Butterflies of my Mind

 

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

A Hail of Taxis

 

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.

The Elizabeth Taylor School of Short Story Writing

 

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.

The Lean

 

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

The One No One Wanted

 

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.