All the Well Ordered Books.
All the well ordered books
behave themselves just like chooks
leaping down with squawk and cluck
and soon begin to run amuck
scrambling around from door to door
for crumbs of knowledge upon the floor
Was it worth it?
Hell, yeah.
I got to drive during JJJ’s hottest 100 of 2022..
Got to hear the First Nation’s cover of Cold Play’s ‘Yellow’,
a wild, gritty banger
by King Stingray
the didgeridoo barking like camp-dogs.
Eat your heart out, Chris Martin.
I got to see a quilt of sparrows whirring across a blue denim sky
in a 45 degree tilt.
Wild and acrobatic.
Most of all I got to break free,
like those sparrows,
like King Stingray
tearing it up for freedom, togetherness
like the house parties all across the nation on this special day
with forty more tracks still to go,
and I’m in my car,
one part of me driving, the other dancing to the beats.
Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.
I hope they pay the ferryman.
I hope they pay him good.
For all his journeyings. all his toing and froings,
miles notched, hours accrued.
over the last four days.
He is resting now.
ferry in dry dock.
It is a busy time of the year. but what do you do?
You do anything for yr kids.
I hope they pay the ferryman.
And they will. Ten fold.
With love and affection.
Every now and then
piqued with curiosity
I like to visit blogs I used to visit regularly
to see what they are up to,
how well they’re doing:
it’s like gate-crashing a party:
everyone knows everyone else and it’s the same people
there the last few times you checked;
the mood buoyant,
rowdy, rambunctious,
the repartee rapid,
no awkward silences;
you are well out of the loop;
you’re not dressed right anyway
& you barely speak the same language.
Do you dip your toes in, make a comment?
Perhaps not.
Your own blog is doing well enough,
and may be just as intimidating to others
as these are to you.
Those rosemary & garlic sausages
we bought
to ‘beef up’ the barbie
in case the eye fillets weren’t enough
were beginning
to stink out the fridge:
‘the beasts revenge’ ;
so when we took them to your place and you declared
your barbie was ‘lamb intolerant’
we hit a snag
so when I said, I’m going to have to put them in your fridge
I thought you would say,
my fridge is ‘lamb intolerant’
but you never did;
in spite of those setbacks
we had a pretty good evening
though when we left we forgot to take home
the snags
so we hope you enjoy them
in one form or another
and no, we do not need them back
John Malone 