I looked at you
you looked at me
I looked back again
I sensed that you were asking if I was your friend?
without Alpaca words to say so, I decided to move on
I enjoyed our time together but there were other things to be done
Alpacas
1
Monthly Archives: February 2025
F35 Joint Strike Force jet fighter tech haiku x 3
F35 jets
for billions of dollars
deliver on death
F35 jet
deadly grace and fire power
foe to nature's set
F35 jet
redundant high tech fighter
or required asset
Last days of summer
It's the last days of summer
and the water still looks great
for the last days of swimming
before the hot weather fades
Follow the sun
Mt Wombat, Victoria.
Said she I’ll follow the sun
and when the following is done
I will have my release
Said he I’ll wait for you
and when the waiting is done
together we’ll find peace
She followed the sun
and followed the sun
never finding the end of her quest
He watched the horizon
every day of the week
every evening again dispossessed
The sun never shirked
its purpose lighting the day
rising and setting as it should
This man and this woman
staked their futures on the sun
but it’s purpose they never understood
Greta
What can you say our young assertive one
with the voice of an innocent and every reason to come
to the land of the people with the frozen tongues
did you hear the voices trapped in the throats of the speakers
the truthsayers the protesters the dumb and the seekers
what will you say my naive one
as a voice for the reticent who want to save their home
where no voices are heard and no listening is done
did you crack the blank shields of the riot police abashing
when your truth and your statements of the obvious were clashing
with the public dialogue of denial that’s in fashion
what do you now see my prescient soul
a world that is scared yet loudly condemning your role
contradiction abounds around what’s believed and is told
but you won’t close your mind your mouth or be controlled
because the need is the need of a world being sold
where ascendant rejections of science’s findings
carry weight disproportionate to tomorrow’s unwinding
and the hope that was youth falls to systemic undermining
I hope that you stand up to the relentless grinding
for across the world there are still people who need you
to attack all the arguments of denial so feeble
they still rise to smother the planet in chaos and evil
but for your pluck and your courage your ability to needle
it does provide a check with words that are real
and challenges others to rise too and reveal
the lies and deception the denialists conceal
I hope and I wish you can change how they feel
what will you say next our young assertive one
If you didn't pick it up the rhythm is sort of set to Bob Dylan's A Hard Rain's Gonna Fall
Betrayal
Where did that government find such murderous intent
imprisoning and shooting their own wherever they went
exercising ruthless summary force
while advising its citizens they have no choice
venomous lies from forked tongues they let rip
their smirking mouths toxic with poisonous lips
vile spittle sprayed from the lips of autocracy
blurs the vision of the masses with talk of democracy
all the while weaponising the rule of law
where justice is now held in the tight grip of a claw
a new dark age is coming where information is missed
where manipulated voters are swayed by each Judas kiss
Women of Afghanistan: thirst
I will die of thirst
ever a want of knowing
that everywhere and elsewhere
rivers of knowledge are flowing
I will die of thirst
where enlightenment cannot be found
confined to low dry stoney ground
fully aware that above me
clear and sparkling
mountain streams abound
I will die of thirst
of missed opportunity
from the Afghan rivers I happen to see
ignorance spikes their fresh waters
their learning journeys are lost to me
while here the wells of education
I would plumb are dry
my parched mouth speaks dumb
to a vacant sky
my brain a withering interpreter
blank of effective words
and to such deficits I must succumb
never listened to nor heard
my thirst for comprehension
always unslaked uncured
I tell you what is worst
slowly I die of lack of knowledge
cursed by this relentless thirst
Sweetest blue
On any given day
the water might be blue or grey
when it is grey my mood is somber
the heavy clouds I watch and ponder
but with breaking sunshine my spirits lift
enchanting me such a precious gift
changing my mood to a brighter hue
while turning the water the sweetest blue
My Valentine
Dearest Wife,
Ah, that is not exactly what I mean, how I meant to start. I mean you are my dearest Wife, but not the dearest of Wives amongst many other Wives that I have clamouring for my attention. No, no, there are no other Wives clamouring for my attention. I was just trying to make the point there could be dozens, even hundreds of Wives banging at my door but you would be the only one I would be looking for.
You are the only woman for me. Ah, I don't mean exclusively. Yes, there are other women in my life. Our daughter, my sisters for instance. Oh and your sisters of course. And then there is your mother and my stepmother and we have mutual womanly friends and ..... oooooh dear, what I am trying to say is that you are the only woman with whom I want to be associated intimately.
That is stating it fair and square, hits the nail on the head so to speak, glad I got there and have stated it unequivocally.
Oh dear, yes I mean you dear. My dear, my dearest. I dearly want to tell you, to explain, to you, to say absolutely and without doubt you are the one I was always looking for.
And I found you. Hmmm, possibly, it would be more accurate to say we found each other. Well, really, it was just a happy coincidence. Me finding you, you finding me. What does it matter? Not that I am saying it doesn't matter! All I am saying is who found whom is not important.
What is important is that we found each other and didn't leave it at that. We made it happen that we met again to become lovers, partners, friends and 45 years later we are still together. 45 years of loving happy days, of a life well lived in each other's company, of trust and confidence in each other, of a deep knowing that we will be together until the end.
I still delight in time spent with you.
Together or apart you are always in my heart.
Your dearest husband, of course by that I mean....., oh shit, pause, reset, rethink, be mindful, take a moment, keep it simple.
I have always loved you, I love you still and always will.
Happy Valentine's Day.
Sanaa provided this week’s dVerse poetics prompts. I selected No. 2 Love Letters Through Time: Write a poem in the form of a love letter. It can be addressed to yourself, to someone special and/or in memory of a person who has passed. I chose to write from the perspective of an incompetent romantic.
Until
No one could say why they were there
the brigades the battalions and some
in neat formed lines in neat clean uniforms they had come
they marched on the parade grounds and through the big cities
they trained in the fields out front of towns
they ran through the wires to get to their goals
they fell to the mud all mown down
and their neat uniforms were ragged and torn
their clean faces running with blood
the muck of the battlefield filled their boots and their minds
their assault waves were a simple flood
the pretending of training faded from view
as their numbers fell to the few
the bulllets and shrapnel stopped forward forays
as they scrambled to avoid injury or death every day
as they cried and they died under the sun
until there were none
Gargoyles
Laughing from the rooftops
the gargoyles showed their contempt
for everything and everybody
who underneath them went
they giggled at the minister
they chuckled at the police
they split their sides at you
they saw kids as light relief
I wondered at what had tickled them
to so humoured be
when everything at which they laughed
was everything they could see
Saints
What do saints mean to me?
a martyr regardless of victory
an angel from heaven found on earth
sent for secret religious work
a pietist of this earth born
alone in piety oft forlorn
a glorified soul for reasons uncertain
purpose obscured behind glorious curtain
or a loved one supporting home and hearth
trusted reliable always steadfast
a good person who generally tries hard
from heaven no guarantee not to be barred
Art
What is this this thing called art
this thing I feel smell touch hear see
before me
this mode for the senses to draw upon
this code for the mind to interpret
what is this connection
this very personal yet cultural experience
where is traditional what is contemporary
what is permanent what is temporary
which aspect is simply material
which is internally enhanced
in response to which parts do you remain static
to which do you dance
testament contribution idea retribution
dora’s idea is redistribution
so
let’s make anything into something called art
let’s see if I can do my part
I take an image
something plain as a floor
but it’s where I take it from
that makes it more
I climb stairs I scope and review
until I find just the place that will do
and the floor is no longer just a floor anymore
but a creative rendering of space comes to the fore
this is art
This week Dora challenged we dVerse poets to take something familiar and reimagine it in some way.
Skirts
Vibrant skirts
colourless skirts
skirts that are static
skirts that swish around
skirts of various
lengths from the ground
skirts of pleats
skirts flat and plain
skirts to flatter
or hide weight gain
skirts attract
skirts distract
skirts that look different
from front and back
skirts with buttons
skirts with zips
skirts crisp and new
skirts with fashionable rips
skirts concealing
skirts revealing
skirts that are practical
skirts adaptable
skirts no name
skirts expensive
skirts that are cheap
skirts destined for landfill
or the rag bag heap
skirts with patterns
or random display
skirts for work
skirts for play
for all the skirts
in the world today
I simply say
hip hip hooray
I hope there isn’t anyone out there offended by this simple bit of new nonsense today. The way things are I guess there will be. Oh well.
Shoes
Once I had one hundred pairs of shoes
so many shoes I didn’t know what to do with them all
How could I be fair to every pair?
I wore them in I wore them out
I wore them everywhere and all about
I put them on I took them off
I cleaned them and I watched them scuff
I kept them in the wardrobe I kept them on the floor
I looked at new pairs in shoe shops always buying more
I watched over them in case they walked out on me
although that would be quite a shock to see
I wondered how to share the wear
for so many shoes I’d bought with care
I wore them in evens I wore the odds
I racked them up and hung them from rods
I couldn’t work out how to be fair
to give each two an outing same as every other pair
so I put them in a line and started at one end
each day I would wear the next pair I did intend
the days wore on the line grew around the house
I walked in socks to each next pair quiet as a mouse
eventually I reached the very end
at which point I must myself defend
I came late to realising shoes have no brains
or feelings so there were no gains
from my actions bold and unreserved
my treatment of them was undeserved
I thought I would try a nonsense poem for a change.
Mud
This river of mud
it comes to no good
when it spreads on the plains
or surges through the woods
when it rises in the towns
or breaks dams where it would
this river of mud
is never any good
they throw the mud
they make the mud stick
weather
whether there is mud to throw
splattered thin or cement thick
and I see the mud
it makes me feel sick
a vitriolic flood
of slander and lies
sinking reasonable opposition
no due process applies
Writing
I write forwards
you write back
you tell me where we have been
where we should be
I write of where I’m going to be
and you are not a character in that book
Bayonet
She pierces me
with sharpened steel
and twists the bloody bayonet
I push away to escape with my life
I spin I thrash I turn and writhe
such familiar pain I feel
when once again my wife
confused demented lashes out
with her disorientated knife
The brutal sea
I was beckoned by the land
it called me from the brutal sea
the land fictitious
beckoning me
was not real
I now see
and that is how
the brutal sea
drowned me
poetography.ink 