Stan Laurel Syndrome.
At the Blood Clinic I got a call
from my daughter
to give mum a birthday wish
and to please clear up the nice mess
I’d got her into,
I am always putting my foot in things.
It’s a gift.
Life.
One pothole after another.
*pic courtesy of pinterest
Even the Zucchini Cake.
Even the zucchini cake
didn’t lift him;
all our thoughts, poems, stories
we thought
so scintillating,
he mused:
second hand, dead wood,
old hat
stodgy as a stale
haiku
Rip Off.
I want to rip off your clothing,
want to get at yr cranberry and oat cookies,
dunk them in my coffee,
orgasm in my mouth,
like I want to unzip bananas,
tear off the cellophane cover my New Yorker
comes in each week;
why do I always want to unpack things?
I would like to unpack your heart,
see where it went wrong between us,
why it went downhill so doggedly
after the lightness of those early years;
I want to crack open the kernel of existence.
I don’t want to die like Grant Beaumont yesterday
57 years after his three kids disappeared from
a busy suburban beach in Adelaide on Australia Day
not knowing.
The Poems I Have Not Written.
I am outside late at night
writing poems
about the poems
I have not written
the ones I’ve shied away from
because of embarrassment
or timidity
or , worst of all, for fear
that I might offend
and find
somewhat alarmingly
that the poems I have not written
Far outnumber those I have
The ibises have moved along
have gone upmarket
grubbing in the well manicured lawns
of Davis Court.
Something needs to be done.
They look more dowdy than ever.
Reminds me of the time
in the Adelaide Central Market
during an upgrade
when the benches inside Coles supermarket
where I used to wait for my paraplegic friend
to do his shopping
were all suddenly removed;
What the &^%$$%, we all said,
our little community of bench people.
When approached,
management see – sawed for a while
but after constant badgering
a junior manager not yet used to the ropes
of sidestepping,
admitted — wait for it —
the benches were removed to keep
the riff-raff out
What If On a sunny day …….
the sun suddenly blacked out
had a power outage
while you were hanging out
the washing
or the dog was taking you
for a long walk through a maze
of streets?
You can’t fumble for a switch
phone your power provider.
You can’t even use the torch
on your mobile phone
if it’s not on you.
What would you do
if it lasted?
What would
Gone
Admittedly it ranks a little lower
than the mystery of the Marie Celeste.
missing Malaysia Flight A 370
or the disappearance of the Beaumont children
at our local beach on Australia Day
half a century ago
But I still want to know
what happened
to my snazzy blue, gold trimmed vest
I got for Xmas and took off for a shave
on Boxing Day
I only took it off for a minute
so I wouldn’t get it grubby.
Where did it go?
Ramshackle ….
I’ve made the place neat and tidy just ramshackle enough
so it looks lived in
*pic courtesy of pinterest
The Green Gazebo: Remembered
A long time ago
I sat beneath the green gazebo.
Huddled in my ego’s coat
& this is what I wrote:
The Green Gazebo
We sat beneath the green gazebo,
Just me, myself and my ego.
We spoke of very many things,
How grief and joy both have wings.
We had so very much to say
And that is how we spent the day.
Guillotine.
Who devised you?
You look so cute
so placid
so trustworthy
warm wooden seat
on the toilet rim
but when I lift you up
to pee
you don’t stay up
like other toilet seats
but drop down
heavily
like something medieval
a guillotine
ouch !
John Malone 