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.
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
second hand, dead wood,
stodgy as a stale
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
The Poems I Have Not Written.
I am outside late at night
about the poems
I have not written
the ones I’ve shied away from
because of embarrassment
or , worst of all, for fear
that I might offend
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.
management see – sawed for a while
but after constant badgering
a junior manager not yet used to the ropes
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
or the dog was taking you
for a long walk through a maze
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?
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
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?
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.
- pic courtesy of pinterest