Under the Influence

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Under the influence

I wrote copiously

From midnight to morning

Dementedly

 

A devil held my hand

An accomplice flayed my side

My mind had an erection

It could not hide

 

All my past spilled out

From the attic of my mind

My pen swept it up

I was writing blind.

 

Such dark energy

Flowed through me

and out through my fingers

its estuary.

 

* have you ever been driven to write in the middle of the night that took hours?

My Madeleine Moment

 

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Try a Madeleine, Marcel says.

It worked for me.

So I do

Opening up the family tree

As far back as my grandma

 

That little old lady

Who sat me on her lap

told me stories

In the park

& always wore widow-weeds

Midnight dark

 

who happily each Xmas,

Chopped the chooks’

heads

off

 

& we’d

watch them

run around the yard

higgledy-piggeldy

in shock.

 

do you have memories of your grandma?

 

  • photo by Alexandre Godreau from Unsplash

That Little Guy Inside My Head

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Every time I go to put down a poem

About my partner or family

That little guy inside my head says,

Hey You Can’t Say That! And when I ask,

Why not? He says. Are You Serious?

You Re3ally Don’t Know? But, of course, I do

But you can’t fictionalize everything.

You take away the bite of authenticity.

So I’m left with another poem I want to share

And I would, I really would but do I dare?

 

 

Still Waters

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Still waters run deep, his mum said

What did she know?. He took the plunge anyway

Swept up in its flow.

Emerged twenty years later,

Three kids, a mortgage, wife in tow.

Was it worth it?

Hell, yeh. Wished he could have let her know.

 

* photo from pexels.com by Gabor Coyamo

 

The Magic Button

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I was locked in a cab once

when the driver

went off

to get a can of petrol

& I wanted

to get out.

My hands flew all over the place.

 

Then the driver when he got back

bent down

& showed me

The Magic Button

at the base of the passenger side door handle.

All you had to do was pop it

& Open Sesame!

 

It’d be good, I thought,

to have a magic button each time

you were locked in

somewhere unpleasant:

 

Like a meeting you couldn’t get out of,

A Xmas get together that had turned ugly

a flight that went on far too long

Or a poem you couldn’t find a way out from.

 

* pic from Wiki-commons

Off With the Fairies

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Where’s Uncle Midge? I asked

one sunny afternoon.

He’s off with the fairies again, aunty said

Then quickly changed the topic.

Off with the fairies? How did aunty know?

Did he leave a note saying he’d be back

By so and so a time?

It was hard to imagine Uncle frolicking with the fairies

if that is what

One does when one is ‘off with them’.

He seemed too weighty and substantial for that.

And anyway where was he off to?

Where does one go when one is ‘off with the fairies’?

I looked out the lounge room window out

To the backyard where uncle often used to wander

But there was nothing — only a pair

Of garden gnomes who seemed to be smiling

As if they had seen something.