Hocus-Pocus

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’ 🙂

Off the Rails


 when I go off the rails

I’ll eat strawberry flan and chocolate cheese cake

wear my slippers to the shopping mall

my pj’s to the mail box

play my beethoven string quartets real loud like I did

my elvis records when I was fifteen

when I go off the rails I won’t be nice to mr fydler
just because he’s a senior

nor put the tv down when my kids ask me to

nor empty the dishwasher when

I don’t eat home at night

when I go off the rails

I’ll leave my newspapers just where I’ve read them

blare my horn all morning just to let my neighbors know
I’ve got one too

say what I really get up to when I “ go for a walk “

change my pass word on the internet so my brother-in-law
can’t sneak on

and when I go off the rails

like tootle the train engine

chasing butterflies

in the meadow

I hope no one puts me

back on track

too soon
 

Sailing

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.

Loose and Jiggly

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

hasn’t jelled

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.

Early Morning Walk

On my early walk

I passed a group of musicians

Under the bridge

It sounded like

They were tuning their instruments

In preparation

For a concert

Perhaps a twilight one on the bank

The notes

Bouncing off

each other —Boing boing — like hollow

rubber balls

banjo frogs

amongst the rocks and reeds already

drawing a crowd

Mole

You say

I am a mole

when I write

burrowing

down

to my tunnel

with the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign

on the door;

but I say

I know

no other way

that when I’m done

I emerge

into the light

tiny eyes

blinking

  • pic courtesy of Wikimedia

Went Down to Nazareth

 

 
Went down to Nazareth, back from Bethlehem
to see my old mate Jesus out among his friends
No one had died
was crucified,
they were all good family men
Jesus performed his miracles
for charity now and then.
 
* with a nod to Robbie Robertson

Slasher

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.

Before You

Before you

I always laughed at cartoons

alone,

was astonished before paintings & poems

privately;

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

works inversely:

It is doubled when shared with another.

*pic courtesy of Pinterest by John Currin