Sprawling winter clouds
scattered and undecided
as a white-gown bride
Image: Carillon by the lake Burley Griffin, Canberra.
Advertisements
Category / Unplugged
Family portrait
If voices had colour,
mum’s would be yellow
for she was mellow
saying hello
at the doorway
chases ma blues away—
school wasn’t easy
being picked on as measly
yet for me she was there
we had to go nowhere.
If voices had colour,
dad’s would be black
dark, deep, bleeding slack
with a sense of hollow
he’d always wallow
in games after work
and want braised pork
thus well-fed he was
cushioned by his arse
while mum, she’d pass.
Morning
down the winding road
trees snaking up to the skies
paving peace on path
Covered
Shroud of mystery
the city undercover
a siege by nature
Photo: Foggy day by Lake Ginninderra, Canberra
Same path
I walked down the path
same as every day
trees waving arms
lake rippling
feet dragging
mind full.
Perhaps I shouldn’t’ve lost my temper
last night in bed—
reading was no crime
I should’ve obliged
turning over
not turning off.
Perhaps I could make it up tonight
a nice dinner
spaghetti and meatballs
swimming in starchy sauce
I’d pick a lamp as well
to liven our abode.
Perhaps I should lighten up more
take it easy,
yell less; listen often
“how was your day?
pray tell, honey”
for I care what I hear.
Perhaps I too should get a book
keep occupied
and read together
as Ted and wife
world knowing poet
wannabe aide.
I walked down the path
just as every day
feet dragging
mind full—
eyes blind,
ears dumb.
