observations, on the run

[wildsweetone]

9

the daisy was brilliant white, a spun plate facing skyward, bright against the spring green lawn, clean and clear and totally unaware of the woman who sat watching its slow arc - a grounded sun, surrounded with the closed-in weight of a sad silence.

(RIP my friend, you will be always missed )

 

[wildsweetone]

11

it's hard to write when tired. hard to write when you drive the same place constantly even though your eyes are searching for something new to swallow. hard to recall if you found something new... a small cruise ship was moored in the top of the harbour. not next to a wharf, but in the middle of the harbour, anchored fast. was it empty? there didn't appear to be life signs aboard, if there were, what were they looking at? columns of cars driving over the bridge? the construction of the bridge? were they looking stern at the point where the river neck narrowed? or were they driving the bridge like me, simply going from the past to an unknown future with open arms.

 

[wildsweetone]

12

an emotional stranglehold job loss friend loss marital loss child loss youthness loss where does it end this loss of everyone loss of self no welcome mat left in the doorway instead it's bolted shut tighter than pursed lips after lemon sucking denied loss is useless it grabs you by the guts and wrenches you off your feet until you're gasping for that next breath and when you suck it in with hope it's too late and you drown in the dreams of others

 

[wildsweetone]

13

today was different. today was about voices, about listening and talking and communicating in the old fashioned way before emailing was invented. i heard more kiwi accents today than i've heard for a while. one or two indian accents too. my ears fail me with those. kiwis are supposedly the fastest talkers but it feels sometimes like indian accents fair race along until all the words become a kind of sing song up and down harmony of sounds without coherence as if coherence is not needed anyway. and is it?

 

[wildsweetone]

14

rain committed suicide hurtling itself against the car windscreen smashing itself on the ground splattering into a thousand shards of wet that stripped dirt from every surface and dripped life back to the roots through the sea of rotting litter.

 

[wildsweetone]

15

there is a space you can play
where monotony becomes automated

and the mind makes its own connections
muting current moments

until the existence of this world
does not and the six of the next do.

the drive to work just happens
and the mind plays its own game

of seek and steal secret seconds
multiplying the pleasure of the pause.

 

[wildsweetone]

16

limbo

that legless eternal stretch between
one job and the next
one poem and the next
one child and the next

why is it so terminally catastrophic why
does the whole future of mankind
rely solely on its outcome as if
the next creation is to be the last
final act. legless and limited
a catalogue of endless timed moments

 

[wildsweetone]

17

who do the roses bloom for at night?

do they know i listlessly wander the garden
bare foot and silent in the pregnant
early hours of the birthing day

are they aware my thoughts focus
solely on their silver petals, scrunched
together as if God crushed them
between forefinger and thumb,

focused on the pastel so my mind strays far
from the constant pain that scratches its walls,
gouges the agony until the open wound
soaks deep the rays of moon

who do they blossom for at night
asks the wobbly snail searching
rose roots for supper.

 

[wildsweetone]

18

what's on offer is not real

curled around a finger - a whisper
of a promise for more
hours in each day, more
money in each hour, more
joy in each minute. a promise

rainbows can be caught,
the mist can be driven through
and the future foretold.

curled around a finger - a promise
tomorrow's turning
is an improvement on today. time
to grasp the change
and burn those promises real.

 

[wildsweetone]

19

that red tinged edge has become a full blown blossom no longer limited to the fringes where fantasy peeps in, one toe testing the firmness of ground. there is no grounding required when all the world fucks up to a degree beyond understanding, no grounding needed because everything is crystal clear, everything is non-sense and it is only the truth that can turn it around.

 

[wildsweetone]

20

no time like the present - finches intent on nest building; tui rattling the wind and singing sympatico notes to the sun bringing it down from the water laden air to touch each blush white rose petal, each green blade of grass; breath scented with the forethought of sun strengthened summer; tastebuds already erecting promises of sweet ice cream slipping down the throat; shadowless and redolent of youth, the garden swells with the delight of a long, sultry day.

 

[wildsweetone]

21

Lollies on the landing,
ginger and pine needles
scenting the air, Christmas
decorations, green and red
and gold! Sparkling
wine and angel dust twinkling
secrets in coloured-light corners.
Gifts twined with glittery ribbons,
cherries, oranges, strawberries
and cream, lining the table.
Jingle bells jangling, mistletoe sprigs
dangling in doorways, pohutukawa
blossoms decorating gardens and tui
singing their summertime songs.

 

[wildsweetone]

22

you are not better than me and i have no need to wait for your approval before i take hold of the next task and trip off to some place centurys gone where the BMI and the GI are non-existent, where insulin wasn't a twinkle, where hard yakka means lugging water from a creek beating clothes on rocks cooking over flames and in ashes. there is no need for approval because i can sit and procrastinate with the best of you.

 

[wildsweetone]

23

waves of white tiredness, drooping rose blooms, hot air balloons be-lie unseasonable mirages dripping in the distance.

 

[wildsweetone]

24

an initial random thought
codependent relying on another to fulfill their own needs or expectations.



~~

the nest got built - twigs, leafs, a little mud packed
in to fill the gaps and fend off the Spring winds;
daisies infest the lawn; snails stick to their silvery path.
they live together, the flora and fauna, dependent
on others, on nature to supply their own needs;
always there are birds to devour
the seeds and snails, winds to burn leaf tips brown
and people to bend the natural around their lifes.

 

[AChild]

what name do I call you?

Sweet one on the run, riding rough words that go down groovy but put new avenues in esophagus.

 

[wildsweetone]

25

(call me what you will )


she bought flowers and he leaned back on the counter
and lit a cigarette as she left the stall, satisfied
as if he'd just had sex and she'd ridden him hard
and fast into Tuesday. his eyes never left her arse
and he hitched his jeans up with his hand
on the stone-washed near-white crotch,
eyes squinting through blue at the dream of her
that would last through the haze of the week.

 

[wildsweetone]

26

Shag on the rock

one day i'm going to spread my legs
and open my wings to catch
some of that westerly breeze,
just like the shag on the rock
in the harbour.

 

[wildsweetone]

27

fine wine, good dining and great company
speeches, end of year larking, and hints
that the new year will bring good fortune
to the employed and new opportunities
to those who aren't. jovial smiles
and rounded bellies belie the uncertainty,
red wine distills the unsettled. gifts...
ahhh, gifts. the hot fireman's calendar.
i think i'll go light a match.

 

[wildsweetone]

28

presents piled up under the tree
gingerbread men biscuits cooling on the tray
guest list stretching the seams
last minute grocery shopping stocking the pantry
kids popping in, checking up, grabbing hugs and love​

it's Christmas time again and excitement builds to a sleepless Eve where tree lights glisten all night on sparkling ribbons, and cooked ham and cloves scent the air. morning welcomes smiling faces, the tradition of croissants, on a bed decorated with gift wrap and name tags, smiles and laughter.

...

 

[AChild]

placing the fear is not in me
but infectious demands
the moon don't make no wolf of me
but the twilight pitched back in the warbling half gallon of tequila makes me coyote
running ob orb
silent black lips cut the world in ragged turns
my drool is just a snail trail for those on the slime
my pant is just a cold cloud to sticky Lingham
my low hanging tongue is just a flag of the Yonni nation
reeling back to forest peeling shades of recent thought
shedding spears of fur and hair no poetry bullets this time
no flowers, stars, or dreams/ the only blood that comes is in rays from the exiting sun promising nothing about tomorrow when I howl its not a howl of ages but a
modem whisper
quickly lost like smoke in the dingy hall ate up by the swirling world consumed by the 24 hour news cycle and the global economy

 

[wildsweetone]

29

i
i want to think big thoughts but the best i can achieve is listening to the internal eternal horsing going on ensuring confusion is foremost and that serenity is placed firmly on hold.

ii
sun tickled the tips of waves, burnt
the white off skin until all that was left
behind resembled the tempers flaring
for some long forgotten task.

iii
whole cloves poked in orange peel,
the scent a divinity of heaven itself.
no triad is required to confirm the existence,
a welcoming to the ending of this life
is enough.

 

[AChild]

blame it on the alcohol

Making the moment before the cars eclipse; I am slowed down by the bruised foot. Last night I was jumping down flights of stairs. I was screaming some kind of festival hymn. The cars get closer, and I'm still in the middle lane. I hop on the good foot, and spin. My lapels pick up headlights and flash into the drivers eyes. They see patches of light that revel glimpses of my beard shadow creeping up on midnight. The cars slow to dance with me, they went neutral for my unarmored body. At the curb, I'm downward dog drooling on some graffiti. A mass of cats on a wassailing. No vomit comes because I'm too responsible but a phone number did slide out, it made Chester smiles floating to the ground. The stories she told about my charm are true.

 

[wildsweetone]

30

she makes me smile and cry, fills my mind with hopes and astonishing facts that smack me between the eyeballs so hard i can not avoid them any longer. it's a changing, not just of years but of spirits, a re-birthing of carefree happiness that's been longing to erupt since forever. i anticipate the birth, the riding of pains that tear my body apart, the leeching of septic wounds, their pusses oozing from my body, the clean bleed of afterwards - the beginning, again.

 

[wildsweetone]

31

a big decision feels more powerful than a rainbow created from tiny drops of water and bent across a sky molten with christmas and carolsong. it doesn't feel right. somehow days are twisted into a realness too wild to comprehend, to certain to be bet upon, too big to be beaten down this time.