A ‘rhymer’ for Sis

A ‘Rhymer’ for Sis

Was luxury having the home back again,

of wolfing down breakfast at 4 a,m

in my dressing gown and jocks;

and my mulligatawny of Jerri and Jane

frazzled in their frocks

remembering, remembering those times

with Mattie in the tent —

of a glorious youth deliriously misspent;

o, the plethora of pens at my side

inviting me to paint them any colours I liked ;

the clatter and clashes of dishes in the sink,

the luxury of noise again, no longer need to think

of that other, ‘my brother’ still deep in sleep.

Walking back and forth

                         between bedroom and desk.

Not caring if later I feel a wreck,

A carnival of lights, the pulse of productivity,

I gobble down the morning, this one’s for me !

& this one’s for you, sis! See you next time.

O, the luxury of writing once again in rhyme.

Sis Reads My Poems

Sis Reads my Poems

She is seven years younger than me.

She is not a reader.

She’s a You Tuber

like my paraplegic mate

also confined to a wheelchair.

‘’’’’’’’’’’’’’’

never read your poetry, John

can you bring me some?

Sure, I say.

I bring her a book of optimistic poems:

‘Hope is the Helium’.

I hope she likes it.

……………………………..

How was it? I say, next time I visit.

it doesn’t rhyme, she says.

real poetry rhymes.

i couldn’t read it.

didn’t you learn anything at school?

Houston, we have a problem.

Catacomb

Catacomb.

Saw you were floundering, said the deacon

like my editor used to say

when I was starting out.

……………..

Don’t be discouraged.

People like to cluster, snug as mandarins.

You have to go up to them,

like Jesus did,

Get to know people.

Reach out.

………………….

I feel emboldened, empowered.

Meet an apiarist, software developer, a leaf whisperer,

bagpipe player,

a ‘refugee’ from the local Pentecostal.

The world opens up —

a catacomb of stories

*picbypinterest

Loony as a lamp post. 1

Loony as a Lamp post

I stood out in the hall like a stobie pole, the lone boomer

among all those millennials and kids.

Maybe it was a mistake coming early, an hour before service

but I was hoping to mingle.

Fat chance.

A deacon came over and had a chat,

the perfunctory greeting then moved off.

Alone again naturally.

I was the cheese that stands alone. On my Pat Malone.

Felt loony as a lamp post

mobbed by moths and midges

my fears, anxieties.

*picbypinterest

Your Service

Your Service.

It is Anzac Day in Oz, a sacred day to honour the fallen

in foreign wars.

Sometimes I feel old enough to have served in WW Two.

Sometimes I look it.

Wherever I go today — service station, shops — people stop

and thank me for my service.

I patiently explain I wasn’t called up for the Vietnam War

nor did I volunteer once I completed my teacher training.

No one wanted to hear, they thanked me anyway.

Finally I gave up. I acknowledged their greeting and slunk back

to the car feeling a bit of an impostor.

*picbypinterest

amuse bouches

amuse-bouches

Legs

stop walking so fast, I say to my legs.

     I can barely keep up

…………….

     Missing Limb

my right pocket vibrates

even when there’s nothing in it.

phantom leg syndrome.

……………………

    Newspaper

you are so impeccably neat.

When you go to bed, do you fold yourself up

like a newspaper?

………………………….

      Bark

from a corner of the clearing

the bark of a butterfly

clearing its throat.

Strepsils? I offer

………………………..

 Car-wash

hope it rains soon,

said the dusty corolla.

I need a car-wash.

Am I Missing Something?

Am I Missing Something?

When I was a kid I never ate my veggies till mum stepped in and said. “What about the starving lids of Africa???”

That waS the clincher.

But I couldn’t see how me eating my veggies would benefit the starving kids of Africa.

Was I missing something?

But you don’t argue with your mama. I made a token effort which pleased mum.

And I felt happy in some obscure way I helped these kids. Were the remains of my meal shipped to some deprived colony ?

…………………………

Forward some sixty years.

I’m at the pub with my mates. It’s a Friday.

There’s me, Marge, churlish Chas and Pete,

Ten minutes later, our Kate rocks up.

I’m drinking a pint of beer. Kate scowls.

“You’ll never finish it, John,” she says,

And it plays out as if scripted.

“Look. It’s a waste,” Kate says mounting her high horse..“ Why don’t you buy a schooner?”

“Coz it’s dearer,” I say. “Costs more for less.”

“I’ll pay the difference,” she says.

“But what if I want more ????? “

“ Oh, you men are impossible, “ she says. “Think of the waste.”

I could mention the starving kids, or beer drinkers, of Africa but think better of it.

Is it a female thing or just a Kate and Mum thing.?

“Stll love you, Kate, : I say, “Cheers.”

Chastened

Chastened.

The hedge looks cowed

chastened, neutered

as though ready for a life of service

rather than one of wilful fecundity.

I feel uneasy around it.

Don’t blame me, I say, for bringing in the lads

with their loppers and buzz saws?

You guys were out of control.

You had to have yr wings clipped.

……………………

Reminds me of the time me and Elspeth

were chastened at the cinema

during a screening of ‘Little Women’.

Okay we were a bit chatty, lovey dovey

and we could have talked quieter

but what the woman said when she marched up to us

as the lights came on, standing over us was a little over the top.

“Let me have a good look at you two, so I know never to sit

anywhere near you at the cinema again !”

We shrank in our chairs, like two schoolkids given a ‘dressing down’.

*picbypinterest

Nibbles 2: Get in 4 Yr Bite

Nibbles 2.

1. Shags and Seagulls

I like my books slim and elegant

like seagulls.

Not big and beefy

like shags.

…………………….

2. I See Your Face Change

I see your face change

as you played the piano.

Did you go into a room?

………………..

3, Bird Bath

A bird came to my bird bath today.

Tides out, he said

and flew away.

…………………..

4. Internship.

Been married thirty years.

Lived with another for ten.

The last for two.

Reckon I’ve done my internship.

I’m ready for you.

It’s Coming Back

It’s Coming Back

My pillows are all skew whiff

when I get up.

I’m a restless pup.

Think it’s coming back.

My Tourette’s.

Laugh a lot lately, loudly.

Even during an ABC show.

“I’ll leave you to your Rachmaninoff. I’ll just rack off.”

[ ‘The Piano’ ]. YOUI and spec saver ads.

Hope the neighbours don’t hear,

Sometimes I pull funny faces in the mirror, soliloquize

like Hamlet but it’s mostly gibberish.

Think my writing — those indomitable, little poems —

are a form of Tourette’s.

*picbypinterest