I fractured my funny bone
on the bedpost overnight
got into a squabble with myself:
you’re wrong.
No, I’m right !
when a CRAAACK
splintered my sleep
and a SCREEEEAM
split the night
I fractured my funny bone
on the bedpost overnight.
Now I can’t pull a pun,
or even crack a joke
or wink a double entendre
I’m a sad sort of bloke.
You’ve just had two hours of chemo
and an injection of white blood cells.
And you’re jumping out of yr skin
Where’s the party ? you say.
Where’s the party?
But there’s no party.
There’s only the house meeting.
That will do, you say.
You can turn that into a party.
Awkward Not Balanced.
Can I tell you my dream, she says,
when talk turns to flowers.
What I really like
is a bouquet,
with one long sprig off to the side.
Awkward not balanced.
I like my poems like that too:
eye-catching,
with fascist suns,
ladies with tachycardic eyes,
a girl with incarnadine hair,
poems with flourish,
quirk
like Tintin’s quiff.
Without My Eyes.
I’m going out today
without my eyes
seeing without hunting
for an image to click
to post on my blog.
I’m going out today,
fresh, unprepared,
no clunky phone in my top pocket,
without my camera eyes,
just to see and hold,
and like the kind fisherman,
then release.
Maybe it was the Meds.
Maybe it was the meds
but I felt a little trippy
so when the nurse leaned over and said.
we’ll give your cannula a good flush in a minute
I said, O wow! It’s been a long time since I’ve had my cannula flushed
& the room broke up.
Rhianna and Jacob joined in the fun.
It was that kind of treatment room.
Don’t worry.
We all have our heads screwed on
but with the lids a little open
to let the silly in.
Hiding Place.
Was wondering where the cat snoozed sunny afternoons
when I turned the hose on some groggy –looking gardenias
in a cloistered corner of the yard
and found out
as a cat bounded out of the bushes into the clearing
as if she were scalded
Kiss Curl .
I love the way the wind
plays with my hair
when I whisk along the road
windows wound down
twirls my comb-over
into a kiss curl
like Bill Hayley in the fifties.
Rock around the clock, baby.
*pic courtesy of pinterest
The Butterflies of my Mind.
I was out among the fields, here one more time
Vigorously out hunting the butterflies of my mind
All the poems, the stories that had given me the slip
And would it seem once more; I had to be quick.
All the bright, beautiful things just beyond my net
Any moment now I’ll snare one; damn! Not just yet
Ramshackle ….
I’ve made the place neat and tidy just ramshackle enough
so it looks lived in
*pic courtesy of pinterest
This is Shrek.
Say hello to Shrek.
As you can see this Shrek is NOT a fictional character
but real flesh and blood.
Nor is he green or ogre-ish.
Shrek works at the Stunned Mullet,
the best fish and chip shop in the suburbs
cooking and serving customers.
His real name is Srikanth and comes from India.
Workers at the Hilton near the airport where he used to work
contracted his name to ‘Shrek’ in 2016.
Srikanth loves it and has been called ‘Shrek’ ever since.
He is warm and amiable and has a wicked sense of humor.
When you get served by Shrek it brightens your day.
John Malone 