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 !
Huddled
in their rumble jackets,
burly,
growly haired,
they waylaid me
at the foot
of the jetty
proselytizing Jesus;
one thrust a pamphlet
in my face
& I waved it away
saying, not interested
& he said
in a thick Russian accent,
why you not interested
& the others milled around;
I dug my hands
into my pockets
& strode up the jetty
wondering what Jesus would make of
these ruffians of the Lord
You could have knocked me over with an albatross
when I heard that four off-kilter waltzes I was listening to
were by Samuel Coleridge Taylor. Hang on, I thought,
my favourite Romantic poet [ sorry Wordsworth] whom
I studied at Uni, who wrote one of the great lyric narratives
of all time, ‘The Rime of the Ancient Mariner’ was also
a classical composer? How did this just become known?
Did he moonlight as a musician, did he snuggle up
to the great composers of his time? But then the announcer,
as if reading my mind, clarified that the composer was
Samual Coleridge Taylor whom his mother named after
the great poet. After I calmed my farm, I settled back
and listened to more of Samuel C.
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.
I don’t like the look of them
these runaways
the way they huddle darkly
in alleys,
in vacant lots amongst
the runtish grass
with their hangdog faces
and surly looks
they’re up to something
but if you edge closer to eavesdrop
they clam up
look at you with bloodshot
insolent eyes
what have they been drinking
smoking?
perhaps they are planning
a revolution
against their colonial masters
the supermarkets.
*
I can’t believe
some days
that I’ve landed
on my feet.
I have to pinch
myself.
My monasticism
was brief
John Malone 