Even life’s a slope
stay upright, and do what’s right
and like pines you’ll thrive
Growing
Category: Unplugged
The companion
In that town of men
there lived this boy
slim and pale
though worthy of Yale
he was nice to everyone
family though he had none
walked his dog all arvo
a black spaniel so bravo
came from a slaughterhouse
became more like a spouse
bounding eagerly through the town
bearing his name tag like a crown
such was the dog’s devotion
to the boy whose only motion
was to share his milk and cookie
in rearing though he was a rookie
knew that two packs on supermarket haul
was the secret to a life without a brawl
the talk of town they remained for long
the lovable guide dog and its blind boy
Stay
Like dregs of coffee
in an empty pot—lingers
on trees, autumn sun.
Photo: Sunkissed trees near Lake Ginninderra, Canberra
Choices
Garbage bags are trash
and so are candy wrappers
delectable coffee k-cups are as well
oh, but wait—not the to-go cups
Bottled water’s plastic, mate
and less is more since it’s waste
but wine’s mine, and that’s fine
glass breathes better—now don’t you pine
Think lean, mean, and buy in bulk
for killing fields are war scenes
they’ll forever haunt as packages
the convenience buyers—those savages
Landfilling bags or recyclable tins
beans from scratch or scratched open lentils
is one friendlier, healthier than the other
questioning, my friend—it’s just the first step
Fine wine indeed
Like wine was our relationship
those mellow tones at the beginning,
deep and divine flavours soon evoking
it could cut through all bitterness
each sip unlike the one before
left us both whining for more
every day we cherished our prize
drowning sorrows in sweet shiraz
our conversations revolved around it
giving expecting voices a chance to rise
halfway through lightheaded we were
having said too much already to take
shoving pizza helped calm the nerves
a temporary solution for aching insides
like plaster made of oil and water
only so good before it slides all over
for unlike ever before we’d talked
and what a shame to stop progress
now past that intoxication point
and so we plunged on, on and on
draining the last of the fine wine
inhaling like oxygen under water
exhaling grape breaths of regret
oh, those eight servings of wine
gone without even lasting four
laid out flaws in plain vain sight
the gluttony, greed, hidden hatred
ending the mighty fight for high
all that remained, of wine, of us
was a broken bottle and a slit wrist
The Chaos Within 