‘Just interested
miss, no need to fuss?’
‘Listen perve, get your
own technology.
Don’t watch others
To get your jollies.
Old people Luddites
Pretend you’re all thick,
Getting left behind
If you don’t learn quick.’
Old people Luddites.
Maybe she was right.
Googled that one on
My iPad that night.
Monday 8 July 2013 4 pm
Call Me
Jordan Black
Cloncurry, QLD
what is touch?
a sensory nerve or feeling
touch and connect to your phone
more often than any other
feel and be felt
what did you feel on touch?
a connection or no service?
our feelings toward each other are touching
although we haven’t met in person
our phones have connected
and we felt touched.
Tuesday 9 July 2013
The Meeting
Ann Pigott
Mt Wilson, NSW
What was it then
That meeting on the beach
When I fell into your eyes
I heard the lapping
Of the water on the sand
Heard a distant roar
But the roar was in
Me, overwhelming. It rose
Up and covered me
I was tongue tied as
You came to me, my addled
Brain bereft of words
Oh the feel of your
Hand as you bent over me
The feel of your skin
I prayed that a bird
An ancient bird could pluck us
Take us from this place
The land fell away
The sea sucked into a void
When I fell into your eyes
Tuesday 9 July 2013 4 pm
Heat
Jordan Black
Cloncurry, QLD
Eyes locked together not touching yet
Warm look beautiful smile lips wet
Fingers running gently over each other
Caressing caring holding your lover
The bridge the connection touching
Hearts beat in unison minds rushing
Sleep now rest two hearts slow beat
Your love mine your body your heat.
Wednesday 10 July 2013
Within
Emma-Lee Scott
Callaghan, NSW
Today it is wearing thin,
With shades of green and grey,
Not quite sure of what to say,
Not quite ready to begin.
Today it has begun to darken,
Black yet blacker still,
Drinking deep for its fill,
It starts to harden.
Today it is inside raging loud,
Outside, all so much quieter,
Just a blatant reminder,
That it will continue to resound.
Today it has cracked,
Itching the brittle shell,
Yet no one can tell,
The body has been attacked.
Today it remains the unseen,
Others yet to see the ugly head,
Of burnt truth unwed,
And face unclean.
Today it is wearing thin,
Bulging close to the edge of broken,
Not ready to be spoken,
Not quite ready to meet the skin.
Today it won't be shared,
With shades of fear and fade,
Words will be delayed,
And nothing will be bared.
Today it is the secret,
Blunt and heavy laden,
No words will be bidden,
Today is the retreat.
Thursday 11 July 2013
Gutted
Bob Edgar
Wentworth Falls, NSW
‘I sentence you to twenty five years hard labour, and may you live to forgive yourself for your crime against humanity.’
Shackled and shamed, I am forced from the court to the cells below.
My mother’s tears cut deep.
I am alone, I deserve no more.
Life continues, I am no longer a part of it.
In the dead of night uniformed men feed me into the transport.
I arrive at my new cage, I deserve no more.
I endure the scorn, I absorb the hate.
Surely I am worthy of more.
I have turned all the stones, and I am beneath none of them.
Friday 12 July 2013
Absent Friend
JH Mancy
Tallebudgera, QLD
For E.D.
As a cicada sheds its shell,
Yet in reverse it’s true –
Your body still craves nurture,
But dear friend, where are you?
Somewhere in time, that happy past,
Those years before your husband died?
You exist on a different plane –
And for years your children have cried.
They grieve the living, not the dead.
It’s a weight upon their hearts.
They look sadly to a time when
You may so peacefully depart.
Your son wept when asked of you,
In my heart I could feel his pain.
His face a mask of inner grief –
I was embarrassed, I feel shamed.
So now my friend, I’ll tiptoe out,
Leave you your elusive dream.
Confusion written on your face –
It’s as though you have not been.
Saturday 13 July 2013 4 pm
My Friend, The Shower
Ariette Singer
Canberra, ACT
I greatly admire the ancient practical person,
Responsible for the most wonderful invention
Which evolved as a clever cleansing version,
With variable temperature of liquid dispersion!
And I sing daily high praises to my lovely shower –
Which pleasures me unfailingly at any hour!
In truth, I am not at all ashamed to openly say –
It is absolutely my ‘main attraction’ of the day!
In this, tiny tiled territory of steamy delight,
Most of my creative thoughts have taken flight!
For it is great for the stand-up, steamy meditation,
And often, its soothing flow induces inspiration!
So I’m hugely grateful to this warm aquatic pleasure –
For it is my endorphins and creative juices producer,
Mind and body relaxer, and most reliable sleep-inducer.
And if I were time-rich – I’d devote to it all of my leisure!
When embraced by steam, caressed by warm flow,
The steady soft sound de-stresses me about my woes.
In shower, strangely, I see myself more clearly ...
Mysteriously, it seems to bring out the best in me!
My lovely shower, next to myself, is my best friend!
My Good Mood Generator that keeps me content.
And if I were to choose whether to expire in my bed –
Here, in my sweet shower, I’d rather meet my life’s end!
Sunday 14 July 2013
Birds Of A Feather
Marilyn Linn
Darlington, SA
Beryl waved the remote control vaguely at her roller door. She stared as it lifted up to allow her black Mazda RX7 to enter before it closed. Sometimes she feared she would close it too soon and dent her beautiful car. She liked to imagine herself sleek and slender like her car. Her car and her cat. They were the things she loved.
She sat in a trance for several minutes after the door had clunked to a close, trying to let go of the events of the day
. Her ginger cat jumped on the car bonnet to catch her attention, before sauntering over to the back door to wait for her as it did every day. She roused herself from her reverie.
‘Okay Moggy. I’m coming inside now.’
She hauled her overweight body slowly out of the low-slung car, collected her thoughts, her handbag, and a large, shopping bag full of school work to be sorted after dinner.
She felt exhausted. It was only the second week of term. This year’s group of Year Nine students was hard to motivate. They seemed disinterested in anything except trying to irritate her.
Tossing the bag of books and papers on the lounge, she closed the blinds to block out the world, and mixed herself a double scotch and soda. After gulping down a mouthful, the tension eased.
‘Moggy. Moggy. Where are you, you useless thing? Do you want your dinner or have you been eating next-door’s budgies again?’
Moggy was unpopular with Keith, the next-door neighbour. By his aviary was her favourite place. She sat for hours looking at the pretty little birds flitting around. A few weeks before, Keith had left the cage door slightly ajar while he went to get fresh water for his birds. Moggy had just enough time to catch a yellow and green budgie and streak home. Delighted with her catch, the cat took her prize home to Beryl. Beryl failed to appreciate the gift and disposed of it as quickly as possible. Now, as she began to prepare the cat’s dinner, she heard Keith erupting through the side gate.
‘If your damn ginger feline comes into my yard again, I’m going to shoot the blasted thing. Keep it inside. I won’t tell you again. Six of my birds it’s killed this summer. Six.’ He thumped on her back door. ‘Do you hear me? I know you’re in there. Keep your cat home or else.’
Beryl ignored Keith’s ranting. She peeled the lid from a tub of gourmet cat food, placing the food neatly in Moggy’s little china dish. ‘Right. You’re fixed. Now, I’ll just have one more little drink before I get my dinner.’ She shoved the bag of school work off the chair and put her tired legs up for a rest. I should consider retirement, she mused.
Finished eating, Moggy demanded to be let out again.
Beryl grudgingly hauled herself off the lounge chair to let the cat out. ‘Keep away from the birds or we’ll be in trouble again Mog,’ she warned her pet, chuckling under her breath. It wasn’t that she disliked all birds, it was those birds she had grown to dislike. Beryl settled down with another drink, her third. ‘I’ll do the school stuff tomorrow morning,’ she muttered. She relaxed and drifted into a dozy sleep.
Wafting ideas flitted through her semi-consciousness, Beryl thought she heard birds singing. The singing changed to wild screeching and Beryl forced herself to wake up.
‘Where’s that damn cat? I hope she isn’t at Keith’s birds again.’ Beryl tried unsuccessfully to block the sounds from her ears.
Above the noise of the birds, she heard Keith yelling. ‘I’ve got you now, you bastard.’ The noises stopped. The sudden silence was worse than the birds’ screeching. Frowning, she wondered why the din had ceased. She did not have long to wait for an answer.
Beryl cringed. The tone of Keith’s voice conveyed he was angry, very angry.
‘Beryl. Beryl. Get yourself here this minute, madam, if you want to see your cat alive again. I’ve had a gutful of this animal.’
Beryl dragged herself to her feet, unsteady after three drinks, and went to the window to see where Keith was. He was heading her way, arms flailing, strands of wispy grey hair standing on end. Beryl giggled at the sight.
‘Get your big back-side here. NOW.’
Beryl made an effort to calmly meet the angry man on the garden path. ‘Settle down, Keith. Tell me what the problem is. Stop yelling.’ Breathing deeply, she approached Keith.
‘You know what my problem is. It’s your plurry cat. I’ve got it now. It’s in a sugar bag. If you want it, come and get it.’
‘What did you do to my cat? Have you killed her? I’ll get a lawyer onto you, you rotten old toad.’
‘It’s not dead yet but you better come and get it before it is.’
Keith headed back to his house with an irate Beryl huffing along hot on his heels.
As they approached the aviary, Beryl noticed the door was open. The birds were gone. On the gritty floor lay a sugar bag closed at the top with a black plastic tie. It was not moving. She blinked rapidly to stop the flow of threatening tears, her heart beating frantically.
‘I don’t need this aggravation, you stupid old man.’
‘And I don’t need you or your flea-ridden cat.’
‘Where are your birds?’ she asked, almost afraid of the answer.
The smell of feathers and bird seed made her nauseous. She stooped to enter the cage, vaguely registering the presence of Keith close behind her. The door slammed shut with a frightening clang. Alarmed, she turned to look behind her. The hair on her neck prickled as she realised her predicament. Locked in.
‘Hey! What the hell are you doing?’
‘Have fun with your cat. I’ll be back in a few days.’
Keith chuckled as he walked away.
Monday 15 July 2013
Surprise
Paul Humphreys
Oxley, ACT
Bob pushed the pedal down and the car leaped forward pushing Mary and him into the wonderful leather seats of their new car. Their first brand new car; a white Bimmer. All previous cars had been second hand or pass me-ons.
‘Won’t the mob get a surprise when we turn up in this?’ he beamed, looking ahead as the trees flipped past on either side.
‘Yes dear,’ Mary said quietly but wilfully indicating in her reply a position of indifference to his delight and the extravagant expense of their new car. He really is an indulgent slob she thought to herself. After forty years of marriage the differences in their tastes and temperaments were bordering on traumatic for Mary.
Mary pulled her blue cardy across her diminutive frame, adjusted her broad rim glasses and in those simple gestures grabbed some security in her little act of mental defiance and protest. Bob, all 110 kilos of him, was, as always, oblivious to her tone and disposition, the seat belt around his girth straining as they sped through the corners.
They were to meet up with the some friends at Bullen’s Animal World for a barbecue lunch. Some of the group they had not seen for years.
As they glided into the entrance of the animal world, Bob steered the car carefully to avoid all the differently sized piles of animal crap.
‘Can’t have shit on the new baked enamel paint, can we?’ His whole belly shook as he laughed at his own comment
‘No, of course not dear’. I would not care if it was buried in crap she thought to herself.
It was a simple, no-nonsense barbecue.
Bob was delighted with the response of their friends to the new car and oblivious to the side comments of envy and ridicule.
Mary quickly tired of the gathering as they were mostly Bob’s friends, and the women were just as disenchanted with the company as she was. She left the group and went and sat in the driver’s seat of the new car. She amused herself pushing buttons on the control panel. She was particularly taken with the electric windows and, as it was hot, she put all the windows down.
She was surprised when an elephant’s trunk came through the open window behind her in pursuit of some nibbles from the hamper on the back seat. Her response was immediate: she closed the window. The trunk was caught. The elephant got a big surprise. The elephant’s response was spontaneous: a loud roar and a violent kick at the side of the Bimmer. She quickly put down the window but not before the elephant had another kick and then deposited a large load of crap on the boot of the car.
‘Oh my God Bob will be beside himself!’ Mary started to cry as she anticipated the rage and anger of Bob.
She was surprised that he remained calm and was understanding of the situation. He was upset, but philosophical, about the whole affair. Mary put this atypical response down to the number of beers he ha
d had and also that all the ‘friends’ were around commiserating with him on the results of the elephant incident.
The gathering broke up with half hearted comments of ‘It was good to see ya’, ‘We must do this more often’, ‘Jeez you’ve changed, didn’t recognise you at first’ and other meaningless clichés of departure.
Bob was quiet as they drove back along the road to the main highway. They came over a slight rise in the road and directly ahead a car accident had just happened. Bob drove off the road to the verge, eased himself out of the Bimmer and hurried across to see if he could give some assistance.
It was not long before the police, ambulance and fire brigade had arrived. Bob was busying himself around the crashed vehicle. No one was seriously hurt. Bob was explaining to the senior police officer how they had just come over the hill and that they were the first on the scene.
‘Where is your car, sir?’ grunted the officer.
‘Over there. Brand new, would you believe?’
The officer walked over toward the BMW with Bob immediately behind.
The officer said to Bob in an inquisitive and suspicious tone, ‘And how did this happen?’ He indicated the large dent in the rear door of the BMW.
‘Oh, an elephant did that!’ The policeman did not see the humour, if it was intended, in Bob’s response, so he decided to breathalyse Bob and, as he was over the limit, booked him.
Mary had a mental moment of mirth.
Tuesday 16 July 2013
Forever And Always
Jessica Soul
Avondale Heights, VIC
Close to my heart
It’s where you are
Right next to me
Is where my love is kept
In a box marked
Scribed with your name
To remind me
Of you each and every day
With the slightest peek
Inside I see
All the love I have for you
And all the love you have for me
That’s all I need
To have me truly see
The love we share
It’s as clear as day
So light me up
With our love
And I’ll carry it with me
Forever and always.
Tuesday 16 July 2013 4 pm
Nature’s Wonder
Alexander Gardiner
Bullaburra, NSW
The maple is a wondrous tree,
Naked in winter for us to see.
Soft shades of green in early spring,
The promise of its colour soon to bring.
Summer colour in many shades,
With us till autumn until they fade.
Pinks, yellows, orange to burning red,
Until they fall before going to bed.
Winter is sleeping time for maple trees,
Leaves in winter you will never see.
Its many branches form beautiful shapes,
Weeping, spreading, arching, many forms it takes.
Snow lying gently on branches like a soft white quilt,
Sometimes heavy to make them tilt.
Thawing to create twinkling stars in a warming sun.
Then disappearing when the winter’s done.
Yes surely a tree to warm our hearts when seen,
Whether it’s autumn’s red or spring’s new green.
The next time you see this wondrous tree,
Take a picture please; … for all of us to see.
Wednesday 17 July 2013
The Challenge
John Ross
Blackheath, NSW
It was a cool, windy afternoon but I decided to go for a walk anyway. I knew that the path across the headland and down to the beach would be deserted on an afternoon like this and, in my present mood, I would prefer to not meet anyone I knew. I just wanted to be alone.
I had just celebrated, and that is the wrong use of that word, my sixty-fifth birthday two weeks ago and one week later had to retire from my job where I had worked for the past thirty five years. I felt old, unwanted and useless.
Right out at the end of the headland, high above the ocean, there was a wooden bench next to the path. I had sat on this bench many times in the past, in all seasons and all weathers. It had become like an old friend to me; somewhere where I could internally discuss my problems, rejoice in my triumphs or just sit and enjoy the view. It always listened in silence, never complained or was critical.
As I approached today the bench was outlined against a leaden sky that was dressed in ragged white clouds and adorned by screeching white seagulls that soared and dipped in the wind. To my relief there was nobody there.
I sat down and gazed out over the ocean. White horses chased each other endlessly all the way to the horizon. Patches on the water were alternately rippled and flattened by gusts of wind. The air was full of the noise of the birds, the crash of the waves on the rocks below me, the sigh of the wind as it carried the salty spray over the land and the sense of the timeless battle of the ocean against the land.
I was so entranced by the view, whilst at the same time lost in the mire of my emotions, that I did not notice him until he was right in front of me. He smiled and said, ‘Do you mind if I join you?’ At first I was so distracted by his appearance that I did not reply. He was very old with a bushy white beard, long straggly white hair and dressed in an old fashioned crumpled woollen suit. He was bent over with both hands resting on a black cane with a large silver top. Stirring myself I motioned for him to sit.
We sat in silence for fully ten minutes before he suddenly said, ‘You look like a man with a lot on his mind.’ Afterwards I was never sure why these simple words opened the floodgates within me. I told this stranger things that I could not talk to my friends or even my wife about. I was terrified of the future and the creeping destruction that old age would bring to what I had been and still thought of myself as.
When I had finished he said, ‘Each day think of tomorrow as a new country that you have never visited. Do not be afraid, be excited about the new things you will see and experience. It may not be familiar to you and you may not be able to do all the things you do today but do not turn your back on it because of that. Life is a series of adventures that are waiting to be explored. The day you stop and look only to the past is the day you really start to grow old. You cannot change the past but the story of tomorrow is yet to be written.’
As soon as he had finished he stood up and said he had to go. I stood next to him, shook his hand, thanked him and asked if he would give me his name. He gave me another of his shy smiles and said, ‘Rupert Rudolph Rumpstead. My parents never did apologise.’ With a smile that almost turned into a laugh he turned and walked off slowly down the path. I watched until he was out of sight.
I sat back down on the bench and it was few moments before I realised that now I was just enjoying the view. Ideas of what I might do during my retirement filled my head.
Just as I stood up to go my pullover caught on a rough patch on the back of the seat. As I disentangled it I realised that it was caught on the edge of an old plaque that had been painted over. I had never noticed it before. With some difficulty I read, ‘This bench is dedicated to the memory of Rupert R Rumpstead. A man who lived life to the full.’ It was then dated October 14, 1928.
Thursday 18 July 2013
Picture Perfect
Ruchi Khare
Melbourne, VIC
A riot of colours, fusion of strokes
Hidden story, a subtle note
The sharp design, the merging lines
A melange of thoughts, vastness confined
It speaks out aloud, in a stillness that astounds
A million words, in a thousand ways
It’s hard to express, yet it’s all said
Bright, yet sombre – shades lightly dance
Its glory lies beyond a mere glance
Thursday 18 July 2013 4 pm
Dirty Mon
ey
Armin Boko
Lake Heights, SA
Carol is a fine ol’ girl
O fine ol’ girl is Carol
Carol is a good ol’ girl
So sing in chorus all of us
Money to burn
And more to come
Carol is a fine tipster
To cabbies and waiters
Like royalty
Carol is a fine ol’ girl
We’ll drink
Champaign to that
On her expense
Carol thinks
Money is sin
’cause the fortune
She inherited
Used to be
A house of ill repute
Whorehouse and
Gambling den
Both in one
Carol is a good ol’ girl
If sins of the past
Can be redeemed
She is on her way
Good on Carol
When the last cent
Has been spent
I hope the Father
In Heavens
Looks after her.
Friday 19 July 2013