31 Thursday Mar 2016
Posted in poem
30 Wednesday Mar 2016
People stood around after funerals in the country
catching up on who was in town
city folk came home for funerals
talking to those around
ministers stood in black
teachers from the past
girlfriends crying helplessly
watching as he passed
the black hearse at the gate
waiting to take him home
to all the childhood memories
beyond the cobblestone
of his chapel
then later life
the people he chose to court
from backyard cricket and footie
as a boy who lived for sport
what would he tell his parent’s
for now he could not speak
how could he caress the girl
whose love to whom he’d seek
I was lost in a sea of faces
shying for unwanted words
grasping to his mother
whose hug I still remember
for as tears streamed down her cheekbones
clutching at her face
I died a million deaths
in that moment of embrace
28 Monday Mar 2016
The light burned silently in her tray
flaring at infrequent intervals to take the powder
flickering toward the brilliant needle
which now leapt into her eager vein
Flat on her back
losing consciousness
the lamp above reminding her
of her lonely existence
the man who tortured her soul
semi detached houses in useless suburbs
Unused cars in unwanted lives
children lying homeless
near beaten wives
men in suits
struggling to survive
against newly spun immigrants in her countryside
Where the needle laid flat
the light burned to death
her man departed
to another bus stop
rain fell slowly on another night
Where syringes filled with blood
met living room floors
mud stained carpets
lay under half open doors
the television breathing quietly on test pattern
her light went out
28 Monday Mar 2016
Tags
dreams, illness, mental illness, poem, poetry, Relationships, sick, voices
The phones kept ringing
maybe I’d been in business
selling another product
or providing some kind of service
to customers near and far
maybe you were with me
I just but can’t recall
was it back in autumn
or was I in the fall
my thoughts are somewhat jumbled
I need to find my bed
I need someone to answer
those voices in my head
voices
chattering
disturbing
penetrating deep inside my mind
further out I sit now
from beyond your blanket filled bed
he doesn’t need
want
or love you
scream those voices in my head
yet from inside your head
dreams filter through
I need the voices to leave me
I want to dream of you
27 Sunday Mar 2016
Tags
you stood quite ashamed
to be humiliated so much
unable to cry
even touch
you didn’t need me
as much as the sand
crashing toward your face
inside your hand
sobbing uncontrollably
thoroughly let down
life would be easier
without me around
27 Sunday Mar 2016
One caravan
eight children
Mum
Dad no longer was required
an invalid
doomed for the grog
in Dungog
Nowhere to go
nothing to do
accepted by emptiness
lonely
pushed aside
like a two cent coin
No one in town respected us
We were losers
treated as a dog
In Dungog
Twenty-two never worked
a chance
one chance
work
esteem
hope
on the land a full day’s work
escaping the fog
in Dungog
What do I live for?
all alone
my speech is quite slow
my presence untidy
people tend to stare
but it’s me in here
searching for pride.
suicide
26 Saturday Mar 2016
Racing against time
in a phone booth
on a railway platform
escalator and bus
to one’s destination
then home again
for twenty years
maybe longer
in the case of twentieth century primates
Who answered phones and read faxes
printed out email
then slept
alone
on Saturday nights
after fights
in traffic
stairwells
convenience stores then restaurants
where the food was either too cold or hot or spicy
depending on one’s bent
or need
urban beasts
Aggressive creatures
who stalked traffic lights
rented videos
brushed their hair whilst cleaning their teeth
before re-entering the work flow
of life
in that urban fuse
that parade
where time was erased
by unconsciousness
of thought
Urban beasts
watching the metre
before holidays
spent mopping up
divorcing
retrenching oneself
from the maze
that city haze
with it’s ever a light fuse
those whispers in the muse
of time
racing again
with her ever fragile grip
on life
26 Saturday Mar 2016
Posted in poem
The doctor called
my results were in
dancing between shadows
I needed to drive in
the waiting room empty
his face soon appeared
bereft of a smile
opening the results
eye to eye contact
all but disappeared
Now turning toward me
the moment I had feared
your x-ray was clear
though we found something else
sliding through my veins
blood draining from thyself
pale
ghostlike
sinking toward the floor
avoiding patients within the car park
clutching at the door
Dropping my keys
the distant thunder roared
my life flashed before me
as the rain began to pour
windscreen wipers active
entering my drive
hugging my sweet son
I needed to stay alive
Empty shoes sat quietly
aside our weathered mat
as we made our passage in
his kiss
his hug
his greeting
crying beneath my skin
our love
my loss
the meeting
24 Thursday Mar 2016
Posted in poem
the souls of the dead passed me by
in between the moving shells
of another receding tide
time
holding onto their voices
against tree lined peaks
falling into brush
rocks
sand then surf
toward summer
children’s screeches met oncoming waves
between red and yellow flags
as parents gathered
content with their lot
hugging towels
surf craft
buckets filled with sand
youngsters
washed ashore
then pulled back out
crashing head long into another wave
as the ocean spoke
then drew out to sea
taking the souls of the dead
the surf
but not me
24 Thursday Mar 2016
Posted in poem
That eastern most point
on Van Deiman’s land
broken by waves
escarped by sand
where now two young surfers
surveyed the morning light
as two young lovers
held each other close
all windswept but serene
those seagulls slowly left me
in a glass like wake
A young girl approached
to sit beneath the palms
then undress to swim
against the new daybreak
black hair falling slowly
encircling one tall neck
beneath the water’s surface
she swam with beauty and grace
as I could but glance
in search of her young face
Similar to an apparition
too far away to touch
yet close enough to feel
this solitary girl
then as the light shone forth
upon her splendid face
those seagulls reappeared
to surround her naked stance
the surfers met their shore
the lighthouse disappeared
leaving me alone to ponder
where those two young lovers met
where they’d dined last night
and where they’d be tomorrow
to meet the morning’s light
Would tomorrows light shine so brightly
or provide the same escape
as today’s sunny
windswept morning did
beneath Byron’s rustic Cape
sashaholden1 