The Castle

Somewhere

Somewhere remote

somewhere bespoke

for those

who practice civility

a castle you can row out to

a stronghold

of equanimity

no messy emotions

no urge to outdo

a castle with a billy goat

nestled in a sea

of robin egg blue.

pic courtesy of Pinterest

Wish I Could Come Up with Something

I wish I could come up with something,

I really do.

I mean how long can it take for inspiration to strike?

Do I have to stand outside in an electrical storm under the tallest Norfolk pine to be struck?

Metaphorically speaking, of course.

I know slouching around doesn’t help or reading Beth’s poem on Cheetos and working up an appetite for snack foods won’t do it either.

Maybe if I played with my Rubik’s Cube like Maro does might do it — loosen up a few brain cells.

I’m desperate.

Perhaps if I go outside and wail beneath the full moon like uncle did before they took him away.

God, there must be something.

They still do ECT, don’t they?

That’s what happened to uncle. He saw God, angels, the whole shebang then settled down among the fairies at the bottom of the garden.

But he found something. He wasn’t wracked anymore. He found quiescence. If you got that, you don’t need anything else.

Shit, did I just write all that?

Have You Ever Noticed?

Have you ever noticed how placid an ad becomes

when you put a cow in it?

Farmers too when they milk?

All my good ideas came to me while I was milking a cow,

the American painter Grant Wood

declared.

Have you ever noticed how much more pleasant

‘The Farmer Wants a Wife’ is

compared to the bitchy, sniping

‘Married At First Sight’?

We should all pat a cow in the morning, hug a tree

if we are to start the day right.

Riot-prone areas, prisons too should be equipped with cows

their melodious moos

soothing the seething masses.

Bovine Buddhas

emblems of placidity

a state we aspire to in these troubled times.

A Quiet Place

Whitby_harbour

We’ve come to a quiet place

a harbor

beyond the squalls and storms

of yesterday

where nerves frayed

we tore each other’s hearts

away

a quiet place

a harbour

to berth our frail vessels

a good place to stay

 

  • photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

King

 

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I’m out the back writing, throwing back a cab sav,

The royal purple trumpet flowers bowing before me.

It’s not a big backyard.

But it’s mine.

I can enter my own little world if I want to.

Don’t have to answer stupid questions about my failings.

Fuck that.

There’s a balmy sea breeze blowing

And I’m reading an article by Peter Schjeldahl

Who barfed in the bright green bushes when he came home

From a college party.

The vomit was bright orange, the sky a pastel blue.

He was amazed at the colour. Later he became an art critic.

I wrote a post about barfing in the bushes, the one before this

But hardly anyone read it.

And no, I’m not TRASHING it. It’s good !

I could drink the whole bottle of wine out here

And forget about the bushfires, the bloody bushfires and the threat of war again.

Fuck that too.

It’s good out here. So good.

I’m king in my board shorts and tank top and bare feet

under a crown of blue sky

kicking back the shit

putting it in this poem.

Perhaps I will drink the whole bottle.

Cheers.

 

The Floodgates

800px-Waves_at_the_flood_control_gates

This is how it starts.

You bring up that phone call

At the Jewellers.

It could have waited, you say.

It was important, I snap. You have no sympathy.

Tit for tat.

You go on about my clothes on the back-seat

Of the car.

I go on about your obsession with tidiness.

Stop, can you hear it? You say.

Hear what?

That creaking.

We both listen.

Ahhh, the floodgates, I say.

Let’s not go on with this, you say.

We give each other the peace sign.

Hug.

 

The Lake

pexels-photo-448752.jpeg

Mountains loom over it.

Dragonflies dawdle overhead.

A light breeze blows quilting the surface.

Two kayaks lie on the banks of the boathouse

red prows nudging the water.

An old railway dam steam trains

Once guzzled from.

Now I drink its tranquillity

Store it against the coming week.

 

*have you a tranquil place you go to for replenishment or a piece of music you listen to or picture you look at?

Faith

Folsom_Dam_Release

 

I pulled aside the blinds

that occluded my mind

Sunshine rushed in like

Water down a spillway

 

It felt so good, so holy

I knew I’d be okay

If I pulled aside the blinds

let in the sun’s rays