It’s 9am on a Saturday
fitbits and friends, lace up
there’s a purring koala next to me
and an adventurous little pup.
The tall eucalypts are singing us a song
as the birds harmonise
but this is our story
the tales of the creek
talking sunshine and flies.
Rain fell over the savannah
as I painted him with my hand
falling from the darkening bark
ink pooled at my weary feet
king mufasa has left us, shouts
igniting the sad purple skies.
A Kenning Poem.
day dreamer
island roamer
avid walker
woodland stalker
epic snorer
street viewer
taxi driver
story teller
wine drinker
constant thinker
… my old man.
Robin had it right,
to smile at the world
with tears of laughter,
dancing with all his might.
He reached out his hands
and skipped along the road
he only showed us kindness
he was a boy inside a man.
So laugh like no ones listening
and dance likes no ones watching
bring happiness to your world
find you inner netherworld.
Be the change you want to see
only then will you be free.
Today I am featuring a guest post from a closet-poet @kazooey13
“The Student”
I’m looking at a book that I’m supposed to read,
But my mind keeps wandering away.
Though I turn the pages over and over,
Words are refusing to stay.
My mind races. How many hours has it been?
Since I began this futile foray.
I sigh. There is nothing more can be done.
I guess I’ll be bullshitting my way.
"Gordon Bennett!" smash, thud, bang we're all laughing rustles in the wood. Victor Meldrew grumpy man "I don't believe it" waving with his book. Playground greetings "Wasss-uuup" french block windows for checkin' out our looks. "It'll be alright on the night" top of the pops and pizza hut salad goin' down in my neighbourhood.
A stormy stench lingers
the rain has begun to pound
the eucalypts have buckled
the roars have stirred the ground.
Flinders Street is drowning
the locals are stifled and hot
the koalas have retreated
seeking shelter at a stop.
Oops they did it again:
Man-eating lizard people
dressed in corporate suits and ties
appear on Capitol Hill.
I don’t like what I see here
an underclass of laneways
cries from the lost and forgotten;
society’s castaways.
I want to go back to daisy chains,
bursting MJ from my walkman
alongside the River Bourne
whilst writing over my hands.
I always wanted to travel,
see what the world had to show.
Now I’m painted Brunswick Street
finding love over Milo.
The greatest fear is to be lost
we need see the bigger picture
as thunder stirs above our heads
purple lightening, it will feature.
The last time I saw double…
Oh my, was I in trouble.
My eyes rolled inside my head
I don’t remember what I said.
I wished my lungs to keep breathing,
but my heart was over beating.
I only remember one small thing;
jager-bombs won’t give me wings.
San San Poem:
She stood upon Chelsea’s streets
thinking of yesterdays ghosts
as they age like fine wine.
Stories are where her ghosts meet
to share wine and a Sunday roast
drawn on an ageing page.
Chelsea is her family’s spine
Chelsea is her stage.
An A-W found poem built from Bill Bryson's 'Mother Tongue' index. Anglo-Saxon barbarian tongues cursed tablets of double entendres. Elizabethan, faggots in gravy graffiti Henry V. Identity; Johnson and Americanisms kinship finds literary masters. Meanings; natural history of our language, private language. Questions rhythms, rhymes, Shakespeare, so trust an Englishman. Universal language vulgates Westminster, Wales & Washington.
Charlie Ann Alford 
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