The Girl Who Loved Rain.
I remember the girl in year nine
who used to stare through the window
at the rain
when the class was doing silent reading.
They would all be reading their books
but she would be reading the rain,
its steady rhythms
stroking her as if
she were a cat.
*pic courtesy of Unsplash
I’m glad I got to go to the outhouse by the sea.
I got to see the whales go by, far below me,
those sleek black submarines in the golden light
dozens of them dozens, an armada of might
dark, silent mysterious, they forged through the waves,
out through the headlands, to a distant sea.
I’m glad my bladder was full, got to take a pee.
And when I got back, and fell back to sleep,
I could see them still, moving through my dream.
*pic courtesy of pinterest
I wake up suddenly
stunned and panicky
like a ‘roo caught in the headlights
of a big rig
an eighteen wheeler
tunneling thru the darkness.
My senses are all rinsed.
I leap out of bed
into the hysterical light of morning
pour myself a coffee
settle back into my little
skew whiff home.
- pic courtesy of pinterest
You know how you get scrambled eggs, right ?
Well I had scrambled dreams.
I forgot my meds. That was the trouble.
All my dreams were Neanderthal.
Batty, belly up, R Rated.
My Id running amuck.
Skeletons spilling out of the closet.
Onto the sidewalk.
Under the lamp-post
where passersby could gawk.
It was one of those nights.
a boat shaped vessel with room for one
when you clamber into a bath you are captain, crew, passenger
rolled into one
yet baths require no special skills
nor do they stand on ceremony; in this they are like some beaches:
dress is entirely optional
entering a bath you enter a topsy-turvy world where water fills the craft
not surrounds it — though baths will never sink
head back, you settle down but are going nowhere: baths have no destinations nor sails
yet people have been known to drift off in baths emerging rosy-skinned
and luminous as if fresh from a voyage
*pic courtesy of Pinterest
[in honour of National Cookie Day in the U.S]
I used to give my Sydney Morning Heralds
To the Cookie Man
for his customers to read;
they’d devour the weekend papers with their cookies and cappuccinos
of the Harbor City they’d visit one day;
and I’d go away feeling
I had spread some wealth:
the Saturday supplements:
Food, Fashion, Film, Fun —
The Land of Plenty
& the Cookie Man would give me
the thumbs up;
Then one day
He was gone,
The whole edifice had crumbled
Like a cookie.
Now my Sydney Morning Heralds are looking
for a new home
& I miss the cookie man