[ 2024 and still on his feet ]
Okay, he's survived The Plague
but somehow it sucked a bit more Life out of him but geez that's how it works
folks. You just get fuckingwell old. If you're lucky. So shut up and get on
with it. It ain't too bad, all it needs is a bit of attitude and some
self-discipline and the will to keep getting out of bed at 5am every morning
and putting on some clothes and checking the stars and making some toast then
scooting off down the coast a way and jumping into some barista beans and a do
a catch-up and pat a dog or two. Keep on your feet. They're just about stuffed
but he keeps putting 4-5 kms behind him every day anyway. Walking down the
middle of his road. And every day he's still making sure the sea is there like
it has been for the last million years and will be for the next million when
not much of this week's bullshit will count for anything. So in the meantime,
kick The Ghost back into life on a regular basis and write something, even if
it's getting a bit twee bland mundane cute-sy home-sy what I saw today-sy, even
if you've lost your '70s lightning, even if there's no more than an audience of
one. Because (as they say) in the beginning was the words, and in the end there
will be the words, and in between there's a whole alphabet waiting to be squiggled
into one more new thing. It's still what you do best old son. For what it's
worth. You never know, you might even yet squeeze out one more richter-scale
rumbler.
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CAUSE-AND-EFFECT
annual extraction done
blood results in
everything okay … except
(stuff me what now?!)
some vitamin thingy too low
and your calcium too
what’s that mean?
goes on about osteo-something
then “broken hips” for emphasis
geez, okay now I’m listening
so, buy this supplement
take one daily
yes doc no sweat
geez they’re the size of a house
brick!
no way my mean little swallow-tube
gunna cope with this one
but, give it a shot
choke gasp cough hawk spit
plan B?
so, break it in halves
each only half a house brick
but now as rough as one too
choke gasp cough hawk spit – twice
plan C?
okay, put the two halves in water
let them dissolve while I’m doing
the dishes
then, wipe up one knife first
(totally out of sequence I have to
say)
use the handle as a crusher-upper
whunka whunka whunka upandown
swirl it about – glug glug glug
geez, tastes like chalk and bloody
baking soda!
(altho’ he has no idea what either
of those taste like)
but, job done - except now
the breakfast cutlery is being done
first
plates and cups last
(ohmygod what next?!)
life significantly changed
all because I got a blood test
which makes one think about
that butterfly thing
y’know - its dying four thousand
years ago
being the cause of russia kicking
the shit outa ukraine
or something
action and reaction
cause and effect
the basic chaos of the universe
revealed once again
© T.R.E.
2023
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MAGPIE MORNING
barely spring
warm sun just up
but air full of contrary breezes
waiting to change back
a magpie
one of last year’s clutch
out on her own in suburbia
trying on life, singing
she’s making the rounds of the
gutter
picker picker pick
proud strut saying I’ve got this
mum
just like you showed me
she stops and points to the sky
rips out a great song about time
and nectar
and it comes out of her throat
like a symphony to the bush
she stops at the back of a parked
car
pick pick, marvellous what’s in a
gutter mum
but her young head is by the
tailpipe
as she ohso confidently
ignores the dynamics
keys jiggle, door shuts
she pauses, tilts back and just
about arrogantly
pulls an anthem out of her kitbag
that’d stop traffic
the car starts and WHAM!
industrialisation hits her full in
the face and
whee-hup geez she makes two feet of
daylight
straight up into the air
car drives off
she lands and dithers about on the
verge
waits
collecting her thoughts and
decorum
then
tilts her head back and whangs out
her best
best honeygold warblesong ever
dreamed up
the one she calls
great day in the mornin’
© T.R.E. 2023
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
WHY THE GREAT JD SANG
about seven
early autumn morning
just after the clocks go south
sun nearly on the make, and it’s
my Lord (ah, the late great JD)
what a morning!
my Lord, what a morning!
my Lord, what a morning!
when the sun begins to shine
pink streaks straw wash blue the
rest
stepping it out is a gift from god
I swear
(ah, back only a distant
grumble of discontent)
magpie, bookended by two mynahs
doing their thing whatever that is
(why do they have to put a man
on every magpie?)
young woman with the sweetest face
(there'll surely be a place
for
her in someone's story)
a walking frame hanging from a
street sign
(you have to ask why, why why why,
was it really funny, you
fuckwit?
and where do you find an
unattended walker
at short notice?)
bus stop, young family mum dad two
smalls
waiting (squirming) with day out
backpacks
mum sitting, diddling on her
mobile, dad above on watch
and his territorial eyes meet mine
and they say What?! like a sentry,
and I turn away
(sorry dad, just thought
you all looked so ...
sweet)
but then
that’s walking for you
scattered with bits of The
Mystery
© T.R.E. 2023
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
SMALL WINGS
It doesn’t take much
to give small wings
to any day…
a clear sky and a vault of stars
cloud bank over the ranges the
colour of straw
the smell of hay in the air
or Kerry peat
hanging from my imagination
see the ocean, hear the ocean,
feel its mood
before the sun is up
get a hug
give a hug
have the sweetest kid on earth
say
‘hi grandpa’
wrestle the Hard Sudoku into
submission
dine well at lunch
(lamb and feta meatballs –
mmmm)
(or pork steaks)
(or Jess’s corned brisket
with cabbage and hot
English)
be ache free
(a glory hallelujah day)
read a funny totally tweaky bit
of fiction
(that probably isn’t)
(like “Fornication” by
Macted)
and write something at least as
good
be given a smile by a pretty girl
in passing, for no reason
savour stuff, like…
good coffee
the sea breeze
a passing dolphin
the timelessness of the
rocks’ stories
wave physics
dogs that think Beach is
Heaven
and rightly so
yep, doesn’t take much
© T.R.E. 2024
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[ the last one goes in here ]
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