Travelling in Ambulances

I like to travel in ambulances.

They seem such warm, friendly places

especially the Aussie ones shown on our screens:

‘Paramedics’ and ‘In the Ambulance’.

The ambos are calm, confident and chatty,

the ride authoritative but reassuring;

you feel you’ve landed on your feet

even if you are on your back;

There’s never any drama with these ambulances:

You scoot along niftily, the traffic parting

like the Red Sea for Moses; you’re delivered

efficiently as a package from Australia Post.

* I've never travelled in an ambulance; have you?
* have you an ambulance story ?
*pic courtesy of Wikipedia

Like Pictures on a Wall

I like to read the crazed calligraphy of car tyres

on roads, the angry black swathes of rubber

on bitumen from burn-outs and donuts. What are we

to make of such marks, the road their canvas?

Do we elevate it to ‘outsider art’; Do we call them,

‘hoons’ or ‘street artists’? Do they love the smell

of burnt rubber in the morning as they furiously apply

the high octane brush of machismo? Do they,

I wonder, gloat over their works in the days & weeks

that follow, as if they were pictures hanging on a wall ?





  • pic courtesy of pixabay by Jan-Mollander

The Worst Thing

“What’s the worst thing?” I was asked in my zoom workshop.

“The worst thing? What a writer can do? Let’s see.” I said. “The worst thing is being staid”.

I had to spell the word to make sure they got the right meaning.

“You know what ‘staid’ is?” I asked.

:Yes,” Tamara answered. “Unadventurous. Dull.”

“Correct. And you know where the word ‘staid’ comes from?”

There was silence.

“It’s the adjectival use for the past tense of ‘stay’ which is ‘stayed’ so the worst sin of a writer is being rigid, unadventurous, unchanging, unwilling to take risks, staying the same.”

I let that sink in.

“Living things evolve,” I said. “Let your writing evolve. Take risks. Don’t worry if some don’t take off. Others will hit their mark. But you don’t know if you don’t try.”

We took a short break … and we all came back a little different.





  • do you agree? what do think the worst sin a writer can commit?

Don’t Throw Away Yr Old Stuff

Don’t throw away your old stuff.

You will never have enough

new material to work with;

writing can be tough.





Put away your frail and flaccid.

put it in a book.

And in an idle moment, open it,

lighten up, have a look.





Give it iron, backbone,

a new voice, beat

find it a new form.

Let the old be reborn.





Everything will have its place.

Everything its time

the giddy, garrulous, the gruff.

Don’t throw away your old stuff..

Max and the Great Big Grin

This is Max.

The birthday boy.

He was 10 years old the other day.

Say happy birthday to Max.

He’s my grand-daughter’s dog.

A lovely, well behaved Labrador.

But recently Max did a Houdini.

Somehow he got out and went for a wander.

When my grand-daughter got home she looked everywhere and began to get anxious. Max has ID on his collar but their house abuts an 80 k zone.

Then a woman phoned.

Your dog is in my backyard, she said. He’s fine.

When she picked Max up he had a great big grin on his face.

What you been up to, Max? she asked.

But Max kept mum.

It must have been good because Max slept very soundly that night and that great big grin was still on his face.

The Problem of Stephen King

Stephen King wrote a lot.

If God were as busy as Stephen King

He would not have rested on that seventh day.

Stephen King wrote as many books almost

as God put up stars

but not all of them were good.

None of them were duds

but only a few shine — you know them:

‘The Shining’, for instance, ‘Misery’,

the first third of ‘It’, the novella ‘Stand by Me’.

Maybe that’s all we can hope for —-

in a long and busy life only a few of our works

will shine.

*have I left any good ones out?

*what’s your favourite King book?

*which have you read over and over?

My Walter Mitty V- Neck

Do you like this hi-neck sweater? she says. I’d like to buy it for you for Xmas. But you’ve got to keep it a secret.

I don’t know, he says. I prefer V-necks. Will you buy me a V-neck instead?

What have you got against hi-necks anyway?

You can’t whip your iPhone out or wallet from your top pocket at a moment’s notice, he says.

You’re not Walter Mitty? are you she says. You’re not a gunslinger.

But, but ….

And your top pockets are not holsters, are they? And this is West Lakes Shopping Centre NOT the Wild West!!

Can’t a guy dream? I smile

  • do you know who Walter Mitty is?
  • do you sometimes fantasize about being someone else?
  • do the clothes you wear create fantasies or do you buy certain clothes because they ‘feed’ a fantasy?

Like Hummingbirds on Crack

D,H, Moore wrote

in 2014

that his thoughts buzzed around

‘like hummingbirds

on crack’

but I like to think

of

Wordsworth & his sister Dorothy

wandering aimlessly

as a cloud

through the fields

in 1804

& being seized

by the vision

of the ‘host of golden daffodils’.

my distractions sit

in between

plentiful & constant

as weather;

sooner or later one settles

like a hummingbird

on a flower

pic courtesy of Wiki Commons

One Perfectly Round Ear

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Locked between his headphones

the scraggly haired beachcomber

scours the beach with his detector

its one perfectly round ear

listening to talk-back from the sand

music to his ears :

dollar coins , gold ear rings

or bottle tops , tin cans —

relics of summers empire .

On and on he goes

in his hand a miniature spade

and a blue bucket of hope

 

  • pic by senila ilinykn from Unsplash