Cravings

I am possessed by a savoury craving

dominating my every thought, telling

me to have something salty, or,

is it spicy – no it’s salty.

My concentration has gone from this conversation

as she talks comfortably about the day.

My eyes must look like they are walking into

the back of my head searching the pantry

for liberation from this yearning,

but when did I last look in the pantry

and are my eyes vacant?

Yesterday was my last foray for food

and since then more has been added.

Marvellous treats must await me in…......

her narrative has stopped,

her look tells me to be aware,

as I panic for a reply.

“Eureka!” is my response as I dive into our

larder to forage for an Oxo cube.

Boiling water in my favourite mug,

a cube now dissolving, I sit down in contentment

puzzled at her furrowed brow.

Shine

Night sky and stars, dogs at my feet

They look to me, I look for something else

Wishes, dreams, desires, all shine in the dark

The strongest shine in the light of day

A Boy With A Dozen Red Roses

Their scent filled my breath with wonder,

the day I held a dozen red roses in my hands.

My eyes closed, lips smiled as I held them high to my face.

Nothing has ever been more fragrant, since I breathed in their beauty.

A boy with a dozen red roses in his hands.

I have seen beauty to make a man stop

and ponder the artful ways of nature.

Watched whales breach, the mother play with her cub

and listened to their song.

Smelled the alluring curve of a woman's slender neck

and felt aroused by the taste of her.

But nothing has seemed so wonderful as that day

I held a dozen red roses in my hands.

Their bloom is so full and wholesome, their petals delicate yet strong.

like a full bodied Spanish dancer, her skirts flowing in layers,

her beauty beguiling all who watch her body move.

But to a boy, the rose is a mother's beauty,

a fragrance that is comfort and joy.

It is nature's bounty, and abundance

that only seems natural to one so young.

That boy with a dozen red roses.

Net Curtains and Chauser’s Adjectives

Beautiful, picturesque, charming, pleasant,

delightful, sunny Cotton Tree whose tide

flows out exposing creamy sand flats as

pelicans preen themselves in readiness for spring

and cormorants steal the fish off the end of your line.

I feel immediately refreshed, exhilarated,

rejuvenated, revived and stimulated,

as I sit down to take in its

natural beauty, to wonder on the

magical nature of this great country.

It is a poet’s delight, Chaucer would

be in ecstasy as he breathes in the fresh air

tinged with rolled tobacco cigarettes.

Three not so eager fishermen,

non casting their lure,

hands are busy rolling the next lung buster.

But nothing could disturb my mood.

They look like nice fellows, like a trio of

likely lads who would regale you in

conversation at the surf club bar.

Each one is puffing in unison

as though there is safety in numbers.

I puff, you puff, we all puff together.

I imagine their lungs and they remind me of my

mum’s net curtains and their cough of my long

gone not so old teacher who would

also regale you with wit and repartee.

Beautiful, picturesque, charming, pleasant,

delightful, sunny Cotton Tree where I feel

immediately refreshed, exhilarated,

rejuvenated, revived and stimulated.

Not Here, But Everywhere

You are not here, there is a

distinct lack of your physical self

in this home, in this bed and in my life,

but this house has you in every corner,

on every chair, in all places at all times,

even in my tool cupboard.

I see you at the computer,

in the kitchen dancing to Michael Buble,

I see you cuddle and kiss the children

and pick up their things from the floor.

You are in Bali painting Steiner's colours,

but you are here reminding me at

every turn that you are my wife, my twin, my ghost

I feed the dogs standing to count the stars

looking back at our home watching you

in the children's area tidying up their

enthusiastic mess, curling your hair

around your ear as you bend to rescue

Little Leo from the clutches of Shredder

I do not miss you because you are

in the faces of our children

and in all the subtle nuances in my life

as all my subtleties stem from you.

But now I go to sleep and

I want to feel your warmth,

so come home safe to me

and fill this house with you.

Willow Tree

Tell me willow tree,

do you remember me?

The boy who sat under your shade,

a fishing rod in hand.

Casting my worm and float.

Enticing a perch from farmer Gibb’s pond.

Those sweet sun filled afternoons.

Not a care nor a worry,

as I watched your branches sway.

I see them now touch the water’s edge,

sending ripples on the glass surface.

A caress for your giver of life.

Your soft branches look so gentle.

Inviting me to sit by your side.

Willow tree! You do remember me!

Yapping at the Stars

I walk my wheely-bin up the laneway,

as my neighbour’s dog yaps at me.

I place my wheely-bin next to the kerb

ready for the garbage truck,

as my neighbour’s dog yaps at me.

I walk down our picture post card laneway

back to our House and Garden home,

as my neighbour’s dog yaps at me.

The stars are out, the Southern Cross is in full sight,

the Yapping Dog constellation beside it,

yapping at it from the safety of its own back yard.

It is not morning and I am not getting into my car,

as I picture my neighbour’s dog yapping at me.

I am not tending the gardens by my neighbour’s fence

as his dog yaps at me.

I imagine my neighbour’s dog yapping at me

ten times more than it actually does yap at me.

My neighbour thinks it’s cute.