Guess who’s coming to lunch?
I wonder if Helen of Troy started a social club for ladies who launch?
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poetry
In a strange land
We all have strangeness in our own lives our own families our own family history. Do we not?
Walk a life in my shoes
These are not the feet that once, brown and bare, ran on soft beach sand, and climbed old trees. These are not the feet that, laced into football boots or tennis shoes, ran and ran on muddy fields and wooden courts. These are not the feet that, encased in rubber boots or leather ones, covered
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Eye of the storm
My childhood home had a “lounge room”, a room in the centre of the house almost never used, but with the best furniture, rarely sat upon, the piano, not played, fallen silent, since my grandfather died, too young, too young, and the record player. It was, in theory, the place where important visitors could be
Out of the blue
Chickens keep their eyes on the ground as they work the soil scratch scratch scratch peck peck peck. Eagles keep their eyes on the ground watching the chickens as they work the soil oblivious to death from the sky. As are we.
Deceptive
I look at my hands, their backs an old man’s hands. I look at my feet, their toes an old man’s toes. I look at my face, its wrinkles show an old man’s face. But, I look in my mind, its curiosity is a young man’s still.
The day after yesterday
If your popular musical tastes were formed in the 1950s and 1960s little written after that time will seem very good.
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Time’s Up
Life is like an exam in which you struggle to write as much as possible, pack as much into each answer as possible, until the moment when the teacher says “Time’s Up”, and you stop, reluctantly, seeing, on the exam paper, gaps where you could have, should have, said more, places where, gulp, you have
End of High School photos, 1961
Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.
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In a yellow wood
Look, guys, after some 1400 of the buggers I’m all haiku’d out. Anyway, whatever tiny audience there was for anonymous haiku has evaporated faster than the morning fog is dissipating outside my window. Few readers, few followers, and close to zero comments. So, have to find some new form of expression to amuse myself, my