Circles around God

.

On my way to the letterbox

I met this god

who knew me.

So I ran

.

in fear because I

didn’t even know

myself the way he looked

through me.  Stone

.

gods stare at nature un-

moved so I didn’t

run to them.  Money

gods take.  All the

.

pleasure gods leave

me starving for

more and more… I want

more.  So I keep

.

running around

the block knowing

he’s beside

the letterbox.  Knowing one

.

day I’ll realise

this is stupid

stop and say

“Umm… Hi”

.

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Extending the Life of Outdoor Furniture

.

it hardly seems fair

this piece of outdoor

furniture demands

my attention on a day like today

the first sun

in two weeks

wind howling

to play with that kite

we’ve used once

my son jumping

to bounce on the trampoline with me

until our heads turn into electricity

but the gaping

grains of cypress whine louder than the wind

.

the skin on my hands would love to be bathed

in oil – to look and feel like last year

instead they’ll smell

like turps for the next two days

next time

I sit on this bench I expect

it to write me a better

poem

than this one.

.

Haibun

I haven’t posted much recently with much of my poetic energy going into stretching  myself at a poetry course at Queensland Writers Centre.  Last month I wrote this haibun (prose and haiku) from a real experience.

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Saturday 4:30am The front door bashed through my sleep with the weight of an arm that knows how to handle itself.  Track suit pants struggle down the hallway as another knock took care of my remaining grogginess.  The cold air hit my bare chest as I opened the door to the law stood cold with the kid from up the street.  Morning sir sorry to wake you and make you stand here in the cold but Jonny here is charged by his Dad for trespassing on his property and stealing his bike.  There is obviously a breakdown of relationship we understand you’re aware of already.  An adult needs to sign for bail and you’re the closest to a parent he’s got.  He’s to be at children’s court on Tuesday morning.

.

a father’s bike

resting under his house

– cold street air

.

pebbles in coffee

.

Sunday morning

a cold sleepy grey

forgetting –

we turned the calendar to Spring last week – inside

the man speaks about Momentum

on his TV show – a few grey pebbles rattle

in his words of hope and God loves us

again – I’ve made a coffee

too bitter – my boy’s

legs trundle his tricycle up and back

each time he passes my seat – he sings ‘bye’

a single drop of grey from the heavens

joins my coffee

a long journey

.

his curious little hands pick up pebbles

from the garden

now they rattle in my coffee

along with the drop of heaven

it tastes sweeter

.

loving haiku

I’ve been listening to podcasts of Haiku Chronicles by Alan Pizzarelli and Donna Beaver.  These little Japanese poems amaze me more and more.  Here are another couple of my attempts at the short little haiku:

.

dusty corner

of a busy warehouse

butterfly…  sweep.

.

sitting in traffic

watching the flight of a crow

on a low grey sky

.

telephone wires

connecting –

possum’s nightly walk

.

 

.

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