in me. (Something I only felt from one other adult at the time.)
Mrs Karyannis, I owe an apology to. Not just for spelling her name wrong, as I'm sure I have, but for "dissing" her at a reunion. Ten years on I realise that this is what alcoholics talk about when they mention their drinking hurting others. One day I'll be able to say sorry to her and thank her for helping me get sober.
Miss Collins, who gave me a love of science, one of the most valuable gifts I've ever been given.
Miss Padani who taught me that what you read is as important as how much, and that cheap paper back romances aren't Louisa May Alcott, the Bronte sisters or L P Hartley. (I'll forgive her for "The Go Between" one day. I may never forgive her for Anne Tyler and "The Accidental Tourist." I thank her for Jessica Anderson's "Tirra Lirra By The River.") She was also wrong about meter being the most important aspect of poetry... honey, the meter don't matter if the meaning is mush...
There were teachers who opened my mind to a thought or concept that I can't remember the names of, there were sadistic physical education teachers who never understood what it was like barely being able to walk without falling over your own feet and getting puffed let alone do a somersault. There were one's who showed open hearted kindnesses or closed minded disciplines. They all shaped who I am now.
I am grateful to all of these women. I would love to know what they are up to now and hope they are all happy...
Miss Gunther who insisted I learn to write cursive and not in block capitals all the time. She also introduced me to the concept of misplaced rhyme, meter, metaphor and that poetry could be a construct and not a free form. (Misplaced rhyme: The rhyme comes but not at the end of the sentence. My term I can't think of hers.)
Miss Howe who told me that my poetry was good and encouraged me to keep writing.
Mrs Woods who I gave my very first story poem to. It was in 1984, I was 9. I now wish I had it back as I'd love to read it from an adult perspective. All I can remember is:
"The magician waves his magic wand,
The rabbit appears, the shows begun"
Mrs Hughes, who gave me readers beyond the other kids in the class. Being an uncoordinated 7 year old, with no social skills unless talking to people 50 years older, and a love of the written word means you get bullied a lot. Mrs Hughes gave me readers designed for the Grade 6 class. She also told me about authors that she felt I'd enjoy. When I had her again in grade 6 she handed me Tolstoy's Anna Karenina and told me to read it. I learned to wheelbarrow the names I couldn't pronounce but loved that an adult had so much belief in me. (Something I only felt from one other adult at the time.)
Mrs Karyannis, I owe an apology to. Not just for spelling her name wrong, as I'm sure I have, but for "dissing" her at a reunion. Ten years on I realise that this is what alcoholics talk about when they mention their drinking hurting others. One day I'll be able to say sorry to her and thank her for helping me get sober.
Miss Collins, who gave me a love of science, one of the most valuable gifts I've ever been given.
Miss Padani who taught me that what you read is as important as how much, and that cheap paper back romances aren't Louisa May Alcott, the Bronte sisters or L P Hartley. (I'll forgive her for "The Go Between" one day. I may never forgive her for Anne Tyler and "The Accidental Tourist." I thank her for Jessica Anderson's "Tirra Lirra By The River.") She was also wrong about meter being the most important aspect of poetry... honey, the meter don't matter if the meaning is mush...
There were teachers who opened my mind to a thought or concept that I can't remember the names of, there were sadistic physical education teachers who never understood what it was like barely being able to walk without falling over your own feet and getting puffed let alone do a somersault. There were one's who showed open hearted kindnesses or closed minded disciplines. They all shaped who I am now.
I am grateful to all of these women. I would love to know what they are up to now and hope they are all happy...
Tuesday
May 13th, 2007
Two pieces, neither published.
and in the passing of those held dear
we reflect back, shed a tear
regret the times we did not spend
an idle moment with departed friend
memories come unbidden now
of days gone past, of where, of how
we curse that they have gone away
wish them here to always stay
we remember smiles, forget the face
knowing they are lost to eternities embrace
I see he who is most important before me
I feel his arms embrace me again
He has held me while I cry in pain
Seen the heartache of phone calls not received
The emptiness of nights with no other
Experiencing each tear I wept as his own
Through childhood misery and fear
He has led me through adolescence
After each rejection he has given me acceptance
A guiding hand, a kind word, a smile
He has encouraged my dreams, laughed at my follies
I see he who is most important before me
I feel his arms drop away as he embraces sleep
I take my first steps into adulthood... alone
and in the passing of those held dear
we reflect back, shed a tear
regret the times we did not spend
an idle moment with departed friend
memories come unbidden now
of days gone past, of where, of how
we curse that they have gone away
wish them here to always stay
we remember smiles, forget the face
knowing they are lost to eternities embrace
I see he who is most important before me
I feel his arms embrace me again
He has held me while I cry in pain
Seen the heartache of phone calls not received
The emptiness of nights with no other
Experiencing each tear I wept as his own
Through childhood misery and fear
He has led me through adolescence
After each rejection he has given me acceptance
A guiding hand, a kind word, a smile
He has encouraged my dreams, laughed at my follies
I see he who is most important before me
I feel his arms drop away as he embraces sleep
I take my first steps into adulthood... alone
For one night only
Unpublished.
I see you now upon the stage
Shattner-esque your diarrhoea rage
You say things now as if emotion
Is your muse now from you fled
I remember when I first saw you
Thought "There's an arse I can bite into"
And heard your words of childhood lost
The beauty of you soul come across
A few drinks later, a few smokes more
We did the verbal dance of phwoar
Insults half meant, comments barbed
Designed to make you very hard
Smoked some more, almost drunk
Back towards your bed we slunk
Clothes fast shed, inhibitions too
As you showed very nicely what a tongue could do
A moment of beauty cut short by health
As airways closed from polluting stealth
Me gone at daylight for funeral, a friend...
And your past comes to finish what I would not end.
You spread your version of the truth
Knowing those lies, so uncouth,
My ears they may never reach
But indiscretionsa lesson teach
I learned to never trust a man
To never let them see heart's plan
A lesson learnt one hurtful night
Of love, of sex, of wrong, of spite.
I see you now upon the stage
Shattner-esque your diarrhoea rage
You say things now as if emotion
Is your muse now from you fled
I remember when I first saw you
Thought "There's an arse I can bite into"
And heard your words of childhood lost
The beauty of you soul come across
A few drinks later, a few smokes more
We did the verbal dance of phwoar
Insults half meant, comments barbed
Designed to make you very hard
Smoked some more, almost drunk
Back towards your bed we slunk
Clothes fast shed, inhibitions too
As you showed very nicely what a tongue could do
A moment of beauty cut short by health
As airways closed from polluting stealth
Me gone at daylight for funeral, a friend...
And your past comes to finish what I would not end.
You spread your version of the truth
Knowing those lies, so uncouth,
My ears they may never reach
But indiscretionsa lesson teach
I learned to never trust a man
To never let them see heart's plan
A lesson learnt one hurtful night
Of love, of sex, of wrong, of spite.
American Pie
Unpublished
American Pie
I’m naked beside Monroe
As the coldness rushes in
Jones and Epstein are fighting
Over who gets to teach me how to swim
Sylvia’s writing my soliloquy
But she doesn’t know where to start
I’m Brandon Lee’s stand in
It’s a really killer part
I’ve had Hemmingway offer me advice
On how to hunt and the use of a gun
John Wayne’s offered me a movie,
A western, in the New Mexico sun
I’m getting driving lessons from Jimmy
Now the Spyder’s service is done…
So leave me standing at the world trade center
Buddy and I are waiting for our plane to come in.
American Pie
I’m naked beside Monroe
As the coldness rushes in
Jones and Epstein are fighting
Over who gets to teach me how to swim
Sylvia’s writing my soliloquy
But she doesn’t know where to start
I’m Brandon Lee’s stand in
It’s a really killer part
I’ve had Hemmingway offer me advice
On how to hunt and the use of a gun
John Wayne’s offered me a movie,
A western, in the New Mexico sun
I’m getting driving lessons from Jimmy
Now the Spyder’s service is done…
So leave me standing at the world trade center
Buddy and I are waiting for our plane to come in.
Popsuicety
Unpublished
Pop suiciety
Michael’s offered me some rope
Kurt the use of his gun
I’ve a ticket on Lynyrd Skynyrd’s plane
My journey’s just begun
River’s encouraging me to try
Some stuff that Joplin recommends.
Mama Cass is making the sandwiches
For a picnic that will never end.
Denver has offered to pilot me,
Then Harlow a lift to my home;
While Lennon is standing behind me
Chapman is out on the roam.
Pop suiciety
Michael’s offered me some rope
Kurt the use of his gun
I’ve a ticket on Lynyrd Skynyrd’s plane
My journey’s just begun
River’s encouraging me to try
Some stuff that Joplin recommends.
Mama Cass is making the sandwiches
For a picnic that will never end.
Denver has offered to pilot me,
Then Harlow a lift to my home;
While Lennon is standing behind me
Chapman is out on the roam.
Cleaned up: Coffee, Cafe and Cupcakes
Unpublished
CAFÉ
How is this?
I sit alone
Sipping latte
Burning my lips
Killing time
I listen to the conversations
Imagine lives at home
Jobs held, cars driven
While my pen plays at the paper
An insect dipped in ink crawling away
Letting my thoughts run wild
Still I wait
Each minute a death knoll
`Til I can be with you
To see your act of Rudi gore
To applaud your G&S
So I wait,
Sipping Latte,
Burning my tongue,
And thinking of you.
CAFÉ
How is this?
I sit alone
Sipping latte
Burning my lips
Killing time
I listen to the conversations
Imagine lives at home
Jobs held, cars driven
While my pen plays at the paper
An insect dipped in ink crawling away
Letting my thoughts run wild
Still I wait
Each minute a death knoll
`Til I can be with you
To see your act of Rudi gore
To applaud your G&S
So I wait,
Sipping Latte,
Burning my tongue,
And thinking of you.
The Blues
Unpublished
Performed
THE BLUES
I got the blues so bad my soul lays open and bare
I got the blues so bad as I lie here waiting for someone to care
I got the blues so bad Holly Golightly is telling me there the mean reds
JD Sallinger is standing to catch me if I fallout of bed
Munsch is painting my sorrow, Bessie smith crying for my song
And Maslow screams at me to try and explain where it all went wrong
I got the blues so bad that I'm keeping Cadbury's Nestle and Smiths going
The radio constantly plays Isaak and Floyd, Dylan and Lennon and Cohen
My eyes burn red for the tears that they have no longer to cry
A heart of stone calls out for feeling, for emotion, that it may fly
I got the blues so bad my head is thudding like a funeral drum
All I can focus on is the warm embrace of death to come
The Parlor is booked, the church on stand by, the worms hunger
As my life continues to spiral out of control, pulling me under
I got the blues so bad my soul lays open and bare
I got the blues so bad as I lie here waiting for someone to care.
Performed
THE BLUES
I got the blues so bad my soul lays open and bare
I got the blues so bad as I lie here waiting for someone to care
I got the blues so bad Holly Golightly is telling me there the mean reds
JD Sallinger is standing to catch me if I fallout of bed
Munsch is painting my sorrow, Bessie smith crying for my song
And Maslow screams at me to try and explain where it all went wrong
I got the blues so bad that I'm keeping Cadbury's Nestle and Smiths going
The radio constantly plays Isaak and Floyd, Dylan and Lennon and Cohen
My eyes burn red for the tears that they have no longer to cry
A heart of stone calls out for feeling, for emotion, that it may fly
I got the blues so bad my head is thudding like a funeral drum
All I can focus on is the warm embrace of death to come
The Parlor is booked, the church on stand by, the worms hunger
As my life continues to spiral out of control, pulling me under
I got the blues so bad my soul lays open and bare
I got the blues so bad as I lie here waiting for someone to care.
Relatives
RELATIVES
Look behind the eyes in the emptiness of her face
Behold what you have all done in your ignorance
You took so much suckling at her breast again, again
Till she was dry, desolate, with nothing left
Can you see behind the eyes, in the emptiness of her face
Do you behold what your tongues have created
Do you leave behind your lies for her to grasp
The straws of a dying woman vanishing in your wind
Have you seen behind the eyes at the emptiness in her face
Have you looked out at the desolate wastelands before her
You who took so much and left so little, you her prodigal offspring,
She who has given you so much, she who has none left with which to live.
Look behind the eyes in the emptiness of her face
Behold what you have all done in your ignorance
You took so much suckling at her breast again, again
Till she was dry, desolate, with nothing left
Can you see behind the eyes, in the emptiness of her face
Do you behold what your tongues have created
Do you leave behind your lies for her to grasp
The straws of a dying woman vanishing in your wind
Have you seen behind the eyes at the emptiness in her face
Have you looked out at the desolate wastelands before her
You who took so much and left so little, you her prodigal offspring,
She who has given you so much, she who has none left with which to live.
Bourbon
Unpublished
BOURBON
Another drink of bourbon please
I slur across at the bartender
The look of pity in his eyes I ignore
Another drink of bourbon please
I hear my voice become slightly louder
The slight plea as pathetic as last nights liaison
Please, another drink of bourbon
I begin to beg fearing his response
I can pay for it all, I think
Please another drink of bourbon
I become confused and jumbled
My sweet lover gleefully withheld
DRINK BOURBON NOW
Guttering lights, flicker consciousness
Lying alone in the dark
Street sweeper nearing, memory lost
The last sip a sweet memory
The last drink to long ago
BOURBON
Another drink of bourbon please
I slur across at the bartender
The look of pity in his eyes I ignore
Another drink of bourbon please
I hear my voice become slightly louder
The slight plea as pathetic as last nights liaison
Please, another drink of bourbon
I begin to beg fearing his response
I can pay for it all, I think
Please another drink of bourbon
I become confused and jumbled
My sweet lover gleefully withheld
DRINK BOURBON NOW
Guttering lights, flicker consciousness
Lying alone in the dark
Street sweeper nearing, memory lost
The last sip a sweet memory
The last drink to long ago
Necrophilia
Unpublished
Necrophilia
What you see before you is a hell that once was living
The calcium deposits that outline a once human thing
You see the vague shape that was a face
The empty gaze of sockets focused in space
You listen to the empty echo of it's thoracic
You can hear the last beat of it's heart's depravity
You store her once voluptuous being on ice
Wonder if it ever held life before yours
See before you the remnant of the shell
You've wined it, dined it, fucked it over
Like all who've come before you
You attempt to make it live again
Promise it the sweet breath of love, of life
You promise, you promise, you break.
Necrophilia
What you see before you is a hell that once was living
The calcium deposits that outline a once human thing
You see the vague shape that was a face
The empty gaze of sockets focused in space
You listen to the empty echo of it's thoracic
You can hear the last beat of it's heart's depravity
You store her once voluptuous being on ice
Wonder if it ever held life before yours
See before you the remnant of the shell
You've wined it, dined it, fucked it over
Like all who've come before you
You attempt to make it live again
Promise it the sweet breath of love, of life
You promise, you promise, you break.
Stumble Stumble Don't Fall
Stumble, stumble, don't fall.
Allow me my peace
Allow me my rest
My solitude
Do not deny me my past
Do not deny me who I am
For I have been on a journey
From where I cannot say
But now I am here
And I am now who I am
Deny me that and deny me breath
For no longer do I walk with death
No longer am I…
Entering again
Becoming lost, wanting you,
Not understanding, not able to have you
Cannot find you, need help, cannot
Want to, coping, slipping, help me, help me
Help me….
I walk alone now
But at least, I still walk
Allow me my peace
Allow me my rest
My solitude
Do not deny me my past
Do not deny me who I am
For I have been on a journey
From where I cannot say
But now I am here
And I am now who I am
Deny me that and deny me breath
For no longer do I walk with death
No longer am I…
Entering again
Becoming lost, wanting you,
Not understanding, not able to have you
Cannot find you, need help, cannot
Want to, coping, slipping, help me, help me
Help me….
I walk alone now
But at least, I still walk
Fashion
Unpublished
FASHION
Coldness the fingers of early morning mist
Slowly penetrating the dark fugue of memory
I stretch myself out feeling the emptiness return
I envisage the colors you use to hide your inner black
I feel the stiffness of your linens, the cheapness of your top
We are the children that the goddess Luna has embraced
We, who shun the absurdity of those who walk with Sol
We, who you draw back from with the fear of ignorance
It is we who pity you and your hiding
You draw your ideas from Vogue, your attitudes are Cleo
You ignore comfort for fashion, style over substance
In your lemon, your limes, your pinks and your peaches
You think it suits your peroxide and henna mentality
Your failure to accept others on appearance alone
While clinging desperately to an ever-changing world
A world offering no hand holds, just 50% off
And at one point your integrity sold, your intelligence bargained
You become the droids and clones of our brave new world
Now you only change your clothes, your hair, your colors
Your only inconsistency lies in appearing as different
So, alone, once more I shut my eyes and beg for Morte
Once more I strive to escape from your fashion,
From your hatred of that feeds off others souls
As you strive to get a better grip on the latest fad.
FASHION
Coldness the fingers of early morning mist
Slowly penetrating the dark fugue of memory
I stretch myself out feeling the emptiness return
I envisage the colors you use to hide your inner black
I feel the stiffness of your linens, the cheapness of your top
We are the children that the goddess Luna has embraced
We, who shun the absurdity of those who walk with Sol
We, who you draw back from with the fear of ignorance
It is we who pity you and your hiding
You draw your ideas from Vogue, your attitudes are Cleo
You ignore comfort for fashion, style over substance
In your lemon, your limes, your pinks and your peaches
You think it suits your peroxide and henna mentality
Your failure to accept others on appearance alone
While clinging desperately to an ever-changing world
A world offering no hand holds, just 50% off
And at one point your integrity sold, your intelligence bargained
You become the droids and clones of our brave new world
Now you only change your clothes, your hair, your colors
Your only inconsistency lies in appearing as different
So, alone, once more I shut my eyes and beg for Morte
Once more I strive to escape from your fashion,
From your hatred of that feeds off others souls
As you strive to get a better grip on the latest fad.
Penfriends
Unpublished
PENFRIENDS.
I suck on the end of my pen drawing the black lid between my lips
Like a lover I lost to another Like the only friend I have left
I play it's plastic smoothness across my tongue Remembering his hollow kiss
Infrequently neurosis creep onto paper While I continue to suck on my pen
Listening to music long ago bastardized by a Nescafe ad Metallic taste on lips
Spilling pretensions onto paper Grasping the pen ever tighter
The soul mate I never knew The dearest friend in the process of dying
Struggling with sight, vision fails Candle gutters wax drips down
Viewing the red run over the paper bloody quill in one hand
Tears of blood like Steven's fall alone again, chewing on pen
Discarding the remains Choosing another
I slowly draw him to my lips Beginning again
Sucking on the end of my pen Hoping to god Ink doesn't stain.
PENFRIENDS.
I suck on the end of my pen drawing the black lid between my lips
Like a lover I lost to another Like the only friend I have left
I play it's plastic smoothness across my tongue Remembering his hollow kiss
Infrequently neurosis creep onto paper While I continue to suck on my pen
Listening to music long ago bastardized by a Nescafe ad Metallic taste on lips
Spilling pretensions onto paper Grasping the pen ever tighter
The soul mate I never knew The dearest friend in the process of dying
Struggling with sight, vision fails Candle gutters wax drips down
Viewing the red run over the paper bloody quill in one hand
Tears of blood like Steven's fall alone again, chewing on pen
Discarding the remains Choosing another
I slowly draw him to my lips Beginning again
Sucking on the end of my pen Hoping to god Ink doesn't stain.
Just Do It
Unpublished
JUST DO IT.
I have come to the conclusion
That only one thing
To ruin my health is no longer enough
I have decided to DO IT ALL!
ALCOHOL! CAFFEINE! CIGARETTES!
All legal, all within the law
You'll not try to stop me?
You, on your high horse,
I know what you did when younger
You envy my freedom now
That’s why you frown, Say NO!
But I know you want to join me…
Feel bourbons sweet kiss
Coca-Cola's youth elixir
PJ's smooth calmness
Let my friends become yours
JOIN ME! We're harming no one
Just a slow attempt at suicide
You see I have come to the conclusion
That doing one thing is no longer enough…
JUST DO IT.
I have come to the conclusion
That only one thing
To ruin my health is no longer enough
I have decided to DO IT ALL!
ALCOHOL! CAFFEINE! CIGARETTES!
All legal, all within the law
You'll not try to stop me?
You, on your high horse,
I know what you did when younger
You envy my freedom now
That’s why you frown, Say NO!
But I know you want to join me…
Feel bourbons sweet kiss
Coca-Cola's youth elixir
PJ's smooth calmness
Let my friends become yours
JOIN ME! We're harming no one
Just a slow attempt at suicide
You see I have come to the conclusion
That doing one thing is no longer enough…
Wishes
Unpublished
WISHES
I WISH I WAS YOU
What an easy task that is
Being you
Seeing, knowing, having,
Mystical powers that see
Who others should fuck
Dictate their love
I WISH I WAS YOU
It would be so much fun
To fuck and not feel
It must be wonderful
To never be hurt yourself
To never live the lows
Experiencing self righteous highs
I WISH I WAS YOU
So I could dispose of the children
So I could have the rich boyfriend
So I could be the most popular girl
To know they wanted me for my body
Never caring about my mind
Only fucking the lonely one inside.
WISHES
I WISH I WAS YOU
What an easy task that is
Being you
Seeing, knowing, having,
Mystical powers that see
Who others should fuck
Dictate their love
I WISH I WAS YOU
It would be so much fun
To fuck and not feel
It must be wonderful
To never be hurt yourself
To never live the lows
Experiencing self righteous highs
I WISH I WAS YOU
So I could dispose of the children
So I could have the rich boyfriend
So I could be the most popular girl
To know they wanted me for my body
Never caring about my mind
Only fucking the lonely one inside.
Dieters Lament: A poem in 3 words.
Unpublished
DIETERS LAMENT.
Rich Chocolate Cake?
Chocolate Cake? Rich?
Rich Cake? Chocolate?
Chocolate? Rich? Cake?
Cake, Chocolate, Rich!
Cake! Rich! Chocolate!
Chocolate… Rich… Cake…
DIETERS LAMENT.
Rich Chocolate Cake?
Chocolate Cake? Rich?
Rich Cake? Chocolate?
Chocolate? Rich? Cake?
Cake, Chocolate, Rich!
Cake! Rich! Chocolate!
Chocolate… Rich… Cake…
Critique
Unpublished
CRITIQUE
Your so sharp wit is blunted with age
You rant your words in imitation rage
The lies fly forth below the truth
Your manners not charming, appearance uncouth
I listen enthralled at the web that you spin
And wonder how you've dragged me in
Your prose flies forth encompassing fear
Showing me the mirror into which I do peer.
CRITIQUE
Your so sharp wit is blunted with age
You rant your words in imitation rage
The lies fly forth below the truth
Your manners not charming, appearance uncouth
I listen enthralled at the web that you spin
And wonder how you've dragged me in
Your prose flies forth encompassing fear
Showing me the mirror into which I do peer.
Black Heart
Unpublished
BLACK HEARTS
I shouldn't hate you just because of what you've done
I shouldn't picture your head going through a windscreen
Nor your brains Picasso-esque on the bitumen in front
I shouldn't let bitterness eat into my heart again
I should accept all men aren't like you.
Some care, some would never contemplate
They would never do the dark deeds you've done
Some know women aren't just objects,
Inflatable dolls with their own internal puncture repair kit.
The use, abuse cycle continuing to bleed others dry
To leave them a wreck, of use to none
To leave them frightened of the darkness that they now carry
In the empty solitude of chest cavities where hearts once beat.
BLACK HEARTS
I shouldn't hate you just because of what you've done
I shouldn't picture your head going through a windscreen
Nor your brains Picasso-esque on the bitumen in front
I shouldn't let bitterness eat into my heart again
I should accept all men aren't like you.
Some care, some would never contemplate
They would never do the dark deeds you've done
Some know women aren't just objects,
Inflatable dolls with their own internal puncture repair kit.
The use, abuse cycle continuing to bleed others dry
To leave them a wreck, of use to none
To leave them frightened of the darkness that they now carry
In the empty solitude of chest cavities where hearts once beat.
Coffee, cafe and crap
Unpublished.
CAFÉ
How fucking pretentious is this?
I sit alone in my booth
Sipping café latte that’s too hot
Killing time in Brighton
I listen to the conversations
I imagine their lives at home
What job they hold, car they drive
And my pen scratches at the paper
An insect dipped in ink scrittering away
Allowing my thoughts to run aloud
As I wait and kill time
Each minute a death knoll
As I wait, till I leave
So I can drive to be with you
To see your act of Rudigore
To applaud your G&S
And still I wait, in Brighton
Sipping Latte, burning my tongue
And thinking of you
CAFÉ
How fucking pretentious is this?
I sit alone in my booth
Sipping café latte that’s too hot
Killing time in Brighton
I listen to the conversations
I imagine their lives at home
What job they hold, car they drive
And my pen scratches at the paper
An insect dipped in ink scrittering away
Allowing my thoughts to run aloud
As I wait and kill time
Each minute a death knoll
As I wait, till I leave
So I can drive to be with you
To see your act of Rudigore
To applaud your G&S
And still I wait, in Brighton
Sipping Latte, burning my tongue
And thinking of you
Home
Unpublished.
Performed, 2004.
HOME
It was the type of country you expect dueling banjoes in the background.
The type of place where cousins marryin' is considered posh.
The smell of stale tobacco mixed with spilt beer,
Many a bladder had had its washout in the same room.
The people gathered at the bar wore Nike
It hid the scars on shoulders where heads used to sit
Slow drawls indicated minds as slower than an Anne Rice novel
I had hit rock bottom, I had sunk real low
Sure, I looked good in my black velvet and lace
And the runic sigils down my cheek had taken hours to do
But that didn't matter to these people
They looked like cattle figured in their ancestry
Heads on necks as thick as tree trunks swiveled
Eyes as dull as necromancy all took account
"Where the fuck have you been, ya dumb cunt?"
I was home, never again to stray,
Back in Dandenong, home of the lowered car.
Performed, 2004.
HOME
It was the type of country you expect dueling banjoes in the background.
The type of place where cousins marryin' is considered posh.
The smell of stale tobacco mixed with spilt beer,
Many a bladder had had its washout in the same room.
The people gathered at the bar wore Nike
It hid the scars on shoulders where heads used to sit
Slow drawls indicated minds as slower than an Anne Rice novel
I had hit rock bottom, I had sunk real low
Sure, I looked good in my black velvet and lace
And the runic sigils down my cheek had taken hours to do
But that didn't matter to these people
They looked like cattle figured in their ancestry
Heads on necks as thick as tree trunks swiveled
Eyes as dull as necromancy all took account
"Where the fuck have you been, ya dumb cunt?"
I was home, never again to stray,
Back in Dandenong, home of the lowered car.
Poetry Readings
Unpublished.
POETRY READINGS
I fool myself into thinking I have talent
Or that those surrounding me care what I write
I can hear the thoughts as if spoken
Who does she think she is, my cat has more talent
And yet I persist to bare my soul in voice
Showing myself more naked than clothes dare hide
POETRY READINGS
I fool myself into thinking I have talent
Or that those surrounding me care what I write
I can hear the thoughts as if spoken
Who does she think she is, my cat has more talent
And yet I persist to bare my soul in voice
Showing myself more naked than clothes dare hide
Yellow cake
Unpublished.
Performed 2005.
YELLOW CAKE
It's a countdown to nuclear meltdown
The men in their black suits
Feed us yellow cake
We eat each morsel and beg
"Please, Sir, can I have some more?"
We dig the holes deeper into the dreaming
And evict century old tenants
For that yellow cake for others to eat
We scream in disgust at the crumbs they leave us
We count the cost in dollars and smile
The green icing on our yellow cake
Our children cry at the bitter after taste
But it’s a new, clear tale we give them
Of an age of energy with no cost
Pollution with little waste
White metallic lies we tell ourselves
To keep the radioactive element out of our minds
As that beautiful yellow cake just keeps coming
Performed 2005.
YELLOW CAKE
It's a countdown to nuclear meltdown
The men in their black suits
Feed us yellow cake
We eat each morsel and beg
"Please, Sir, can I have some more?"
We dig the holes deeper into the dreaming
And evict century old tenants
For that yellow cake for others to eat
We scream in disgust at the crumbs they leave us
We count the cost in dollars and smile
The green icing on our yellow cake
Our children cry at the bitter after taste
But it’s a new, clear tale we give them
Of an age of energy with no cost
Pollution with little waste
White metallic lies we tell ourselves
To keep the radioactive element out of our minds
As that beautiful yellow cake just keeps coming
Saturday Morning 10am.
Unpublished: Except Facebook
Performed: Dan O'Connor, 2005
I feel his kiss upon my cheek
His insistent caress warms me
I know I should arise
To embrace the day he offers me
But I am warm here
And the arms he offers are cold
They belie a bitter betrayal
His Luna Lover has left again
Exploding him into being
Color and light, mist entwines.
I throw the blankets over
And release the curtains hold
Performed: Dan O'Connor, 2005
I feel his kiss upon my cheek
His insistent caress warms me
I know I should arise
To embrace the day he offers me
But I am warm here
And the arms he offers are cold
They belie a bitter betrayal
His Luna Lover has left again
Exploding him into being
Color and light, mist entwines.
I throw the blankets over
And release the curtains hold
Isobel: 22 April 2008
I walk in to the room, she lies asleep. She's tossing and turning, her face against the toys on the side of the cot. I move her, concerned that she may occlude her mouth and nose and smother herself. I re cover her where she's kicked off the blankets then sit and watch her a while.
She cries a little about being disturbed but is soon asleep again, her favourite teddy clutched under one arm. Is this her nightly protector that wards off the bad dreams that I fear already haunt her?
Who is she? Who was she? I can see images of long dead relatives in her face. Is she my Nana returned to me or the grandmother I never knew? Is she an old soul sent from Orkney along with her name, or a new being designed by the angels to heal and help?
Her eyes are amazing when they are open. The darkness of the colour like the sea on a calm moonless night, navy blue with unknown depths. Strangers comment on her eyes. " So big..." "It's the way the white goes all around..." "So knowledgeable..."
I'd love to know what she dreams, what she thinks... I'd love to know what goes on behind those eyes.
She cries a little about being disturbed but is soon asleep again, her favourite teddy clutched under one arm. Is this her nightly protector that wards off the bad dreams that I fear already haunt her?
Who is she? Who was she? I can see images of long dead relatives in her face. Is she my Nana returned to me or the grandmother I never knew? Is she an old soul sent from Orkney along with her name, or a new being designed by the angels to heal and help?
Her eyes are amazing when they are open. The darkness of the colour like the sea on a calm moonless night, navy blue with unknown depths. Strangers comment on her eyes. " So big..." "It's the way the white goes all around..." "So knowledgeable..."
I'd love to know what she dreams, what she thinks... I'd love to know what goes on behind those eyes.
Twelve Days of Christmas
Unpublished: Exception Facebook
On the first day of Christmas
my mother gave to me:
Some money in an envelope.
On the second day of Christmas
my mother gave to me:
Two body issues
and some money in an envelope.
On the third day of Christmas
my mother gave to me:
Three tea towels
Two body issues
and some money in an envelope.
On the fourth day of Christmas
my mother gave to me:
Four pointless calls
Three tea towels
Two body issues
and some money in an envelope.
On the fifth day of Christmas
my mother sent to me:
Five dirty looks
Four pointless calls
Three tea towels
Two body issues
and a Partridge in a Pear Tree
On the sixth day of Christmas
my mother gave to me:
Six feuding siblings
Five dirty looks
Four pointless calls
Three French Hens
Two body issues
and some money in an envelope.
On the seventh day of Christmas
my mother sent to me:
Seven kinds of guilt
Six feuding siblings
Five dirty looks
Four pointless calls
Three tea towels
Two body issues
and some money in an envelope.
On the eighth day of Christmas
my mother gave to me:
Eight headaches beating
Seven kinds of guilt
Six feuding siblings
Five dirty looks
Four pointless calls
Three tea towels
Two body issues
and some money in an envelope.
On the ninth day of Christmas
my mother gave to me:
Nine hints unsubtle
Eight headaches beating
Seven kinds of guilt
Six feuding siblings
Five dirty looks
Four pointless calls
Three tea towels
Two body issues
and a Partridge in a Pear Tree
On the tenth day of Christmas
my mother gave to me:
Ten years of therapy
Nine hints unsubtle
Eight headaches beating
Seven kinds of guilt
Six feuding siblings
Five dirty looks
Four pointless calls
Three tea towels
Two body issues
and some money in an envelope.
On the eleventh day of Christmas
my mother gave to me:
Eleven weak excuses
Ten years of therapy
Nine hints unsubtle
Eight headaches beating
Seven kinds of guilt
Six feuding siblings
Five dirty looks
Four pointless calls
Three tea towels
Two body issues
and some money in an envelope.
On the twelfth day of Christmas
my mother gave to me:
12 reasons to drink
Eleven weak excuses
Ten years of therapy
Nine hints unsubtle
Eight headaches beating
Seven kinds of guilt
Six feuding siblings
Five dirty looks
Four pointless calls
Three tea towels
Two body issues
and some money in an envelope.
On the first day of Christmas
my mother gave to me:
Some money in an envelope.
On the second day of Christmas
my mother gave to me:
Two body issues
and some money in an envelope.
On the third day of Christmas
my mother gave to me:
Three tea towels
Two body issues
and some money in an envelope.
On the fourth day of Christmas
my mother gave to me:
Four pointless calls
Three tea towels
Two body issues
and some money in an envelope.
On the fifth day of Christmas
my mother sent to me:
Five dirty looks
Four pointless calls
Three tea towels
Two body issues
and a Partridge in a Pear Tree
On the sixth day of Christmas
my mother gave to me:
Six feuding siblings
Five dirty looks
Four pointless calls
Three French Hens
Two body issues
and some money in an envelope.
On the seventh day of Christmas
my mother sent to me:
Seven kinds of guilt
Six feuding siblings
Five dirty looks
Four pointless calls
Three tea towels
Two body issues
and some money in an envelope.
On the eighth day of Christmas
my mother gave to me:
Eight headaches beating
Seven kinds of guilt
Six feuding siblings
Five dirty looks
Four pointless calls
Three tea towels
Two body issues
and some money in an envelope.
On the ninth day of Christmas
my mother gave to me:
Nine hints unsubtle
Eight headaches beating
Seven kinds of guilt
Six feuding siblings
Five dirty looks
Four pointless calls
Three tea towels
Two body issues
and a Partridge in a Pear Tree
On the tenth day of Christmas
my mother gave to me:
Ten years of therapy
Nine hints unsubtle
Eight headaches beating
Seven kinds of guilt
Six feuding siblings
Five dirty looks
Four pointless calls
Three tea towels
Two body issues
and some money in an envelope.
On the eleventh day of Christmas
my mother gave to me:
Eleven weak excuses
Ten years of therapy
Nine hints unsubtle
Eight headaches beating
Seven kinds of guilt
Six feuding siblings
Five dirty looks
Four pointless calls
Three tea towels
Two body issues
and some money in an envelope.
On the twelfth day of Christmas
my mother gave to me:
12 reasons to drink
Eleven weak excuses
Ten years of therapy
Nine hints unsubtle
Eight headaches beating
Seven kinds of guilt
Six feuding siblings
Five dirty looks
Four pointless calls
Three tea towels
Two body issues
and some money in an envelope.
Children's counting rhyme
Unpublished: Exception Facebook
When I was one
I sucked my thumb
My fist, my toes and more
When I was two
The world I knew
Was too big to explore
when I was three
I sailed the sea
Leading a pirate crew
When I was four
I sailed no more
And vegetables I grew
When I was five
I had a hive
Made honey rich and sweet
When I was six
I picked up sticks
And played a drummers beat
When I was seven
I went to Heaven
Just to say "Hello"
When I was eight
I built a gate
Of gold, shiny and yellow
When I was nine
I made things rhyme
A poet i become
When I was ten
I flew a hen
To the moon... and stars... and sun.
When I was one
I sucked my thumb
My fist, my toes and more
When I was two
The world I knew
Was too big to explore
when I was three
I sailed the sea
Leading a pirate crew
When I was four
I sailed no more
And vegetables I grew
When I was five
I had a hive
Made honey rich and sweet
When I was six
I picked up sticks
And played a drummers beat
When I was seven
I went to Heaven
Just to say "Hello"
When I was eight
I built a gate
Of gold, shiny and yellow
When I was nine
I made things rhyme
A poet i become
When I was ten
I flew a hen
To the moon... and stars... and sun.
Erotica
Unpublished: Exception Facebook
When you say you love her look at her
Look at the entire person lying before you
See the haunted look in eyes that have seen
All the losses and pain such admissions bring
Feel the roughness of lips, raw from biting
Holding in hurts that others freely spit out
Taste the saltiness of tears and blood
Mingling together as her heart lays bare
See the child inside and embrace the lost woman
Fear keeping her going when others have fallen
Do not just see the person you once knew
See the person now, and love them
Knowing that to truly love is sacrifice
It's giving up yourself to the trust and faith of another
It's not a game to be played so you can make your end
It's every day, it's good, it's bad, it's indescribably hurtful
It's laying yourself naked, bereft of all chances to cover yourself
So that another holds you, in their heart, in their hope
It's listening to the truths when you want to hear lies
Knowing that the air you breath every day
Means so much more with that person beside you
See the person lying naked before you
Before you caress her with your mouth, your tongue, your words
Look deep within and see what she reflects back at you
As she lies there, vulnerable, anticipating your next move
When you say you love her look at her
Look at the entire person lying before you
See the haunted look in eyes that have seen
All the losses and pain such admissions bring
Feel the roughness of lips, raw from biting
Holding in hurts that others freely spit out
Taste the saltiness of tears and blood
Mingling together as her heart lays bare
See the child inside and embrace the lost woman
Fear keeping her going when others have fallen
Do not just see the person you once knew
See the person now, and love them
Knowing that to truly love is sacrifice
It's giving up yourself to the trust and faith of another
It's not a game to be played so you can make your end
It's every day, it's good, it's bad, it's indescribably hurtful
It's laying yourself naked, bereft of all chances to cover yourself
So that another holds you, in their heart, in their hope
It's listening to the truths when you want to hear lies
Knowing that the air you breath every day
Means so much more with that person beside you
See the person lying naked before you
Before you caress her with your mouth, your tongue, your words
Look deep within and see what she reflects back at you
As she lies there, vulnerable, anticipating your next move
Post Coital Contemplations
Unpublished: Exception Facebook
When was the last time you lay
Another holding you inside
Taking the time to inhale their scent
Feeling their breath against your neck
Being still in a moment, not rushing to finish
Not exploring the swell of her breast
Nor cupping the gentle curve of her cheek
No movement save lips, gently meeting
No sound but hearts racing, blood rushing
Feeling her juices lubricate you
Her muscles drawing you deeper within...
When was the last time you were still in the moment?
When was the last time you lay
Another holding you inside
Taking the time to inhale their scent
Feeling their breath against your neck
Being still in a moment, not rushing to finish
Not exploring the swell of her breast
Nor cupping the gentle curve of her cheek
No movement save lips, gently meeting
No sound but hearts racing, blood rushing
Feeling her juices lubricate you
Her muscles drawing you deeper within...
When was the last time you were still in the moment?
Harry's teething
Unpublished: Exception Facebook.
I wish I had a magic wand,
To wave away your pain.
To ease those little tender gums,
Send symptoms on their way.
All that I can give you,
Are patience and hugs,
To rock you back to sleep,
With whispers of my love.
The pain will pass,
The teeth will come,
Eventually you'll grow up,
But know that I am here for you,
My darling, Harrison.
I wish I had a magic wand,
To wave away your pain.
To ease those little tender gums,
Send symptoms on their way.
All that I can give you,
Are patience and hugs,
To rock you back to sleep,
With whispers of my love.
The pain will pass,
The teeth will come,
Eventually you'll grow up,
But know that I am here for you,
My darling, Harrison.
Bath Time
Unpublished: Except Facebook
I know a girl who doesn't smell
(Yes, her name is Isobel!)
She has a bath everyday
She likes to keep clean that way.
The bubbles reach up to her tum
(She thinks they smell like bubble gum!)
She washes first her little nose
All the way down to her toes.
I know a little boy who'll tarry
(OK, this little boy is Harry!)
For his duck and for his boat
So among the bubbles they can float
He doesn't like to be washed
(He feels his nose will get squashed!)
In the bath he'll happily play
Until all the bubbles go away.
I know two little cherubim
Who in the bath tub like to swim
And play and laugh and splash about
Till mummy comes and takes them out
I know a girl who doesn't smell
(Yes, her name is Isobel!)
She has a bath everyday
She likes to keep clean that way.
The bubbles reach up to her tum
(She thinks they smell like bubble gum!)
She washes first her little nose
All the way down to her toes.
I know a little boy who'll tarry
(OK, this little boy is Harry!)
For his duck and for his boat
So among the bubbles they can float
He doesn't like to be washed
(He feels his nose will get squashed!)
In the bath he'll happily play
Until all the bubbles go away.
I know two little cherubim
Who in the bath tub like to swim
And play and laugh and splash about
Till mummy comes and takes them out
Tears Of A Clown
Unpublished: Exception Facebook
I can't stop crying and
all I want to do is hug you
to wake you from your slumber, hold you close
to feel your head rest against my shoulder
to grasp your hand in mine
and smell that unique scent which is you
the tears blur my vision
still I can see the beauty of you
so small and perfect lying there asleep
wrapped up with teddy hugged close
two little black eyes watching over you
sharing your dreams and nightmares
how such perfection came to be
in the life of one so flawed
pure light captured and made whole
and all I can think of is the need
to hold you to hug you to embrace you
to let you know how much I love you
slowly I turn around and walk away
knowing sleep is what you need now
not mummy just teddy and rest
in the morning we'll hold each other
you'll laugh at our reflections in the mirror
and I will fall in love with you once more
Depression: Through the eyes of a child
Published: Coffee Addicted Mummy (With permission.)
http://coffeeaddictedmummy.blogspot.com/2011/08/talk-about-our-postnatal-depression_22.html"Sometimes the broken goes all the way through." (Working title)
My Mummy gets sad
She cries all the time
No hugs can fix her
Not even mine
She looks in the mirror
Then she gets grumpy
She groans and she moans
About being all lumpy
Then there are times
When she crawls into bed
Snuggles under the blanket
Pulls them over her head
I crawl in there with her
And give her some love (Not sure about this line... )
She whispers "You're an Angel
Sent down from above."
My Mummy gets angry
About being tired and sad
It doesn't take much
For her to get mad!
I tiptoe around her
Hope not to be seen
But it's not always like that
Sometimes she just beams!
We giggle and tickle
Roll around on the floor
We dance and we sing
These times I adore
I don't understand
Why she gets upset
Why one day she laughs
At the floor being wet
The next time she mumps
She grumps and she groans
She's not nice to be 'round
I wish she'd leave home!
"This house is a mess!"
Pick up your toys!"
She shouts and she screams.
It's a frightening noise!
Sometimes the broken
Goes all the way through
And the ouch can't be seen
By me or by you
My mummy she loves me
And I know this is true
She can't help feeling
All stormy and blue
When she is happy
The sun seems to shine
A million times brighter
And I'm glad that she's mine.
The Monster Underneath The Bed
Unpublished: Exception Facebook
The monster underneath my bed
Will not come out, until, he said
I apologize for
Upsetting the monster behind my door.
I'd like to know how it is mean
To say a monster's looking green?
I didn't know he's really pink
I mean what am I to think?
The monster underneath my bed
Stole my blue and yellow ted
He tells me that I should say
"Forgive me" right away
To the monster behind my door
As he's been feeling very poor
Apparently he ate some honey
Now he's acting very funny
Monster said I shouldn't worry
After I have said "I'm sorry."
he will give Bear back to me
He will set my teddy free
Till then it's getting lots of hugs
From a purple thing who eats bugs!
I asked if I should talk to Door
Or if I could do something more?
Would he like a nice new hat?
Or a chocolate covered rat?
The monster underneath my bed
Thinks it would be easier instead
If I just said it nice and clearly
That Door would think it very nearly
Like those things had not been said
Then Monster'd go back 'neath my bed.
So Mr Door I must say
I didn't mean to ruin your day
By calling you the colour green
I understand how that might seem.
OH DEAR! I think I hurt him more
He's coming out from 'hind the door!
What's that? You'd like a little kiss?
And that will be the end of this?
I hope your feeling better quickly
And I'm sorry that you're sickly.
So Mr Monster on the floor
And to the one behind my door
I have just one last thing to say...
Can you both come out now to play?
Ode To A Book
Unpublished: Exception Facebook
My cover may be frayed a bit
My pages inside worn
I have the odd dog ear
In places I've been torn
At spots I've been scribbled on
By someone else's hand
I've propped an old piano
When part of a band
But someone out there loved me
They read my words with care
So now I sit upon my shelf
Hoping to go somewhere...
You could open up my pages
Go on... take a look...
You'll never find yourself alone
When lost inside a book.
Observation Of Life And Death
Unpublished: Exception Facebook
This thing we call life is so fleeting,
Yet death, when she comes, stays so long.
She is the visitor I cannot shake.
Every moment she walks beside me
Casting shadows across my path...
At some point she stopped being my friend.
She changed and began to haunt me,
Whispering in my ear about all she can take,
Bragging to me about all she has taken.
Life is short... you blink, it's gone
Death is eternal, she is a sleepless night
A dawn that doesn't break into day
And I have had enough of her company
I want her to leave and not take from me anymore
Because the last time she took... she took too much...
Talk back radio rant: The Middle Class Mortgage Blues
Published: Online can't find where, also Facebook
Save some dollars save some cents
All the pays gone on the rent
Keep the wolf from the door
(The joys of being working poor)
Make sure everything looks neat
Feed up the kids while you don't eat
Ensure the darlings are dressed up right
And that their shoes are not too tight
Lament the life you used to live
"Charity? Sure! We'd love to give..."
Mortgage soon on it's way
Another debt, more bills to pay
Refuse the handouts live on pride
Drag the pets 'long for the ride
As Pollies tell us what we need
Lining their pockets with their greed
Talk back radio and the cry of battlers
Making do in worn out rattlers
Only make one fifty k
"How can we live?" We hear them say
But everyday I just give thanks
That we've some savings in the banks
Some healthy kids who're learning fast
How to make their pennies last
And while I have a nice warm bed
A safe place, roof over head
I'll not complain about our bit
Even when we're deep in shit
So Mr Rabbit go away
We don't need your likes today
Telling us about our lives
Taking reality from "Desperate Wives"
"The broadband and the carbon tax!!!!!"
You really think we give a rats?
Just keep us fed, and keep us clothed
Then we're really home and hosed
A decent wage too would be nice
Buy our own bit of paradise
The Aussie dream will not foreclose
We'll vote out Pollies on the nose
Over Tired Mummy Goes Shopping
Unpublished: Exception Facebook.
I am the woman you just walked past
Your memory of me will not last
The headache my kids give you
You'll carry most of the day
And a vague feeling of annoyance
Aimed at the woman you just walked past
I am the mother of the child who' screaming
Who doesn't want to be trapped in the trolley
Who wants to run around and be free
Who wants to put things in the basket
Who wants that bright ball on the shelf
Who wants to not be strapped in
Who thinks I am being cruel
I am the person who cannot control her
I am the mother who will - not - crack
I am the mother who's voice is rising
It's getting louder then it needs to be
But I need to get milk, I need bread
Those chocolates in the trolley?
I'll eat them tonight in the dark
Crying over my inadequacies
They are not the things fueling her tantrum
I am the thing that was, an age ago,
I was you... wondering why that thing couldn't
Stop the behaviors, stop the noise, stop her child
I was giving that "you poor dear" smile
I was handing out advice that cost me nothing
I was glaring at it while leaving
My head throbbing with her brat's screams!
How could anyone let their child be like that?
Why - doesn't - she - just - go - HOME!
I am the mother of a beautiful child
She's currently having a rough time
She's tired and wants to rest
But their is so much going on
And she want's to explore, to run!
She can't waste time on sleeping!
There's too much to do! Like this!
And that over there! And mummy has her trapped!
ARGH! WHY WON'T I LET HER RUN AROUND?!?
...
You didn't see my Princess this morning
Tidying up her room, putting away her toys
You didn't see her help her brother dress
You didn't see the game she was taken from
To be dragged to go shopping while it rained
You didn't see anything but this 15 minutes
This moment of horror that has me in tears
This woman pushing around an angry child
This woman getting kicked, hit, bit, scratched
This woman just trying to get her shopping done.
And this woman is sorry if she upset your day.
Fifty Words Long: Clunes Show 2011 Submission Ideas
Unpublished: Exception Facebook
Idea One:
"So it's got to be how long?"
"Fifty words."
"What topic?"
"Free form, just an exact word limit."
"So what are you going to write? Some existential metaphor about the creative process?"
"Don't know. Prose isn't really my strength. I can't hide behind rhymes."
"What if you run out of words?"
Idea Two:
Mummy! There's a monster! Under my bed... I can hear him breathing. He smells... he smells like Daddy's socks... MUMMY! He's scratching the wall! No, Mummy, it's not a pusscat. It's a monster! Mummy... don't look... don't go under the bed! He'll get you! He got teddy... Mummy? Mummy?!? MUMMY!
Vegan Nursery Rhymes
Unpublished: Exception Facebook
Trying to make nursery rhymes accessible and kinder for younger Vegan and vegetarian children.
THIS LITTLE PIGGY
This little pig did not go to the market
Like this little pig she stayed home
This little pig had roast beets
And this little pig shared some
This little pig laughed wee wee wee
All the way home.
BAA BAA BLACK SHEEP
Baa baa black sheep is there any wool
Yes dear, yes dear, three sheep full
Some on the brown sheep
And some on the white
And some on the little lamb with not a shear in sight.
FISH ALIVE
1,2,3,4,5
Once I saw a fish alive
6,7,8,9,10
I watched as it swam by and then
It swam by me so very fast
And swished it's tail as it went past
It smiled and winked at me and then
Swished it's tail, was gone again
Sleepless Soliloquay
Unpublished: Exception Facebook.
I can't sleep...
I don't know where you are
Who you're with
What you are doing
Every noise is you returning
Sweeping me into your arms
Reassuring me that everything is OK
Creaking doors
Footsteps going past
Each noise is you
Then it's not
Once again I am left all alone
Frightened
Unable to sleep
I don't know where you are
I don't know what you're with
I don't know who you're doing
Is that your scent I can smell on the pillow...
Mingled with a perfume that's not mine...
WHAT ARE YOU DOING AND WHY AREN'T YOU HERE?
Being with me...exhausting
stealing each others breathe...tiring
collapsing in each others arms... sleeping
I can't sleep... is that your footsteps I hear?
Time For Bed
Unpublished: Exception Facebook
Written sitting beside the beds of my children as they drifted off to sleep.
It's just about time for bed
So you can rest your sleepy head
Grab your teddy off the chair!
Does everybody have their bear?
Snuggle close, enjoy your drink.
What book tonight do you think?
Shall we have a pirate tale?
Bury the treasure, and off we sail!
Maybe one about some mice
Or little pigs? Would that be nice?
This one here's about a car
That chugs and toots and travels far
Maybe one on counting sheep...
Would that help you go to sleep?
How 'bout this one on the moon?
They travel there by silver spoon!
The queen in this one is quiet mean
And another has a magic bean.
What about this naughty bunny?
The rhymes in here are very funny!
You want the book that counts your toes?
Can you tell me how it goes?
So many books we've just read
Now off to bed my sleepy head
I'll be in soon to tuck you tight
And give you one last kiss goodnight.
Ballarat Library: 27th January 2011
Unpublished: Exception Facebook.
WORK IN PROGRESS
The noisiest kids in the library
Run and Jump and scream
They shout out HI to the Librarian
And create an awful scene
They look at every book
And climb on all the chairs
They attract some fearsome looks
But never quake under any stares
The noisiest kids in the library
Have a raucous time until
Mummy picks up a book to read to them
Then they listen and sit very still.
E Bay Soliloquay
Unpublished: Exception Facebook.
Apologies to Shakespeare.
To bid or not to bid that is the question...
whether 'tis nobler on e-bay to suffer
the risk of missing out or to stay calm
against a possible avalanche of last minute buyers,
or by bidding early warn them.
To buy, to weep, what for?
The heart ache of a thousand missed purchases
that we are desperate for;
'tis a consumerists most devout wish...
to buy, to keep; to keep purchance to use!
Aye, there's the rub: for in that keeping what joys may come?
When we have shuffled away but
one toy to take a pause- there's the carpet!
What calamity it has hid below for so long!
For who could deny the allure of the win?
The final click, the purchasers screen
The pangs of realised love, the bidding won,
The invisible foe vanquished
What patience this journey takes!
When she herself might as easily take
Second by a bare moment? By a millisecond click to late,
To grunt and swear, a teary wife,
But that, the dread of someone else's victory,
The undiscovered person from who's clutches
No auction returns, having the skill,
And worse, having that which we would have
That flies to others that we know not of?
Thus purchase does make paupers of us all,
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sickened by the pale cast of over thought,
And enterprises of great pitch and moment,
With this regard they currently turn away,
And lose by the name of inaction. Scoff you now,
The fair nature of play! Desired object lost...
But all my wins remembered.
The Feast
Submission for 2011 Words in Winter.
Published: "Memorable Meals: Food For Thought"
Editor Rhonda Fawcett
Publisher: McPherson's Printing Group, Maryborough
A sparrow called Carrow flew straight and true
"A memorable feast" crowed Magpie Blue
"There's berries and grapes big as me head.
There's some bigger than you" he said.
He chirped to the parrots, who told the galahs,
And flocks soon came from near and from far.
The Scarecrow just smiled as he took in the sight
Straightened his hat and prepared for the fight.
He called to the next fields "HEY! Check this out!"
And other scarecrows took up the shout.
The number of birds blocked out the sun,
The day appeared over not merely begun!
The battle was epic as the birds tried to eat
Amidst Hay Men screaming "YOU LOT! HIT THE STREET!"
A cacophony of colour, a clamorous chorus
Many details of battle that would just bore us...
By the end of the day the troops were all weary,
The crops and the vines now droopy and dreary.
Carrow and friends returned to their nests,
The scarecrow quite happy to see the last of the pests.
For weeks after the songs the birds sung
Were of battles fought and dinners hard won.
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