That old man

Alone upon the mountainside
Our hero hid and cowered
Born of Dickensian yuletide
He persona was rather dour.
His sandy hair was stiff as straw
His hat feeble and frail
His feet cemented to the floor
cold on his mountainside jail.
Glaring down into the valley
He chided his creators
Captivated infinitely
Upon a sea of haters.
Alone upon the mountainside
Our hero watched and wondered
Weathered, beaten, and cockeyed
What life had he plundered?

NaPoWriMo 2017 8/30 – Tea Cup

There’s a teacup under my bed.

I bought it on a damp high street,
when the days smiled
and our light repelled
oncoming clouds.

You said I was weird.

So when summer ribbons
were moth-eaten
and flowers faded away,
that little teacup stayed.

It watched from the basket,
when lovely red sandles
were discarded,
onto your thick head.

And the purple pen you gave me,
the ink had run
dead.

I love that little teacup,
that sleeps under my bed.

NaPoWriMo 2017 7/30

Thirteen Reasons why Today didn’t suck.

One
Autumn night, well played
A fresh to start the day.
Two
Waking up to the big blue,
is an Aussie’s Paradise.
Three
Ding Ding, the café bell
Madam Rosa knows me well.
Four
Coffee beans and toasted bacon,
Taste buds have awoken.
Five
City heels find their strut
music on, iPhone plugged.
Six
Happy chaos on the street,
nods to those we meet.
Seven
Chocolate Orange Mocha
meant good vibrations at the lockers.
Eight
Smiles and conversations,
we found our destination.
Nine
“Here’s your boost juice, babe”
My favourite mint and kale.
Ten
A Southern Cross hottie,
smiles and winks at me.
Eleven
My phone constantly glows,
with plans for April tomorrows.
Twelve
Office sing a long,
we know our working song.
Thirteen
Home to a branded Charlie
inspiring another story.

NaPoWriMo 2017 4/30 Elegy

Branded in my memory – those headlines.
“Everybody’s going to war”, she said
in big bold irrefutable lines 
caterwauling across the world: “you’re dead”.
I remember summer, so exciting
hanging together in our township, there
used to be laughter at sudden lightening
we were innocence at the village faire.
But despite the darkness that lingers here
you’re flickering in the deepest shadow
and where there is light, there is hope my dear
inspiring a better tomorrow.

What have you been up to since high school?

I’ve been doing that thing called learning.

Every day I have begun again.

My life is like a candle burning.

In the fires, I have found my Zen.

 

I live in a world filled with anarchy.

I have battled the front lines of darkness.

I have stood with my friends in unity.

I have fought to bring back their sparkle.

 

I have studied Durkheim, Weber and Jung.

Travelled the world with Mr Bryson.

Found Shakespeare in a crowded room

and Chesterton in darkest London.

 

I’ve climbed atop Arthurs Seat (Scotland),

and rode a plastic cart down the Great Wall.

I’ve drunk Champagne on the banks of the Seine

and got lost in a Kowloon mall.

 

I’ve driven along Australian highways

in my beautiful Red Capri,

I’ve swum about Port Phillip Bay

and watched the stars on the drive to Sydney.

 

I’ve felt the emptiness of waiting rooms

and drunk coffee that tastes like piss

I’ve felt the skies roar with thunderous booms

peace and miracles are my Christmas wish.

 

I’ve worn different characters and costumes,

they have called me Chum, Alice and Red.

The weirdest one was in a ballroom,

and like Cinderella, I danced and fled.

 

I have laughed until I’m blinded by tears,

and cried till I couldn’t breath

moments made memories through the years

of my friends, my family and me.

 

What have I been doing since high school?

Well, simply put, it’s just like this

I’ve been playing the game, learning the rules,

creating memories to reminisce.

Inside an Introvert

Everything has a story,

the who, what, why and where.

I spend my life journaling

and watching them, over there.

Our stories come through music,

through books and on the screen,

they make us laugh out loud

and sometimes even scream.

I’m trying to find my story

but I’ve been locked away by time

I never really grew up

so there’s nothing on this line.

These hazel eyes feel empty,

the tears I’v been holding back

what’s the use in crying?

I don’t know how to react.

Who is this blank person,

glaring back at me?

Is there anything inside her?

I find, I can’t breathe.

I drive the road, unchartered

my past clings to the mirror

I don’t know what is out there

I can’t see what’s in my future.

I see the tree’s sparkle,

and there I find my peace

Crackling bacon and laughter

snug in a winter fleece.

I tell myself I don’t need them

I’m happy driving alone

but all my dreams include them

I think of them as home.

How do I break down this wall?

How do I engage?

I just want to wake up.

I want to be on their page.

This soliloquy could be endless

I could write from dawn to dusk

But the world is outside waiting,

and I have to try, I must.