I was out among the fields, here one more time
Vigorously out hunting the butterflies of my mind
All the poems, the stories that had given me the slip
And would it seem once more; I had to be quick.
All the bright, beautiful things just beyond my net
Any moment now I’ll snare one; damn! Not just yet
Not the first cab off the rank
Nor the last cab to darwin
Nor the one de niro drove in taxi driver
Not even the big yellow taxi that joni mitchel drove to the top
Of the charts
But a little black and white number which took me to the icu
Late in the night the day juno’s heart packed it in.
Autumn.
Time again
to sow my thoughts into
the furrows of my mind
Time again to let them lie
Gathering the clothing
Of language and plot
Growing richer and stronger
Till pushing upwards
They blossom and flower
Upon the page.
Stories.
Spring stories.
To harvest and share.
I have a tendency to lean
Towards the left
When standing,
A condition acquired during
My teenage years.
Lately under treatment
I lean more towards
The centre
But wobble at times
Either side
My children hope
The condition
Will right itself
Before too long
It was the one no one wanted
The last one on the shelf
The one no one wanted, I didn’t
Much want it myself.
But there were no others
So I had little choice
The one that all had shunned
I purchased myself.
And Oh it filled the bill
To the nth degree
So the one no one wanted
Was the right one for me.
John Malone 