My Lonsdale Cap

My Lonsdale Cap.

I found my Lonsdale cap.

It was scrunched between the passenger seat and door.

But it’s okay now.

I’ve pummelled out the dents.

I wish it were that easy to pummel out mine.

Life isn’t a car crash.

It’s a series of dings

and plain old wear and tear.

My car smooched a green fence post once

while doing a tight turn. Some of the green glows

through the matte grey like an early Spring.

It’s bright outside today, high UV reading.

I’m putting on my snazzy Lonsdale cap

so I don’t get sunburn

& my kiss curl doesn’t get blown around

too much.

Sidekick

Sidekick.

I’m walking down the corridor

in my zig zaggy socks

just me and my sturdy side kick.

I admire how slender, sturdy he is.

I like his bling though it’s not the sort

I would covet.

His face I like, its open and informative,

the moving lights that run across his lips

showing someone is home,

that I’m being monitored.

Hey! I’m here for you.

Walk on brother,

he says.

Ramshackle

Ramshackle ….

I’ve made the place neat and tidy just ramshackle enough

so it looks lived in

*pic courtesy of pinterest

Water Towers

To the uninitiated , mysterious as

the moon monoliths in 2001 ;

pensioned off light-houses ? a giant’s

apartment house or a giant

phallus set in cement , a reminder

to the young colony —

populate or perish ? they come in

all shapes and sizes ; rise

suddenly from the landscape like

mushrooms with their long

stalks and caps yet exist singly —

it is houses that cluster

around them ; scattered around the

countryside they are tall

as wheat silos though their bellies

seem full of water

but why windows — for fish to peer

through ? or doors — what if

someone should break in ? only the tops

hold water , I am told ,

like a water tank on a stand ; largely

redundant , now they are

being sold off like unwanted churches ;

yet I consider them ,

their brief reign ; for me they always

held more than water

• pic courtesy of Wikipedia

Careless Love

They look like

miniature Xmas trees

growing carelessly

on the side of the road

their leaves plush

with pollen

Xmas trees for bees

Morning Prayer

Thank you, Lord

for teeth

to rip into

this egg and bacon muffin

for taste buds

to savour it

& for the senior’s coffee

To wash it down

to fuel me up

for the morning ahead

Axle: a children’s poem

There’s a miniature submarine lurking

at the bottom of the aquarium .

It is smooth and black with feathery gills .

It is an axolotyly .

We call him Axle , of course .

Most of the time he just hangs around

amongst the water weeds .

Perhaps he’s lonely and depressed .

But every now and then

he rouses himself

and cruises around as if on patrol .

The other fish give him right of way .

Perhaps he thinks he really is a submarine

on an important mission ,

keeping the waters safe for democracy ,

for instance .

Sometimes when he cruises past the sides

of the tank

I give him the thumbs up .

It seems to give him a lift .

• pic courtesy of wikipedia