13th January

my thoughts, they run

in and out of separate compartments

house reflected in mind

 

I find the library

books tottering in unread piles

forecast of an adventurous future

 

soon the rooms will divide

thoughts forced on an avalanche

of ever multiplying possibilities

 

if only I could grasp them

without ever leaving the house

or indeed, my mind

 

 

Copyright January 2020

January the 10th

It’s hard to know who to believe

Who shot the plane down?

Years of mystery reading says

Who benefits?

Or was it just a jumpy finger

an accident after all

Funny – I always thought

the leader of the free world

would have the itchy finger

And I still don’t know who benefits

except for rich men

selling arms

to morons

 

Copyright January 2020

 

Note: I wrote this poem before the Iranians admitted their guilt.

January 1st

January first

looking backwards

like half a Janus

refusing to face the horror of now

 

today, with no resolution

words stuck half way down my throat

with a large wad of Xmas cake

candy melon

and endless cups of tea

drunk out of mugs

adorned with Xmas stars

 

I struggle to write my thoughts

and watch Criminal Minds instead

 

looking backwards

on January 1st

with Australia on fire

and a future outside of me

wielding no power at all

 

*if the world burns

and no one takes charge

is there really a world at all*

 

 

Copyright January 2020

 

 

 

 

 

 

Imperial Thoughts

back and forth the argument goes

she could follow the thread if she wanted to

but her mind drifts on other thoughts

of sunny endless times

and 26 inch waists

{she wonders when she stopped mentally translating imperial into metric}

she thinks of diets and books

and who in their right mind would pay $32,000 for a dress

{skewed priorities}

when it could buy a whole library of adventures

she thinks on landlords and a quick buck

of people trapped in life

and burning infernos

she tunes back in for a moment

only to realise the argument

has tied itself in knots

it could take years to unravel

{keep them occupied for the rest of the term}

she sidles back within

has a cup of tea and a chat

with the various demons who have taken up residence

in her mind over the years

“give a man an inch and he’ll take a mile” she thinks to herself

{mentally translating the measurements into centimetres}

before picking up a book

and escaping for a while

into fantasies

 

 

Copyright June 2017