It is the birthing time of morning
when the hocus-pocus starts:
the cackling of the kookaburras
over the latest joke,
the sardonic salut of the crows
from the peppercorn tree,
the slap of ‘The Sunday Mail’
on the driveway,
and that text from next door:
‘Hey! You awake? Like to come and visit?
Be my Sunday Male’ 🙂
In the old days — I’m talking ’95 — I did drafts.
My notebooks don’t lie, Thirteen sometimes of the one poem
and it still turned out crap. There’s something to be said
for inspiration, how it comes light and easy like a breeze,
and if you catch it, you’re sailing.
Every time I go to a family gathering and there’s new faces
in the crowd
I’m expected to trot out a few
of my crazy stories
like the time I was struck blind at midday;
but it’s early in the evening
& the crowd
isn’t well oiled
& you have to go in cold.
You feel like calling out, Where’s the Warm-Up Act
to make folks loose & jiggly.
Every comedian needs a warm-up act.
It’s a tough gig working a group that’s cold.
No one should be asked that.
Even the Warm-Up needs a Warm-Up.
Why do people I hang out with
all have perfect marriages?
No fall outs.
Just Bill & Coo.
Sweethearts of the Rodeo.
Never a false step.
Never foot in the mouth.
How do they do it?
On my early walk
I passed a group of musicians
Under the bridge
It sounded like
They were tuning their instruments
For a concert
Perhaps a twilight one on the bank
each other —Boing boing — like hollow
amongst the rocks and reeds already
drawing a crowd
I am a mole
when I write
to my tunnel
with the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign
on the door;
but I say
no other way
that when I’m done
into the light
pic courtesy of Wikimedia
I’m jealous of the scratching post.
Whenever she comes inside, cranky from some failed endeavour or an altercation with the crows and attacks the scratching post with feline ferocity like the slasher to the shower curtain in ‘Pyscho’, I’m envious.
It sure beats walloping the wall and pummeling the pillow when things get fractious or ululating expletives to the night sky.
Is it too much to ask: a scratching post for Xmas? Man-sized , of course.
I always laughed at cartoons
was astonished before paintings & poems
but now I pass the magazine to you,
the one with the crazy cartoons.
Look at this, I say, & you do and smiles
span our faces & rumble our bellies
like little laughing Buddhas;
Trouble shared is trouble halved,
my mother used to say — but Joy
It is doubled when shared with another.
pic courtesy of Pinterest by John Currin