Every Picture

01/01/2021 – Poem a Day Compilation



There’s a picture for every occasion

And you’re in every one of them.

There’s shenanigans at the beach

And passed out passenger in the car.

There’s loving cuddles with kitty

And playful tumbles with pup,

And who could forget sneaky pub visits

Or picnics by the lake?



If I printed them all out to hang

They’d cover every spare inch of wall

And be a constant reminder of you

When times were a little bit better,

But there’s still pictures of you

But they’re a bit different from how they were,

Being not quite so energetic

But still determined to be full of life.



There’s the one from your first doctor’s room

And from the imagining lab as well,

I took one when you were heading to surgery

And in recovery as well,

So now that you’re at home

You can pose with the things you make

Until you can finally get up

And I can take pictures of that very first step.



Every picture I take tells a story,

Some happier times than others, 

But I cannot delete a single frame

Because they’re you when you’re not around.

When I go to the shops, you’re with me,

And when I’m at work, you’re by my side

Because every picture is a part of you

And you are always a part of me.

New Year’s Eve

31/12/2020 – Poem a Day Compilation



You weren’t there in January 

My birthday, you did miss

You weren’t there in February

To plant a Valentine’s kiss



You weren’t there in March

To celebrate St Patrick’s Day

You weren’t there in April

When Easter came my way



You weren’t there in May

Seeing out the autumn leaves

You weren’t there in June

To wrap me in winter weaves



You weren’t there in July

When the year was half way done

You weren’t there in August

To feel your cheeks burn as you run



You weren’t there in September

To see whose team had won

You weren’t there in October

Partaking in Halloween fun



You weren’t there in November

To weep solemn tears

You weren’t there in December

Celebrating Christmas with our peers



Now you’re not here yet again

As the old year gives way to the new

But nothing ever changes

And it’ll be another year without you

Caught

30/12/2020 – Poem a Day Compilation



I caught a glimpse of you

I didn’t now where it would lead



I caught my breathe when you spoke

I wanted that moment to last forever



I caught myself when I fell for you

Because you are out of my reach

When the Storm Comes

29/12/2020 –  Poem a Day Compilation



Lightning scorches the sky

Instantly brilliant, then gone

A flash filled with intensity

Burning before my eyes

        And, still, I think of you.



Thunder rolls across the horizon

A low rumble filling my ears

Cracking and breaking

In wave after wave

        And, still, I think of you.



Grey clouds blanket the sky

Pushed by angry winds

High above me

Blustery and gusty

        And, still, I think of you.



Rain mists on the windows

Gutters overflow

Fences drip and shine

Grass is sodden underfoot

        And, still, I think of you.



Leaves dance up into the sky

Caught in the twisting duel

Of opposing forces

Before fluttering down to earth

        And, still, I think of you.



Hail shatters on the roof

Sending showers of ice

Flying to the ground

Like a carpet of snow

        And, still, I think of you.



A rainbow arcs across the sky

Glittering as it hangs above

Leading to a pot of gold

That I will never reach

        And, still, I think you

Death Everlasting

28/12/2020 – Poem a Day Compilation



When I die

Do not my body bury

For what good will it do

Six feet underground?



Take what you can

And gift it,

Allow someone to live

When I cannot.



Let my heart sing

In someone else’s chest

That they may love

And live again.

Australia

DonateLife | Organ and Tissue Authority

America

Organ Donor | Organ Donor

United Kingdom

Home - NHS Organ Donation

New Zealand

Organ Donation New Zealand (donor.co.nz)

Ireland

Strange Boat - On a life-giving journey - Strange Boat Donor Foundation (organdonation.ie)

If your country is not listed above please put a link in the comments section to your countries official organ donation website.

The Blank Stare

27/12/2020 – Poem a Day Compilation



I know words are being said

I can see her lips moving

I can’t hear what it was, though

There’s just noise

I can’t make it out

The sound didn’t make sense at all

So, I’m just sitting here

Under the blanket

Trying to nod in the right places

But my head doesn’t want to move

The overhead lights are too bright

And I can’t concentrate

I think she’s asked me a question

He lips aren’t moving anymore

And there’s a slight tilt to her head

I don’t know what to say

I missed the question

And the stuff before that too

I think I missed a lot, actually

She’ll probably need to repeat everything

I should have listened

She seems nice

I probably should have listened

It seems like it was important

I was listening

Then I wasn’t

I’m not sure exactly when I stopped

There are a lot of machines in this room

She’s saying something, again

But the lights and beeps are distracting

I’m just looking at her

It’s rude, I should stop

But I can’t because she’s saying something

And it’s important

There’s a knot in my stomach

But I’m not hungry

It’s an angry knot

Not angry at the nice lady

Who is looking very concerned

And reaches down to touch my arm

        “Mr Dugas, do you need me to go over it again?”

I blink

Tears are rolling down my face

There’s a lump in my throat

I can’t get those neurons firing

The words are stuck somewhere

All I can do is look down

And let the tears drip onto my gown

I suck in a deep breath

I don’t want to make her do this again

I nod quickly

I should have listened the first time

        “I’m Dr Blackwell. I’m head of oncology.”

I don’t want to hear this

But I have to

The Honeymoon Suite

26/12/2020 –  Poem a Day Compilation



I’ve never stayed in the honeymoon suite

I don’t suppose I ever will

I’d rather spend the extra money

On a extra night in the cheaper rooms

So, this is Christmas 2020

25/12/2020 – Poem a Day Compilation



        So, this is Christmas …



If you think I’m going to launch myself

Into a stirring rendition

Of that much loved favourite,

You’re sadly mistaken.



        And what have you done?



This year not much, really,

What with the raging bushfires,

Global Coronavirus pandemic

And the Black Lives Matter protests.



        Another year over



And can’t it come fast enough?

Businesses have struggled –

People have struggled –

Politicians have carried on as usual.



        A new one just begun



We can only hope, I guess,

That the new year will be better

And that we learn the lessons

This year has tried to teach us.



        And so this is Christmas



There’s too much food laid out

For the small gatherings we can have

But we’re making the best of it

As only we can.



        I hope you have fun



Whether with others or on your own

May it be filled with the joy

That Christmas time is renown for

Even if it is at a distance.



        The near and the dear one



Because this year, so many are separated –

From friends, from family,

From the people and places

That make Christmas Christmas.



        The old and the young



Grandparents are sending Christmas greetings

Over facetime and zoom

To grandkids three suburbs away

So they can all live to see another Christmas.


        A very Merry Christmas



To those doing their best,

Wearing masks and social distancing

Or doing a fourteen day stint

In isolation or quarantine



        And a Happy New Year



To those who have been run ragged

Over the last year

Working in hospitals

And manning the labs.



        Let’s hope it’s a good one



Our collective presents to ourselves

Are the vaccines rolling out

That will help us regain

At least some of what we’ve lost.



        Without any fear



For each and every one us

Regardless of our race or religion,

Wherever we might come from in the world

We are all in this together.

Christmas Eve

24/12/2020 – Poem a Day Compilation



I’ve never heard them so quiet

Or seen them so well behaved

You’d think they were being rewarded

And a day of grace has them saved



It’s lucky they’re pretty good kids

Not perfect, but good just the same

They get up to such mischief

But never try to pass the blame



They’ve set out milk and cookies for Santa

Carrots and water for the reindeer

A bottle of schnapps for Mrs Claus

And for the elves, some beer



They’re tucked up in bed early

Dreaming of magical hooves on the roof

And listening for sleigh bells in the sky

Hoping to find conclusive proof



For now, they’re sound asleep but

In the morning there’ll be giggles galore

Squeals of delight and the clatter of new toys

Wrapping paper strewn across the floor



And with the house finally at rest

It’s time for me to hang up my cloak

Take a small sip of schnapps

And wish a Merry Christmas to you fine folk

Overheard

23/12/2020 - Poem a Day



I overheard you talking

You didn’t know I was there

I didn’t let on that I knew

I wouldn’t even dare



You told her you loved her

Though I already surmised as much

From your barely disguised overtures

Flowers, lunch and such



I don’t know what she said

But I know it made you smile

Bigger than I had seen before

It really lit up your dial



I wish that you’d admit

Your feelings for her are true

You remind me of your father

Neither of you have a clue

Rugged

22/12/2020 - Poem a Day Compilation



I knew a rugged gentleman

Who had a rugged face

He lived in rugged mountains

And had a rugged place



He drank from a rugged cup

And ate with a rugged spoon

Carved with a rugged axe

And his rugged voice did croon



He sang a rugged love song

About his rugged life

And how his rugged heart

Wished for a rugged wife



He dreamt of rugged children

To take on rugged hikes

To swim in rugged rivers

And ride on rugged bikes



So, he packed his rugged rucksack

And walked some rugged miles

Beneath the rugged trees tops

Past buildings with rugged tiles



When he came by a rugged cliff

The rugged view he admired

Until his rugged eyes fell upon

What his rugged self desired



He climbed down the rugged rocks

Across the rugged beach he ran

And asked this rugged woman

To join his rugged clan



Together they climbed the rugged cliffs

And followed the rugged path

Over rugged hillsides where

Rock pools formed a rugged bath



Under rugged skies they slept

Sheltered by rugged caves

Watching rugged storms brew

And cast rugged waves



Before them stretch a rugged coast

Rugged peaks at their back

A rugged little homeland

For them to start their rugged pack

Revenge

21/12/2020 - Poem a Day Compilation



Revenge should not be mistaken for justice

It is savage and cold

Justice opens its arms in warm embrace

It is peace and truth



Seek not revenge against those who wrong you

There is no healing there

But seek, instead, the higher road

And live better for it



Revenge may taste sweet in the moment

But it sours quickly

The hurt remains as a cruel and wicked reminder

Of justice sorely failed

Five Trees

20/12/2020 –  Poem a Day Compilation



When you were born, I planted an oak

That it may grow with you

And that it may remind you of the wisdom

And strength of character you possess



As you turned into a young man

I planted a maple as a promise to you

That your life would be full of generosity

And a sense of balance would prevail



When you married, I seeded a magnolia

To reflect the honour of your bond

And strengthen the fidelity between you

That your love should grow together



As you made your way in the world

I nurtured a cedar as I had nurtured you

The protection I offered to the tree

A reflection of that which I gave to you



Now that I am not long for this world

I plant for you this study pine

That it may forever reach for the stars

And remind you of the eternal love we share

Ireland

19/12/2020 -  Poem a Day Compilation



How it is I long to see

The green and rolling hills of Eire

To soak in that troubled history

That lights a strange poetic flare



It is absurd to think on it

That I might wait in Dublin’s heart

Inspiration at my beck and call

To create, divine, a piece of art



To sit in awe ‘neath Ben Bulben

With Yeats whispering in my ear

And the haunted cries of a noble band

That sing of life and love and fear



To marvel at walls built so long ago

Where echoes of shots still ring out

In quiet suburbs full of woe

And remembered columns stand about



To explore the wild and untamed coast

Where mothers and sons of character strong

With a raw and revolutionary zeal

Guide earnest folk in picturesque song



How it is I long to see

The green and rolling hills of Eire

Listen to voices that make me swoon

And breathing that intoxicating air

A Modern Fairytale

18/12/2020 – Poem a Day Compilation



Once upon a time

There was a writer who was very sad

Because her words would not come to her

They were behaving very bad



They teased her relentlessly

And would not work as a team

They played mischief with her mind

Like a nightmare, not a dream



She looked out into the sky above

And wished upon a star

That she’d find some inspiration

That her reputation, it wouldn’t mar



Then the heavens opened up

Lightening flashed thick and fast

Thunder cracked over head

And a spell, it was cast



Her fingers flew across the keys

Injecting a magic to her story

It was like nothing else that she had written

And would cover her with glory



Before she knew the night was over

And the sun peered over the horizon far

But her masterpiece, it was complete

Ready to sell at the bazaar



She phoned every publisher

But every door slammed in her face

She was as yet undiscovered

She had yet to find her place



What little feedback she received

Was like a dagger to her chest

She’d poured out her heart and soul

And she’d tried her very best



As she poured over library books

On how to become a better writer

A woman sat down opposite her

And she suddenly felt much lighter



“I see you are a writer,”

The wise old woman said

And the writer peeked over her book

With a sense of fear and dread



“Oh, don’t be afraid, my dear,

I’m hear to help you out

They call me fairy godmother

But you can call me Bubblesprout



“That’s not my real name, you know

It’s my nom de plume

And I think it rather suits me

But it’s you I’ve come to groom.”



The writer put down the book

And looked this woman up and down

She appeared to be quite grandmotherly

But dressed in a grandiose ballroom gown.



The writer thought herself imagining

When Bubblesprout stood up

She thought she saw actual sparkles

And was that an actual buttercup?



She followed her in a daze

To where she’d parked her car

“Oh, no, this will never do”

She exclaimed as if a movie star



With a flourish, she produced a wand

And waved it round and round

Muttering incoherent words

Until the car could not be found



In its place a carriage stood

Adorned with gold and jewels

But no one walking by seemed to care

Were they blind or just poor fools?



“Are we going to meet a prince?”

Asked the writer in disbelief

Bubblesprout smiled then laughed

And answered “Oh, good grief!



“What do you want a prince for?

What you need is an editor in chief

To turn your beautiful work of art

Into something beyond belief.”



The writer smiled and laughed herself

And handed over the manuscript

She caught her breath in anticipation

And a beat in her heart was skipped



The pages fluttered as if enchanted

Words rearranging themselves

A wonderfully crafted cover formed

The book ready to hit the shelves



“How long will this magic last?”

The writer queried in earnest

And Bubblesprout turned to her

With a look that was the sternest



“This magic is within you

Whenever you choose it,

You never needed me at all

It’s yours when you want to use it.”



And with that she disappeared

Leaving only a puff of smoke

The writer sitting in her car

Wondering if she’d had a stroke



But there on the passenger seat

Sat a book so finely bound

And tucked between its pages

A card was to be found



Upon the card was the name

Of a publisher of high repute

Who could see the writer’s vision

And plan a campaign to suit



The writer then lived

Happily ever after

In a world that celebrated her

And joined in her laughter



Now, I know what you’re all thinking:

What kind of absurdity is this?

That’s not how publishing works

There’s something terribly amiss



And while you’re probably right

You’re also probably wrong

Because with the help of a good editor

You know it can’t be long



How long long is is difficult

To put a specific number on

But when it happens, look out

Through bookstore doors you’ll swan



So have faith in your abilities

Get your own Bubblesprout

Because rejections are going to happen

But one day you’ll get to shout



THIS is my book

And it’s not a fairytale

It’s as real as real can be

Available in print, audio and braille

Sonnet Redoublé

17/12/2020 – Poem a Day Compilation



I

I used to know him well

As only a child can

Watching sports on TV

Though I wasn’t always a fan

His hair slicked back

The way they did

In 1950s American movies

That fascinated me as a kid

He wasn’t high in fashion

But had a certain style

A roguish handsomeness

Hiding behind an award-winning smile

There’s so much I want to learn about

That man laid out before me



II

That man laid out before me

Taught me what he knew

About life and love and all else

Before I found my own crew

He’d take me out in the garden

To dig out all the weeds

Teaching me just what to plant

And how much each one feeds

Which flowers kept away mozzies

And which attracted the bees

Where to put compost heap

And how not to hurt your knees

It was a drop in the ocean

Now I realise how little



III

Now I realise how little

And a tear falls down my cheek

There’s no one to ask the questions

For the answers I do seek

No one thought to be inquisitive

When he was still alive

We could have made a library

Or a least a substantial archive

But no one thought ahead

Too caught up in their own world

Not allowing ourselves to listen

To let his story be unfurled

Now we pay the price for this

I should have asked those questions



IV

I should have asked those questions

And not it is too late

That croaky voice can’t tell me

My curiosity will not be sate

All I have are memories

Of a creaky rocking chair

And a man who didn’t suffer fools

Shooting out a beady stare

The grandkids who annoyed him

Were treated with disdain

Giving him a wide berth

Even wider when he had his cane

And for that grizzly attitude

The answers will never come



V

The answers will never come

For fear of knowing what to ask

That wouldn’t get a gruff response

But the act was just a mask

Underneath there was a man of honour

Who lived with the horror of his time

A man who fought for queen and country

In amongst the blood and grime

He would not let his experiences

Cloud the future of his family

Yet it built a barrier between them

They saw him as scary, not manly

And the stories became fragmented

I can piece together some



VI

I can piece together some

But how do you sew together a life

To which no one holds the pieces

And hardships have been rife

He’d grown up during world war one

Too young to comprehend

The ravages on society

That this war was supposed to end

He’d been married in the depression

No grand ceremony for them

Just a priest, family and friends

But his bride a precious gem

And slowly we form a picture

From what is left behind



VII

From what is left behind

We see children being born

Though it’s not always a happy tale

As from their arms they’re torn

He’d survived the Spanish flu

Though his brother, he had not

His children, though he had many

Rarely survived their lot

Whether they survived their first year

Or were taken before their prime

Their loss was barely spoken of

A terrible function of the time

That grief was never processed and

There is no closure here



VIII

There is no closure here

For the friends lost along the way

Sacrificed to foreign battlefields

Not marked where they lay

The scars he, and so many like him,

Brought home from world war two

Were far less visible

And a feeling of isolation grew

Today we know and recognise

The trauma and its effects long lasting

A lifetimes worth, in fact,

The shadows long it’s casting

Even after he has left us

I must make peace with this



IX

I must make peace with this

Disjointed history he presents

And fill the spaces with the love

He hid from those events

The lifelong love of his wife

Who stayed through thick and thin

And saw the man underneath

And forgave him every sin

The children who survived him

Who cowered when he rose

But never saw the lengths he’d go

To protect them from the woes

And now that he’s no longer here

I wish I could sit by his feet



X

I wish I could sit by his feet

And tell him about my day

Or cook him vegetables in proper style

No matter what he might say

I’d learn how to change a tyre

Or mend a broken fence

To play a game of backgammon

And discuss common sense

We’d hang Christmas decorations

Hide Easter eggs in watering cans

Pretending to hate Valentine’s Day

And talk about holiday plans

I miss those days when I was young

Listening to stories of old



XI

Listening to stories of old

I yearn to ask the hard questions

About his thoughts on world affairs

And listen to his suggestions

But now he cannot answer

His views lost to the universe

We that are left not knowing

If they would be kind or kind of terse

He never announced his pride

But I’m sure he felt it still

As I rushed to show off trophies

It gave me such a thrill

I miss that excitement

Those times are long since gone



XII

Those times are long since gone

But every picture I see

Reminds me of the times we spent

And what he meant to me

The long hours he worked

To put food on the table

Being there for the family

As much as he was able

But men of that time did express

The bottled up everything inside

It wasn’t the manly thing to do

Their emotions they had to hide

How I want to help unlock them but

The chance has passed me by



XIII

The chance has passed me by

But I will make the most of it

I will remember the caring man

Upon whose knee I would sit

The man who would listen to me ramble

About what I’d done at school

Where I’d been last weekend

And how many laps I’d done in the pool

I’d help call him for dinner when he went deaf

While other grandkids stayed away

I think they missed the best of him

And I loved him more with each passing day

And now I must come to grips with the fact

Maybe I didn’t know him at all



XIV

Maybe I didn’t know him at all

But that’s no reason to give up

Or forget what we had

And to him I’ll raise a cup

Not a glass of wine or beer

But a mug of Earl Grey tea

That soothed him in the evening

And bonded him to me

I’ll never know all his stories

All the things that made him tick

All his hopes and dreams

But I knew him in my childish way

And I think, just maybe, it’s ok that

I used to know him well



XV

I used to know him well

That man laid out before me

Now I realise how little

I should have asked those questions

The answers will never come

I can piece together some

From what is left behind

There is no closure here

I must make peace with this

I wish I could sit by his feet

Listening to stories of old

Those times are long since gone

The chance has passed me by

Maybe I didn’t know him at all

In the morning

16/12/2020 – Poem a Day Compilation



In the morning

The birds chirp

And I hear their song



I hear their song

Drifting on the breeze

And it warms my heart



It warms my heart

To know you’re here

And I love you



I love you

More each day

And I treasure this



I treasure this

Because morning can’t last

And I will miss you



I will miss you

Every time we part

And rejoice to see you once more

Flashlight

15/12/2020 – Poem a Day Compilation



I need the flashlight, honey.

I’ll see if I can find it,

What do you need it for?



I’m just looking for something.

I can’t find the flashlight.

Will a candle do?



Only if you want to burn the house down.

No need for sarcasm.

Do you remember where you put it?



It should be in the draw.

It’s not in the draw.

When did you use it last?



When I was cleaning out the attic.

Maybe you left it up there.

Why can’t you put things back?



I didn’t leave it anywhere.

You must have because it’s not in the draw.

Are you sure it’s this draw you put it in?



Well, I didn’t put it in the sock draw.

I wouldn’t be surprised if you did.

Why am I looking for the flashlight, anyway?



I can’t leave what I’m doing, that’s why.

If you just put things back where they belonged.

Is it in your toolkit?



Maybe, just hurry up and find it.

Ok, ok, no need to get shirty.

Where’s the toolkit?



Under the stairs next to the vacuum cleaner.

Right, oh, so that’s where my laundry basket went.

Why is the laundry basket under the stairs?



I was using it for ... something ... I don’t remember.

Your memory has more holes than this basket.

Did you say next to the vacuum cleaner?



Yes, next to, or maybe behind.

Found it, under the vacuum.

Why did you put it there?



Just get the flashlight, I’m in a rather awkward position.

Keep your knickers on, I’m looking.

What on earth is all this stuff?



Don’t worry about the other stuff - the flashlight!

Got it but you really should sort out that toolkit.

What do you need it fo- ?



Stop laughing and give me the flashlight.

Oh, oh no, this is too good.

What on earth were you doing?



I was testing them out and I dropped the key.

I just need to get a photo, just hold that thought.

Do you want me to look for the key?



No, I can do it myself, just give me the flashlight.

You’re going to look back at this and laugh.

Why were you testing them, anyway?



It was meant to be a surprise, for later.

Oh, you are one big constant surprise.

Have you found the key?



Yes, I’ve almost got it.

Maybe next time wait to me to handcuff you to the bed.

Do you want a cup of tea?



Please, that would be lovely.

Oh, and put the flashlight away when you’re done.

We don’t want this happening again, do we?

Inspiration

14/12/2020 - Poem a Day Compilation



In my mind

Near my heart

Spreading through me

Pulsating in me

I draw from you

Radiating energy

Allowing it in

Taking over my soul

Inspiring me now

Over and over

Never to forget

The Eulogy

13/12/2020 – Poem a Day Compilation



No words come

I am bereft

Of what there is to say



My hand won’t write

This day won’t end

The grief won’t be held at bay



I take the pen

And set it down

Let the tears fall free



This is no time

For eloquence

It is the time to see



What has been

And always will

Yet feels so far away



I cannot touch

I cannot hold

But stays with me every day



The pain is fresh

My heart is broke

I want to be alone



I close my eyes

And see you there

Imagining the smell of your cologne



I miss your face

I crave your smile

I fear what is in store



Where are you

When I need you?

I don’t want to do this anymore

The Flapper

12/12/2020 – Poem a Day Compilation



Oh, to be a flapper

With a gentleman so dapper

Dancing the night away

Until the break of day



Listening to the jazz band play

While walking freely by the bay

Sequins and feathers galore

Oh, how I do adore!



Kicking off the shoes we wore

Acting in a way parents deplore

Drinking cocktails from fancy glasses

Breaking barriers between the classes



Tripping through the grasses

Making unseemly passes

Some might think it vapid

I think it more likely sapid



The norms of the time insipid

I’d rather find a cupid

Finding myself a sheik

And enjoying life at the peak

The Shame

11/12/2020 – Poem a Day Compilation



The shame is not the man

Laying homeless in the street.

It is the one who walk by

And do not care at all.



The shame is not the woman

Who was assaulted walking home.

It is the one who told her

It was her fault for wearing that.



The shame is not the employee

Who raises concerns about practices.

It is the business that puts profits

Ahead of the well-being of its staff.



The shame is not the refugee

Sitting in an offshore detention centre.

It is the government who fail,

Time and time again, to process claims quickly.

A Slow Rain

10/12/2020 – Poem a Day Compilation



Out here the land is dry

Cracks appear like mouths

Begging for a drink

But there is no comfort,

Nothing to quench the thirst

Of parched fields

Or sunburnt deserts.



The animals huddle nervously

Around almost empty watering holes

Eking out the last drops

From plants that won’t survive the summer

Not knowing when the next deluge will come

Or where they should head towards

To get that life-giving liquid.



Locals pray to go a god who doesn’t answer

For something to get them through,

Or just enough to last this month

Or this week,

Or even just today

When they need something sustainable:

A slow rain to wash away the fear.

Humour

09/12/2020 - Poem a Day Compilation



There are very many ways

Of making someone laugh,

Maybe falling comically

Of combining a lion with a giraffe.



But what the world needs now

Is more of it in spades,

Truckloads of humour

Before our humanity fades.



So support your favourite comedian,

Or tell your kids a joke;

Watch reruns of that TV show,

A giggle to provoke.



However you get that fix of fun,

Whatever puts a smile on your dial,

Get your dose quickly

No matter what the style.

Mood

08/12/2020 - Poem a Day Compilation



I’d like to escape from myself sometimes

When the sadness overwhelms me.

It’s always with me, deep inside

A sinking melancholy dragging me down.



I am forlorn and in despair,

There is nothing I can do

No saving grace to pull me through

And I must only survive this downheartedness.



I am not worth the time or effort

To repair my broken soul.

Just abandon me here,

Because I am not of any value.



It is laughable that I should be held

To be the best person for the job

Regardless of what the position is,

I will never meet the requirements.



I hate myself for feeling this way

But there’s no one to blame by myself,

Every day, I must atone for the wrong

That I have wrought every day prior.



I think about the world without me,

How much better that might be.

If I weren’t here to screw things up,

And no one would miss me anyhow.



I don’t want to go out to the movies,

Or read that book you recommended.

I don’t want to play football this year,

I just can’t be bothered anymore.



People say they’re trying to help

But they don’t stick around very long,

They get tired of me and leave,

Not that I blame them for that.



I haven’t slept in so long,

Not real sleep, anyway.

I lie awake at night, staring at the ceiling,

Wondering why I’m even here.



I don’t eat anymore.

Not unless I’m forced to.

The doctors say it’s unhealthy

But they don’t really care.



I just want to be left alone,

To stay in bed and not do anything,

I don’t want to move, or work,

Or talk to these people who say they’re friends.



Don’t talk to me right now,

I can’t focus on what you’re saying.

My mind is off, somewhere,

Anywhere but here.



No, I don’t know what I want to put on,

I don’t care what colour it is,

Why are you asking me to decide?

I don’t know what you want.



I stood at the top of the cliffs

I swallowed all the pills in the cabinet

I drove into a tree at high speed

But none of you will let me go.



The pain I feel is excoriating,

Every joint aches all the time.

I just want to be free from it all

And to not have the agony prolonged.



My bag is packed and under my bed,

Like it has been since I was twelve

I don’t want to be here

But you won’t let me leave this place.



Nothing I do is right,

I can’t live like this any more

The constant attempts and failures

Are eating away at my very soul.



You all have it so easy,

You breeze through every hurdle.

I hate what this world has made me

And I hate the world as well.



One day I will burn this place

And everything it contains.

Maybe it will take me, too,

And I will be at peace.

The Bond

07/12/2020 – Poem a Day Compilation



The bond between partners

Who have given their heart

To another to hold

Cannot be torn apart.



It lights the way forward

And illuminates the past

Dispelling the shadows

The naysayers may cast.



It stretches when they’re separated

And snaps back when they reunite

Made stronger by the love they share

And resistant to the strains when they fight.



One day I may hope to have

A bond so valuable as this

Which ends in forever

And starts with a kiss.

Jillenduke

06/12/2020 – Poem a Day Compilation



Down in the village

The trees swayed in the gentle breeze,

Barely moving, hardly rustling,

But there was a chill in the air,

And an imperceptible ill wind

That brought with it

The ghosts of years gone by.



It spoke of folks long since passed;

The ones everyone knew by name,

And those they knew by a nod and a wave,

All tied to this place by events

Retold by nostalgic old timers

To young men and women

Who’d heard the stories more than once.



The tales grew taller with each telling –

From the humorous to the scary,

From the sad to the heart-warming,

And everything in between –

But none remained so well recounted

As the story told in hushed tones

Over the seventeenth beer of the night.



It was the story of the village itself,

Its birth shrouded in the mists of time

That only the passing

Of many generations can offer

But recalled with a distinct clarity

Which only further adds to the cryptic nature

Of its very existence.



And so it was, that fateful day,

That I sat myself down on a bar stool

That had seen some things in its time

And began a conversation

With the owner of the pub I now found myself in

So many miles from home,

Nursing a cold drink and waiting for a steak

Touted as the best in the state.



We talked about the usual fair –

The weather, sports,

And the tv shows currently doing the rounds –

But as the night grew long

And drinks passed our lips,

We touched on those things

You don’t necessarily discuss with strangers

For fear of starting an argument.



First came religion

Which wasn’t too much of an issue

What with the scant number of people

Who called these parts home,

Who actually believe

In any sort of organised religion,

And hold their spiritual beliefs

Above any specific religion.



Then came politics –

A touchy subject

When it came to a city dweller like me

Not understanding the local issues

And out of touch politicians

In their fancy homes

Running roughshod over concerns

That had plagued the village for years

With no help in sight.



As the night drew to a close,

And last drinks were being called,

The owner leaned over the bar

And asked if I wanted to hear a story

About the original inhabitants

Of this here pokey little village

In the middle of nowhere.



Naturally, my curiosity was piqued

And I settled in for what I hoped would be

A riveting, if somewhat embellished yarn

But, little did I know,

The story would go far beyond my expectations

And be one of the oddest

(Yet most beautiful)

Stories of settlement I had ever heard.



It all started more than a century ago,

When two young lovers wished not to be parted

By the looming threat of national service

For a war neither believed was their fight

So, instead of simply hiding in the city,

They’d taken off inland,

In search of a safe haven.



Some say the stole a horse along the way,

Some say they trekked by foot,

But however they made the arduous journey,

They eventually found themselves

By the side of a creek,

Hungry and suffering terribly

The early stages of heat stroke.



They managed a few sips

Of the crystal-clear water

Before falling asleep under a tree,

And you’d think that’d be the end of the story

But when they woke up

They were not under the tree

But in a cave who knows where.



Looking around,

They saw strange markings on the walls,

Almost human but not quite,

Like some sort of alien creature

Captured for posterity in ochre and stone

Waiting to be set free

To chase down wild beasts

Across the plains and deserts.



Not knowing how they had arrived there

Or even where they were,

They wandered from the cave

Into the light

Where the sun blinded their eyes

And the cacophony of bird song filled their ears

Like demons invading their mind.



The lovers knew no one would find them,

Out here in the scrub and the caves,

So they stayed where they were

Trying to make a life for themselves

But with few resources

The going was hard and tough.



Some of the berries made them sick to eat

And they were unable to catch fish or animals,

Yet they survived

For longer than anyone rightly knows how

Because food would appear by the cave entrance

As if by some kind of miracle.



Time lost all meaning,

Days flew by and seasons changed,

And the lovers wondered

What had become of the world,

The one they had left behind –

Friends, family, school chums

Who had,

No doubt,

Been swept up by the war machine

And spat out the other end

A shell of their former selves.



But they did not find the city,

Nor the friends they left behind,

Nor family who had tried to dissuade them

From the escape that they had made,

For they would be forever outcast,

Cowards looked upon with shame –

None of that was waiting

For they knew not where they were.



As they travelled in a direction,

Taking them into territory they did not know,

They felt a presence stalking them,

Though they could never catch a glimpse

Of what might be lurking in the bush

And it did not matter which path they took,

The sound travelled with them.



The night fell fast around them

And they sought shelter beneath a tree

Which should have been familiar

But had grown since last they passed this spot

What might have seemed a lifetime ago

When they first set out alone.



Exhausted from their travels,

Up hills and down gullies steep,

Skirting around the sides of boulders

And traversing paths not clearly marked,

Sleep came quickly –

A deep and dreamless sleep,

Rocked gently behind eyes still closed

By a motion they did not know.



They awoke to the realisation

That they were back in that same cave

Which had served them as their home

For however long it had been,

With those same drawings on the wall

And the same array of food placed by them

So they would not starve.



Maybe it had been a dream,

A shared hallucination,

That they had left the cave

And so they started out again,

Following paths as best they could,

Until they found themselves

Under a tree their memories knew

But they could not recall.



Once again, they drank from the stream

And fell asleep under the whispering leaves

Of the tree they should know,

Not hearing the footsteps

Of those who carried them back to their cave,

Their warm, dry, safe cave

That had sheltered them

And provided for them for so long.



Awake, again,

Scared and alone,

Or so they thought,

The lovers huddled together in the cave,

Waiting and watching,

Hoping to catch sight of whoever

(Whatever)

Had brought them and kept them here.



But no one came,

Just as no one had come any other day,

And they were alone,

Save for the birds and the possums

That scurried and soared above their heads

In tangled branches

And through clear skies.



For weeks they waited,

Seeing no one cross the mouth of the cave

That threatened to swallow

What remained of their humanity

And turn them into the creatures

That inhabited the bush,

Their clothes almost rags,

Their faces dirty

And darkened by the sun.



Time was evermore meaningless,

As they slept in shifts,

Waiting for someone

(Something)

To show themselves

And be held accountable

For this torture they suffered,

Unable to find their way out of the maze

That surrounded and captivated them.



One day they decided

They would have to make the best

Of the poor situation they found themselves in,

So they took the food left for them

And found the same berries in the wild,

The same leaves and roots and mushrooms,

And knew they could feed themselves.



They wondered why the idea so simple

Had not occurred to them before

That they should be self sufficient

And that they had been relying on

The expectation of what had gone before

Instead of making their own way.



They made a makeshift sled,

From branches and vines intertwined,

To carry what meagre possessions they had

So as to not tire so easily,

And found themselves back at the tree

That reminded them of a place

They should be dwelling in.



The water in the stream was low,

Just covering their bare feet,

And they walked along the cool pebbles,

Worn smooth over many years,

Until they came across a clearing

Where they laid their heads for the night.



A gentle breeze woke them,

A fresh and sweet-smelling air,

Not as the cave so dark and cold

And they knew that they were free

From what had kept them tied to that place

For such a very long time.



Again, they trundled down the stream,

Taking shelter when they could

From the harshness of the beating sun

And wishing for the cool sea breeze of home

Rather than this fiery wind

Which stung their eyes

And burned their skin.



Over the hill,

Smoke drifted into cloudless skies

As blue as blue could be,

And the lovers knew

There would be people

Tending such a small fire as the one they spied.



They traipsed over the hillside

Finding not the houses they had hoped for

But a small encampment of huts

Made from the same branches and vines

As their small, poorly-made sled,

Where the fire marked the centre

And several men cooked meat above.



But these were not like other men

The lovers had seen before in their short lives:

Their skin was dark as coal,

Their eyes shone like diamonds in the night –

These men they had never seen

But who clearly recognised the lovers,

And both parties eyed each other

With a healthy dose of suspicion.



Feeling brave for an instant,

Our lovers moved a little closer,

But recoiled in fear and trepidation

As the men stood to meet their gaze,

Never having met a person

Who looked quite as they.



Their sheltered city life

Had afforded them little diversity,

It was a place of uniformity

Where everyone looked the same

And sounded the same,

Where boys followed their fathers

Women followed their husbands,

And deviation from the accepted

Was frowned up,

Looked down on,

Shunned,

As the lovers had discovered

And led to their current position.



The men offered the lovers some food,

Still hot from the open fire,

Which they gladly took,

Eating at a distance,

Wary of these strangers

Who looked nothing like them

And spoke in strange tongues.



There was little sound to be heard,

The gentle crackle of the fire,

The wind in the trees,

And the soft chatter of the men

Who had so generously fed them –

The world seemed at peace for a few moments,

And the lovers forgot their tattered clothes

And the war they were escaping



As night closed in around the group,

They fell into a deep, calm sleep,

Their differences forgotten

As they lay upon the grass,

All just people under the sparkling night sky

Trying to survive.



Morning broke over the disparate band –

Humans who had found each other,

In the middle of the bush and dirt,

And they shared a small breakfast

Before the men stood and cleared the camp,

Preparing to head back to their families

And their lives.



The lovers did not know what to do –

Should they go with these men

Into the unfamiliar heart of their culture,

Or try to return to the city on their own,

A trek that could spell disaster

Both physically and mentally

If they never found their way

From the wilderness?



The men moved quickly,

Through undergrowth that would scar

The feet and legs,

The hands and arms,

The faces and souls of those

Who ventured so far

Without proper knowledge,

Years of experience guiding them

Over and under fallen trees,

Across creeks

And through what seemed interminable forest

That all looked the same to the lovers

As they followed as best they could.



Though the lovers spoke only English

And the men spoke only Wiradjuri,

They communicated with gestures, looks

And pictures drawn in the dirt

As they made the arduous journey

Back past the cave the lovers had called home

And on to the tribal lands of the men

Who had kept them fed and safe.



The tribe viewed them with suspicion,

Their experiences with white folk

Not always pleasant –

They lived in fear of missions

Of having their children stolen,

Stripped from their arms

Under the guise of a better life.



What better life awaited those children

Denied a mothers’ love,

Given over to a heartless system,

Exposed to the ravages of war,

And face-to-face with evil,

A bigoted community,

That wanted nothing to do with them?



Yet, as days turned to weeks

And weeks to months,

The lovers found themselves to be accepted

By their new friends

(Their new family)

And loved as fellow human beings

Without a need to prove themselves

But just be a valued member of society.



They learned new skills,

To hunt,

To create,

To dream,

To communicate in ways they never imagined,

With a whole new language

And a whole new set of gestures.



Though they had no fixed abode,

The tribe had made a home for themselves,

The caves a sacred site of healing and nurturing,

A place of rebirth

And a place to find oneself

As new life entered this world.



This is what it had done for the lovers,

Provided shelter

And comfort from the unknown

To which they were growing accustomed

And finding joy and beauty

In that which was once foreign.



Before too long the lovers,

Living as man and wife for all this time,

Were welcomed into the bosom of the tribe,

Their newborn child –

As one with the other children –

Growing, playing, learning

As a member of the tribe.



But suddenly the peaceful idyl was shattered

As city folk

(White folk)

Came blustering through,

Razing the land of so many ancestors,

Destroying all they saw,

Leaving only pain in their wake.



The war had ended with broken soldiers

Returning to broken homes,

Looking for jobs that didn’t exist

And lives they’d left behind,

Before pushing further and further afield

To find salvation in the heartache of others,

Of those they considered less than human.



The lovers stood with their people,

Who had taken them in

And shown them a different way to exist,

Where conflict was small,

And they worked for each other as a whole

Not for the betterment of the individual

At the expense of the many.



The tribe were forced to abandon their land

That they nurtured

And loved

And thrived upon,

Only for farmers to clear it

And devastate it for years to come

All for an immediate monetary gain.



Still, the lovers stood with them,

Living on the mission that bore their names,

Outcasts from the society

To which they had once sought to return

But now felt no connection with at all.



That mission grew and transformed

As the years and generations swept by;

The lovers passed,

Their children grew,

Their grandchildren,

And their great grandchildren

And on for five generations,

All to live in the village

Far from the city.



This was my welcome to the village –

A story perhaps true,

Perhaps a figment of an overactive imagination,

Or perhaps a blending of reality

With a fantasy

That people are not so different,

That they can live side by side

And take the best of all of them

While shedding that which harms.



It’s been many years since I first sat,

Alone and parched that day,

Upon a barstool in a dusty pub

To be told a story I could not forget

And, though I have travelled far and wide

To places of beauty and delight,

It is to this strange little village

That my heart begs to see again.



I married the barkeeps daughter,

My children were raised within in it’s borders,

My grandchildren play by the creek

Where the whispering tree grows still,

And I am as much of this story

As the lovers who fled a war

To find not only a peaceful people

But a peace of their own as well.

Dangerous

05/12/2020 - Poem a Day Compilation



I am dangerous



Not to anyone else

Just to myself



I cannot escape



Feeling trapped

Is a way of life



I see no rainbows



My head won’t lift

That high these days

Graduation

04/12/2020 - Poem a Day Compilation



Twenty-three years have passed

Since I graduated from high school

With all the hopes and dreams

Of a teenager who could do it all



I graduated with honours in potential

To which I never lived up

Even though the signs were already there

Flagging where I was really headed



I felt the weight of the world on my shoulders

Bearing down on me alone

My graduation a stark reminder

That I had no one upon whom to lean.



I feel it still, pressing me down

Making me doubt myself in every way

Wondering if it’s all just a nightmare

And I’ve yet to graduate at all.

The Loss of Innocence

03/12/2020 – Poem a Day Compilation



Take me back to the before

When idyllic summers were misremembered

As more perfect than they had a right to be

And people were genuine.



Tell me that such a time existed

Not just in the recesses of my grown mind

But in a reality not so harsh and cruel

As experience deems fit to show me.



Let me pretend, just once more,

That the superficial, animalistic lustings

Of men old enough to know better

Are figments of my imagination.



Return to me the trust I had

In the honour of parents to keep secrets,

Now stripped unceremoniously from my eyes

Never to be seen again.



Allow me to spend one more day

Sitting at the foot of a man

Who inspired fear in all others

But fostered my innocence.



Save me from a reality that stains my heart

With loss, and grief, and a heartache that burns;

That wrenches a knowledge of all that trembles

From the dark niches of this world.



Take me back to the before

When fairy tales merged with the everyday

In such a way that reality itself was bent

And innocence was not lost in time.

Embarrassing: What parents want to say to their teenagers but can't

02/12/2020 - Poem a Day Compilation



Oh, my god, mum

You’re so embarrassing.

How are we even related?

Can you just … not?



        All I did was turn up.

        You’d think the world ended

        Because you happen to be seen

        In public, with your mother!



What are you wearing?

You look like a grandma.

Why can’t you wear something

A little more fashionable?



        Of course, you know, don’t you,

        That if I turned up in anything

        That was even remotely fashionable

        You’d think I was trying too hard.



Do you have to talk so loudly?

Everyone can hear you

And then they look!

I don’t want them thinking it’s me.



        I don’t know if you've noticed 

        But when you get with your girlfriends

        You could fly a jet overhead

        And no one would be able to hear it.



I don’t want a hug and a kiss,

I’m not a little kid anymore.

No one else’s parents do that

It’s just weird and awkward.



        You’re such a long time an adult

        And you’ll have to forgive me

        But I wish you weren’t in such a rush

        To grow up and enjoyed childhood.



Don’t talk to my friends.

They don’t care what music you’re into

Or whether you watched a movie

Or where you went last weekend.



        I have amazing taste in music

        You’d be very surprised

        By what your friends listen to,

        Especially Janie, she likes metal.



Why can’t you look like Johnny’s mum?

She looks amazing.

I bet she doesn’t eat ice cream and chocolate

All the time like you do.



        No, she probably doesn’t

        But I don’t drink like a fish

        Like she does, either,

        And I rather be overweight, to be fair.



You’re too old to be dating.

Jessica’s mum is on her own

And she doesn’t run around

Like she’s trying to be a teenager.



        Jessica’s mum has just gotten a divorce

        From an abusive husband

        Whereas I have been on my own

        Most of your very short life.



You never let me do anything fun,

Like that concert I went to

And you made me come straight home

When everyone else was going out after.



        Friday night in the middle of the city

        Is no place for a fourteen year old

        And I will always do what is needed

        To keep you as safe as I can.



Why don’t you listen to me?

You’re so embarrassing

I just want you to be normal

Like everyone else’s mum.



        If I told you half the things, my sweet,

        About the other mums you know

        You would be horrified

        But we’re all just doing the best we can.

Creatures of Habit

01/12/2020 – Poem a Day Compilation



The alarm went off at 6am

And he played on his phone for an hour



My alarm went off at 7am

But I hit snooze three times



He had breakfast and was gone

Before the clock chimed for 8am



I was still in my pyjamas

When the clock sounded for 9am



He had wade though a mountain of paperwork

When 10am rolled by



I had thought vaguely about having brunch

When 11am rolled on by



He had a lunch meeting at 12 noon

That was more meeting than it was lunch



I had a skype session at 1pm

With my friend who moved overseas



He was going over the monthly reports

At 2pm with his colleagues



I was staring at a submission deadline

At 3pm with my editor



He was making the last few phone calls at 4pm

Ready to call it a day



I was making the 17 major edits at 5pm

That would turn my work into a masterpiece



He was heading home on the train at 6pm

Thankful another day was over



I was putting dinner on the table at 7pm

Waiting for the door to swing open



We were fed and watching TV

His head in my lap at 8pm



We traipsed up to bed at 9pm

But that’s not for you to know



He fell asleep looking so peaceful

As the clocked showed 10pm



I was still typing away feverishly

As the clocked lit up for 11pm



We would do it all again in a few hours

As a new day found us at midnight.

A Letter to Myself

30/11/2020 – Poem a Day Compilation



If I wrote a letter to myself

From me as I am now

With all the knowledge that 40 years brings

To my teenage self

Who thought they knew it all

And probably wouldn’t listen

It would go something like this:



Say yes more often when you’re young

But not so much when you’re older

Opportunities should be grabbed by the horns

But as we get older, time becomes precious

And knowing what will bring you joy

And what will bore you to death

Is a wonderful skill to have.



Don’t worry about what people think of you

Because most of those people won’t matter

Not in five years’ time, nor in fifty years’ time

So, choose wisely whose put downs you hear

Take the insults with a smile

And be gracious in victory

Because everyone battles their demons differently.



Follow your dreams wherever they may go

And don’t let anyone try to pigeonhole you

Into being someone or something you’re not

Because you’re a long time an adult

And doing something you don’t want to do

Just to pay the bills

Is hard slog until retirement.



Find your people

The ones who make you shine

From the inside out

And who share your excitement

Even if they don’t understand it

Because having someone there

Who offers that is magic.



Don’t let the excuses you make for yourself

Tie you down or hold you back

When you know what you’re capable of

When the world is your oyster

And when it’s your own voice betraying you

Because you could be great

If only you let yourself try.

The Lonely Goth: A Villanelle

29/11/2020 –  Poem a Day Compilation



Were I not quite so alone

I might enjoy this solitude

But that is all I have ever known



I might let out a mighty moan

To convey this all-consuming mood

Were I not quite so alone



I long for love I’ve never been shown

By family that think my outlook is skewed

But that is all I have ever known



The bouts of despair to which I am prone

Might have somehow by someone been viewed

Were I not quite so alone



They just beat me to the bone

Their actions spiteful, callous and rude

But that is all I have ever known



I might not want to sink like a stone

Or bear the brunt of insults so crude

Were I not quite so alone

But that is all I have ever known

The Salesman

28/11/2020 – Poem a Day Compilation



I don’t know what you were selling

As you came up the driveway today

You didn’t make it to the door

Because the dog scared you off



That’s it’s job, you know

To sound a stern warning

And keep unwanted visitors

From selling unwanted wares



I do have to admit, though

I did have a little sympathy

As it’s quite a long driveway

And it was so very hot



My sympathy mixed with mirth

When I saw you a second time

Coming up the driveway

From the other side



You hadn’t realised it was circular

And thought it a new address

But the look on your face,

When you saw the dog, was gold

Quiet: A Sestina

27/11/2020 –  Poem a Day Compilation



Do you hear the silence?

It surrounds me with tranquillity

The lull is more than peaceful

Its embrace far more intimate

And the words it speaks are hushed

Sent to quieten and to soothe



To soothe my soul with meditation

To silence the beasts in my head

To keep the voices hushed inside

To revel in the tranquillity of noiselessness

To create an intimate place within me

To be peaceful and at rest



The peaceful solitude of this moment

Will soothe the savage beast

In this intimate twinkling of an eye

The silence flows through me

A sea of tranquillity flowing over me

In hushed and unobtrusive terms



When the world is hushed around me

And all is peaceful in my life

There’s a tranquillity beyond words

That soothe all around

Because silence can speak louder

And be more intimate than anything else



It’s the intimate glance between lovers

The hushed sighs late at night

Shrouded in a silence that’s comfortable

And peaceful to be within

When a touch can soothe your spirit

And a tranquillity takes the reins



There’s tranquillity in the mundane

Intimate moments in the banal

They soothe the troubled waters

And harsh words are hushed once more

As peaceful contemplation rises

And silence spreads with every breath



This silence begets tranquillity

Peaceful interactions turn intimate and

Hushed murmurs soothe a heart that beats too fast

Thanksgiving

26/11/2020 – Poem a Day Compilation



I give thanks that I’m not American

Living in the land of the free

Where people are anything but

And there’s seems to be nothing to be done



I give thanks that I’m not American

With their control disguised as religion

Where women are seen as subservient

And men made all the rules



I give thanks that I’m not American

Where guns are more important than people

And militia are not regulated

Nor trained in any way



I give thanks I’m not American

Whose political system is in disarray

And despotic narcissists can win elections

By conning the uneducated



I give thanks I’m not American

But I give thanks for my American friends

Who fight the good fight daily

And will never surrender their rights

River: a ballade with double refrain

25/11/2020 – Poem a Day Compilation



We sat by the fast-flowing river

You, me, and mum and dad

All nervous and a-quiver

Waiting for fun to be had

But the weather was awfully bad

For as far as we could see

Which made us dreadfully sad

And we waited beneath the tree



The wind made us shake and shiver

And coats by the layer we did add

The sun shone in a tiny sliver

Waiting for fun to be had

You felt like a terrible cad

For driving us out here for tea

You overreacted a tad

And we waited beneath the tree



The clouds did their rain deliver

Which made you ferociously mad

So I pulled out the pate made of liver

Waiting for fun to be had

Crackers were served on napkins of plaid

While mum sang a fine melody

Which made us tremendously glad

And we waited beneath the tree



This lark would surely be a fad

Not taken up by high nobility

As we felt somewhat like a nomad

And we waited beneath the tree

The Angry Man

24/11/2020 – Poem a Day Compilation



There’s an angry, angry man

Sitting in a house

He doesn’t even own

And definitely doesn’t deserve



He’s a man who cannot tell

The truth from a bald-faced lie

And will not be corrected

When he undoubtedly gets it wrong



He’s angry at his colleagues

Who play by the rules

Thinking they should have his back

No matter what the cost



He’s angry at his rivals

For their very existence

And what he sees as

Favourable treatment



He’s angry at his predecessor

For getting so much done

Despite the road blocks put in front of him

And the rising racism he faced



He’s angry at those subservient

When they will not tow the line

Making outlandish, spiteful claims

About their ability and integrity



He’s angry at the media

For uncovering the deeds

He’d rather have kept hidden

From the public's prying eyes



He’s angry at other leaders

Who ask him to uphold deals

That go against his bigoted ideals

So he hangs up on them instead



He’s angry at the intelligence agencies

For bringing intelligence to light

Because it reflects poorly on his image

As a man in complete control



He’s angry at comedians

Who so often take the piss

Creating skits of his administration

That are far too close for comfort



He’s angry at the citizens

Who demand he do his job

Because they ask more than he can give

And he hates to be seen as weak



He’s angry at the courts

Who throw out his frivolous suits

Because he has no actual evidence

And even his lawyers know that



He’s angry at democracy

For standing in his way

And not letting him be the supreme leader

That he thinks he deserves to be



But after four long years of anger

His reign of terror is nearly done

Though he’ll fight it every step of the way

Like a toddler throwing a tantrum



And when’s finally evicted

From the house upon the hill

He’ll turn his anger to fear

When he realises he’s on his own

The Address

23/11/2020 – Poem a Day Compilation



Politics and sexism have gone hand in hand

For more years than I care to remember

Some more subtle than others but

None of it warranted in the least.



You would have thought that calling attention

To act after disgraceful act of misogyny

Would slow it down somewhat

But the bull keeps raging on.



I could address every such instance

And the expose would take many volumes

Given I can think off the top of my head

Of at least ten in only five years.



But none of these events should have happened

When it was so succinctly spelled out

In that famous speech eight years ago

By one Julia Gillard, PM.



Each and every woman should repeat

On a loop if deemed necessary

Those famous words she did utter

Regarding the leader of the opposition.



        I will not be lectured

        About sexism

        And misogyny

        By this man.



She went on in astounding detail

To recount his many misdeeds

And, to use her perfectly accurate words,

His repulsive double standards.



This address fell on the deaf ears

Of the men who should help lead our country

And even other women as well

Who make excuses for their colleagues behaviour.



Fast forward to more recent times

When a female member of parliament

Offered her resignation from her party

And the male members walked out on her.



Or perhaps when the supposed leader

Turned his back to play on his phone

Ignoring a female member of parliament

As she spoke to those assembled.



If our leaders cannot set an example

Of how to exercise equality of the sexes

What hope this there for society

Unless we remove them from power.



We must address the problem

By using our democratic right

To vote for people who walk the walk

Instead of just paying lip service to change.






The full transcript of Julia Gillard’s 2012 Misogyny Speech can be found here:

https://singjupost.com/julia-gillards-misogyny-speech-2012-full-transcript/?singlepage=1

Thursdays at St Kevin’s

22/11/2020 – Poem a Day Compilation



There’s a church across the road

Where they have meetings in the evening

For all different types of groups

And for all types of different people



The week starts with the men’s group

Advertised as a place of discovery

About what it is to be a man

And talk about things that interest men



They spill out and cross the road to my café

Still discussing what they did on the weekend

And boasting about their child’s achievement

While chowing down on burgers and fries.



Sometimes it’s the youth group

Meeting with the hip, young pastor

Who tries to lead them towards his god

Through games and slices of pizza



Some of them are only their for the friendships

Having no interest or belief in a higher power

And the chance to hang out in the corner booth

Sipping milkshakes bought with minimum wage



Another evening is the women’s group

Full of those once considered yummy mummies

But now slightly past societies idea of prime

But still with so much left to give



Their meeting is later at night than the others

After dinner is done with the family

Sometimes popping in for a glass of wine

Before heading home to do it again tomorrow



But Thursdays are a sober experience

With a mix of people with a common struggle

Who find comfort in the community

They have found in a small church hall



Some are religious but most are just lost

Caught up in a spiral they couldn’t control

Until they encountered the support

That this disparate group could give



They come in for coffee afterwards

In pairs or small groups mostly

With a weight seemingly lifted

From shoulders that have carried so much



Sometimes they come in alone

And stare intently into their coffee

The steam wafting by their faces

Contemplating the entire universe



The usuals have their ups and downs

Appearing with monotonous regularity

Or with a deep-seated sporadic zeal

Intertwined with bouts of reticence



Some of them are in the program

Stepping their way to sobriety

Others just want a safe place

To unburden their aching soul



They may come from different backgrounds

And having different standings in life

But they all share a common goal

And take a common oath



These are friendships born of adversity

Of compassion and empathy

Giving new life to those who seek it

With open hearts and open minds



But not all the stories from St Kevin’s

End happily ever after

Not every torment can be resolved

Nor every would healed



Some fall off the wagon

Some fall from grace

There are no miracles in those hallowed walls

Only tales of the tormented types



As I pour another coffee

I offer service with a smile

The smallest of gestures

For those most in need



Whether they pay with loose changed scrounged

From the backs of couches and under beds

Or with crisp new notes from ATMs

They are all the same to me



They are all starting afresh that night

As they have every other time

Their conscience has drawn them in

The that church hall across the way



I would not give up my Thursday nights

For any other shift in the week

They are my favourite customers

Even when they never say a word



Because it wasn’t all that long ago

I walked a mile in their shoes

And Thursdays at St Kevin’s

Was my respite from the world

Friendship

21/11/2020 – Poem a Day Compilation



I have never been good at friendships

Or relationships with any substance

I seem to always expect too much

Because I give my everything



I’ve had to learn not to give so much

Of myself to other people

Because it’s never returned in equal measure

And I feel myself being drained



I look at people who have friends

Who can drop everything to help each other

And I wonder what that’s really like

To have lives so intertwined



I have grown increasingly accustomed

To doing things on my own

That I have forgotten how to ask, I think

But I also never feel disappointed



I used to keep things bottled up

Because I thought people would think

I am not as strong as I should be

And I never wanted to be seen as weak



Now I do the very same thing

but for very different reasons

I don’t trust people to care enough

To go out of their way for me



I want a friendship of shared experiences

Not of managing expectations

The bar for which drops ever lower

With every day that passes