Anita + Heydon: Hard Love

Anita + Heydon: Hard Love. For Don, Tnkerr and others

Are they still together , I wonder ,

after all these years ?

Had they cemented their love

after the concrete hardened ?

Are they still living there

in # 510 ?

Is she still the boss ?

[ her name did go first ]

Did she walk all over him

like people do to their names?

Did their love fade ?

Will it outlive the concrete ?

Are they inside now

holding hands on the sofa

[ like their conjoined names

on the footpath ]

watching tv ?

I’d like to go up to the door

and ask ,

Hey ! do Anita and Heydon live here ?

But I stare at the names instead .

One day their love was fresh

as the newly poured concrete .

I’d like to think it still is.

Fighting Fish

Fighting Fish: an Extended Metaphor Poem

You & me

we’re siamese fighting fish

territorial as hell

in this fishbowl

of love.

You say,

I am taking every inch

of yr space;

I say,

huh, you are crowding me

but most of the time

we get on swimmingly

*pic courtesy of pinterest

Secret

SEcret

I sometimes wonder who he was, that man who called at our place a few years after dad had died and mum had moved into a nursing home.

Did mum have a secret life?

We all need someone or something to keep us afloat.

Too Far

After he had stormed off in his Volvo and got home to a torrent of texts, he responded with a fusillade of his own.  It was like a naval battle at close quarters, with no quarter given. Someone was going down.

He got in the last word. That was unusual, Perhaps he had gone too far. He need not have said some of the things he said. One particular insult was, in retrospect, very cutting.

He texted a partial rebuttal before he hit the sack. No response. He texted again. And again. Perhaps he had gone too far. Had she…? O God no. It didn’t bear thinking about.

He buried his head under the pillow and tried to sleep. Eventually he crashed. But the nightmares ….

He awoke at six in the morning. His mobile lit up. His arm flew across to grab it. It was from her. A volley of vitriol.

He had never felt so happy.

Me & Mrs, Crasthorpe

I am going to bed with Mrs. Crasthorpe.

I have been to bed with her before.

It was a most pleasant experience.

Her husband is dead. She is a free woman now.

She is fit and feisty and when she’s breathed in the briny air of Eastbourne, she loosens up and tells me.

She has generously full lips. blonde hair and grey-blue eyes and is the ripe old age of 59.

Nothing unseemly passes between us, however.

Sadly she is an invention of William Trevor.

That Poem Beth Wrote




I remember the poem Beth wrote

about the 31 cents

she took

from Hillman Bailey 111’s open desk

in primary school

and how she made up for it

over half a lifetime later

by leaving change —31c — at the checkout

for the next person to have who might have had a child

who wanted candy

and I thought , yes!!!

that is what I will do with the $250

a children’s literary magzine owes me

for the reprint of four poems

from the early 2000’s.

i can’t be bothered filling out all the forms

so I told them to donate it to a charity

so it goes back into the universe

where my poems came from anyway

Bug Eyed with Happiness


Look at him now

bug-eyed with happiness

evergreen with the springtime

of love.

Remember him bleached & wilting

on that park bench by the bull-rushes?

Well, look who just turned up.

His life is on an upswing.

Whoopee, he says,

as he goes higher and higher,

his love looking on.

O Brittle Love

O brittle love

O brittle love

whatever were we

thinking of?





one careless word

misplaced phrase

put us in a spin

for days





but now in each

other’s arms

we appreciate

our twisty charms





locked in firm,

solid embrace,

steady as stone

we’ve found our place.

New Driver

A new driver

took over his bus

clean,

open-faced,

good-natured,

knew how to swing

a conversation.

Sure, he still liked

his cigs,

the pokies,

but he doesn’t touch

the booze.

Not any more.

He’s high

on Jesus now

and Marge.

And look how she

leans into him

as if she really belongs.

And perhaps this time

she really does.

  • pic courtesy of pinterest by mugichan

Meatloaf: a Mash-up

When I was a horny teen, I sometimes dreamt of finding

paradise by the dashboard lights, but dad wouldn’t let me

have his car so that was that; my big brother who was into

philosophy, said, don’t worry, buddy, heaven can wait;

you don’t know what you’re talking about, I snapped.

I found a gal and we went for it. like bats out of hell.

I didn’t have a big motorcycle, or a belting voice

but I found a gal I hit it off with , so I said to my brother,

hey man, two out of three ain’t bad

*pic courtesy of Wikipedia