The Stan Laurel Syndrome

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

Rip off

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.

Poems I Have Not Written: Archive

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

Third Bite of the Cherry

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

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

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?

The Green Gazebo

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.

  • pic courtesy of pinterest

Guillotine

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 !