Poetry (Day 238): Another Year


Another Year


Some people dread the passing years
but here’s a thing I know is true—
I wouldn’t choose to stay forever young
because I want to grow old with you.

Today is my 9th Anniversary. And it is also my wife’s funnily enough. So, Happy Anniversary, Kelly. Love you more today than when we got married.

(And this is the only present she’s getting, so I hope she likes it. (O:  )

Poetry (Day 237): Square Pegs


Square Pegs

According to a sticker
I saw today, immigrants
should “Fit in or fuck off.”
It made me wonder.

Should the immigrants
fit in with the rich people
with the harbour views,
eating canapés on the weekends
and going to the opera.
Or with the battlers
just trying to get by,
staying at home
because it is all they can afford.

Or with the farmers
who work from sun up ’til sundown
in the dust and flies.
Or maybe the artists, hiding
away with their work,
sometimes coming out
to blink in the sunshine.

Or should the immigrants
fit in with the hipsters
or the uni students
or the drug addicts
or the basketballers
shooting hoops in the park?

Or maybe they should fit in
with the redneck bogans
who put stickers on their cars
and demand that the whole world
be just like them?

Poetry (Day 233): Rain




Sudden splatter of rain,
like moths
against the window.

Then comes
the mad scramble,
down the stairs and
out the back door
to the clothes line.
Grabbing clothes,
snatching at pegs
throwing them all
in the basket,
like the wild flutter
of butterflies.

By the time you start the dryer
and find somewhere to hang
the rest of the clothes inside
the rain has passed, leaving the day
fresh and cool, and dining room festooned
with heraldry from the knights of Nike,
and French Connection, and the lacy
pennants of Wonderbra.

Poetry (Day 232): The Poet


The Poet

The poet, trawling through all
the words that he knows;
pulling apart phrases
and stories and snatches
of overheard conversations;
choosing exactly
the right ones
to build a poem.

He is like a child
building Lego houses from
half-constructed, mismatched sets.

Or a new lover, picking apart
a half used life, to build
a whole new world with someone else.