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Archive for the ‘everyday troubles’ Category

This is a poem about grief and loss. But there is a gentleness to this grief that is both warm and reassuring. There is a joy in the recollection.

A grey path runs beside the metal lake

past empty winter trees. You are there,

a tiny figure with your back to me,

walking away, your red jacket bright,

and the only coloured thing. This photographby lake

one of the last I have of you. We walked

together on that path so many times

to where it curves away, and out of sight.

Michael Thorley

Michael Thorley is an Australian poet who writes in both traditional and free-verse forms. His book Sleeping Alone can be purchased at Ginninderra Press, ACT #mce_temp_url#

Clip Pic: Okaiuz’s Photostream: #mce_temp_url#

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Poempig lives in the epicentre of Australian Swine Flu hysteria…. duly catching one of the lesser bugs. Going to the doctor suffering from flu-potential was a new experience. I was met out the front by a receptionist and given a mask and then escorted into a back room. Tamiflu was prescribed by a masked doctor. Being isolated in a back room had its advantages. I was, of course, saved form the germ fest in the waiting room. Nevertheless, the achy, breaky flu-like symptoms put me into a poetic if-dulled state of mind.


There is a certain age

When the doctor – still shuffling his notes –

Looks up at you and says

You have the -tism.

And, ah, some -itis too.


To deal with the -tism

You must forgo youthful indifference, late night indulgence and chaotic inattention

Embrace a more monastic, ordered liferocking chair

And eat green vegetables

(Grown, out back, in the monastic garden, no doubt!)

The -itis also demands a rigid, rule-based existence

With different coloured pills.

Pink this time.


Keeping company with the -tism

Is like living with a crack-cocaine addict

It flares up and attacks you

For no reason and with no warning.

The -itis hangs around your life 

Like a depressed house mate

Moping and moaning and turning every  simple chore

– like getting out of bed – into an epic quest.


At some point the realisation dawns

The crack addict and the depressive

Are now your companions for life.

It is not how you imagined it

Sitting on the porch

(Note to self: Get a porch)

The three odd amigos

You, the -itis and the -tism.

Kerry Cue

Clip Pic comes from the tragically appropriate Lie_inourgraves Photostream: #mce_temp_url#

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This poem by award winning ACT poet, Suzanne Edgar, uses a razor-edged scalpel to cut through that  robust, jolly-hockey sticks mask of confidence we so often wear when our own mortality is threatened. Like the Greek muse Clotho who spun the thread of life from distaff onto her spindle, this poet  spins the raw thread of fear into something beautiful.

I’ve got the biopsy blues

from rather gruesome news:

feels like a punch in the gut,

they say my throat’s to be cut.

A man with a steady handscalpel

will snip off a little gland

in the shape of a butterfly ‑

both the wings must die.

He’d better not nick a chip

off neck, or cheek, or lip.

After my throat’s sewn up

and I have woken up

in the coldly clinical world

of an alien hospital ward,

will I still be a similar me

or less like I used to be?

Still feel a dizzying swing

as my mood lifts off with a zing?

Hope I can sing soprano

not drop to a throaty alto,

if I can even speak.

I bet I’ll look a freak.

That surgeon’s pretty cool,b & w butterfly

they reckon he’s nobody’s fool

so I shouldn’t think this way.

He operates twice a day,

it’s how he pays his way

to reside in Double Bay.

When a butterfly has to die

 

 

it never wonders why.        

 

 

Suzanne Edgar

Suzanne Edgar’s most recent book is The Painted Lady available now in:
 the bookshop of the National Library of Aust
the bookshop of the National Gallery of Aust
Paperchain Bookstore 34 Franklin St Manuka ACT,#mce_temp_url#, 02 62956723; 
from the publisher, Ginninderra Press 79B Lipson St Pt Adelaide SA 5015

Butterfly Clip Art : DJamesm #mce_temp_url#

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Here is a poem called Mistakes by Adelaide poet Charles Crompton aka professional performance poet, Shaggy Doo Beats. We all want to be grown-up and in control. This poem captures the essence of the offness we all feel on an off-day often in an off-month in an off year. We all have them. Charles Crompton

I was a child

That grew up

But as an adult I still in life can

Muck it up

Fuck it up

Stuff it up

Bugger it up

Screw it up

Mess it uppaint pic

Smash it up

Rip it up

Blow it up

Throw it up

Live it up

Loosen it up

Giveit up

Pick it up

Hang it up

Tidy up.

By Charles Crompton    #mce_temp_url#

This poem can be found in Charles Crompton’s latest book Shaggy Doo Beats which can be purchased through the auhtor’s website.

Clip Art Mark Lawrence  #mce_temp_url#

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 I wonder where the poetry went.se-book3

Our lives are full of noise and news,

there’s always another current event

with red-faced men pounding their views

 

but poems turn up in the quiet of night:

they’ll soothe you softly when taken alone,

when rhyme and rhythm fit snug and tight

and you’re out of reach of the yabbering phone.

 

by Suzanne Edgar

 

Suzanne Edgar’s most recent book is The Painted Lady available now in:
 the bookshop of the National Library of Aust
the bookshop of the National Gallery of Aust
Paperchain Bookstore 34 Franklin St Manuka ACT, info@paperchainbookstore.com.au, 02 62956723; 
from the publisher, Ginninderra Press 79B Lipson St Pt Adelaide SA 5015

 

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Today my words shine their bootsstorm2

Square their shoulders

And march out in ordered ranks

On parade, my words salute you!

 

You’re the Boss! Whatever you say

But one day anger will man the barricades

One day you will learn of the anarchy in this subversive heart.

 

by Kerry Cue

Clipart: Matt Basile #mce_temp_url#

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I was finger painting todayfinger-paint2
But it wasn’t going well
I was all thumbs.

Charles Crompton

 Shaggy Doo Beats
Crompton Ink Publishing

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