who are you a vehicle for
who is it you pick up and return to their door
who asks you to do things then asks the score
who takes but never gives more
who do you wait on while you self deplore
what is it you are waiting for?
Vehicle
Reply
Monthly Archives: April 2024
Tableland Talk, May 2024
The very local Newsletter I edit each month.
Susurration
As we walk darkening late afternoon brown and empty park laneways
before the real cold of winter sets in
I hear the quiet susurration of fallen autumn leaves
as they are gently brushed by a murmuring breeze
the soft attentive voices of an anticipatory audience lining our path
sharing the intimate whisperings of love between you and me
Predator
Stealthy predator of malign intent
brought to a new country
evil sent
with no defences natives fall
like dominoes before claw and paw
colonising new territory by the day
nothing effective stands in the way
a death count of billions by today
an introduced plague that makes death play
indigenous species fall by the way
to arrest this devastation we catch and kill
but the feline mind eludes us still
and hand on heart
heart on sleeve
we witness endangerment extinction
and grieve
The dVerse prompt for we poets this week came from Melissa, to choose a Louis Wain artwork based on cats, and write a poem inspired by the artwork. One catch– we may not use the word cat. Other feline terminology is acceptable.
Kiss
That fist kiss
I dallied on your lips
I felt my head spin
a light and dreamy
state i was in
your breath was sweet
your tongue sweet too
your lips smooth and soft
like the rest of you
your hair on my cheeks
the sensation tantalising
your hands in my hair
encouraging and inviting
that first kiss told me everything
hearts really can sing
chemo
In my hands the grip on life is weakening
incessant tremor shakes my tenuous hold
in my voice the words are thickening
no longer resilient assertive or bold
in my falling hair no flowers will bloom
there is no lustre richness or growth
in my head there is no room
for pleasant thoughts or more to know
in my eyes the irises are black
darkened by illness, depletion and pain
they can’t look forward only back
to where I’ve been and will be again
in my nose the smells are fetid
ripe with the stench of sickness and rot
in my mouth the taste is wretched
appreciate what you have?
I think not!
mud
I walked the roads on my feet of clay
clods of mud trailing in my wake
thick and sticky gluey and grippy
wet and heavy from the rain
I thought to put down roots again
I sought out my home lost long ago
but when I found it and I stood still
I discovered my roots would no longer grow
Alter
Does it alter every morning when the light strikes the land
when sunlight ever bright or through grey skies hits the strand
do the shapes and forms move
under photon pressure waver
only photographer or artist heeds every little quaver
when dark crevices are lit
by yellow shimmer or dull purple patches
when mountains high or plains below
are patched with coloured swatches
when treed slopes or waving fields
bask in brilliant splendour
it is time to remember nothing is static
take time to appreciate and consider
Locket
I live in that locket
with you I’ll always be
a flower in that metal pocket
so you can always see
your lover at your breast
that lover always me
you wear upon your chest
your flower my honey bee
my image and lock of hair
to be there for evermore
so you my love take care
to continue to adore
Box
Behind the jackets
amongst the socks
between the T shirts
there sits a box
bagged in plastic
in cardboard bound
secured by elastic
without sound
the box of letters
still unopened by me
emotional fetters
too strong to see
This week’s prompt for we poets comes from Kim. We have been asked to write an autobiographical poem of three stanzas about a box. I have written on this before - my mother’s letters remain unread. Interestingly, I got very close to opening them just this week. The prompt was timely. Maybe next time I will have a different story to tell about the box. See the prompt here: dVerse.
Waste
Whither the waste on every street
civil detritus at my feet
yet I walk on ignoring implications
of daily deposits and ruination
the industry iceberg from households deflects
convenience trumps, responsibility defects
as blithely we step our way into history
dumping waste our greatest legacy
and each new generation cries why me?
as they fill the land with more misery
Announcement
The next train will be the wrong one
it won’t take you where you want to go
no matter where you think you are going
this train will not take you there
the following train is sure to take you somewhere else
if you want to go somewhere else please consider the following train
however, also consider that somewhere else is always somewhere else
it is never where you think it is
please only board this train if you want to go somewhere else
please stand behind the yellow line for your own safety
we can’t guarantee your well-being if you fall in front of the train
we can’t guarantee your well-being anyway
or anywhere you might want to be for that matter
trains are not well-being services
please go to platform 4 if you need well-being services
the train there will stop at Brighton Station
where you will find the highest concentration of psychiatrists, psychologists, mental health nurses, clairvoyants and shysters in the city of Melbourne
Brighton might be the stop to help you get sorted
we hope you enjoy your stop in Brighton
please consider other passengers on the train
during peak periods move along the aisles to the centre of the carriage
this reduces entry obstruction
in the centre find your centre
look closely at everyone around you
find yourself in the same can of sardines
ask yourself what this means?
the next train to run express runs from Parliament Station to Union Station
this train is a contradiction in terms
lines have been drawn
there is no crossing these lines
please be aware this train may be delayed by stationary action at Union
normal services may not resume until Parliament legislates
so scabs can break the line
pace the platform and make frustrated calls to lovers, family and friends (in that order)
afterward this train may be a rough ride
we advise passengers on this line to avoid windows
please keep your head down
we cannot guarantee the safety of your head in the event of projectile deployment
helmets may be recommended but are not mandatory when riding this train
River
I’ll ride the river to your door
strong and silent I will come to you
I’ll wind my way from where I was lost
the river will deliver and save me too
and when becalmed by your charms
once again after all this time
I’ll float leisurely then outstrectch my arms
to again touch the flows that sooth me
I’ll let the gentle eddies turn me around
my turbulence washed away
I’ll settle on the sandy riverbank
with you forever and a day
poetography.ink 