This Year

Another month has slithered by,
Time the days will often rend,
Soon this year will be a memory,
As it lumbers to its end.
Not long ago I looked forward,
Now what do I find?
I'm looking the other way,
At this year I look behind.

Vanity

Charlie got a vanity plate,
Her choice made my heart swell,
Now she drives the family car,
With it labelled as "Hell".

Well, not quite - "HEL45" - Helen and the age - er - that she's a large calibre weapon.

Alone

Before the daybreak stains the land,
Before the birds strangle the silence,
Before people stir and start to swarm,
I arise from my comfortable bed.
I change into loose, but well fitting clothes
I pull on my trusty shoes and socks,
I leave my family snoring and slumbering,
And walk off down the road.
The air clings and caresses my shoulders,
Biting its way down into my lungs,
I shiver with the chill and with anticipation,
At the long road unwinding before me.
My pace quickens, but then remains constant,
One foot racing its near neighbour,
Both in a form of competitive cooperation,
Propelling me ever forwards.
Until all too soon I've returned,
Daybreak and the birds electing to join me,
But for a while there I was safe and secure,
The only person left in the world.

I get up at 4:20 to go for a walk. It takes about an hour. For that time I don't see a car, another person, very few animals, the sun etc. It's a strange feeling, but a powerful one.

Energy Conversion

My daughter moves so constantly,
From the bottom to the top,
Her energy is simply boundless,
She never seems to stop.
So now I put her in the bath,
I swear these words are true,
I add some soap and the dirty clothes,
She bathes and washes too.

Sophie doesn't stop. I wondered what purposes this energy could be put to, thus saving my use of energy. This seemed logical.

Squish

The night was dark and moonless,
I had to climb out of bed,
I needed to go to the toilet,
So in that direction I sped.
Now, I'm phobic of cockroaches,
I shiver when they're near,
Touching one of the creatures is
My deepest, darkest fear.
Anyway, I travelled to the toilet,
In a kind of dream,
When I woke the whole house with
A loud and terrified scream.
The family came running then,
Their faces masks of fright,
One had the presence of mind to,
Quickly turn on the light.
"I've just steeped on a cockroach!"
I screamed with through agony,
But then to my surprise and horror,
They all laughed at me.
I shook with the remnants of adrenaline,
The looked past my nose,
Only to see that the cockroach,
Was just a grape between my toes.

I am phobic of cockroaches, but this didn't happen. I had stepped on one of the many toys and their components that live in our carpet and thought of the times that I've stepped on them when half asleep. Confusing the toy with something else seemed like a good idea and for me the cockroach was the logical choice.

Slowly Close Your Eyes

Walk out into the storm
The lightning flashes
The thunder roars
And slowly close your eyes.
The lightning no longer
Flashes white and blue -
It's a vibrant shade of red.
The rain cascading down your face
Has turned into cold and bitter tears.
Such beauty and such wonder
Such pain and such heartache
Just from slowly closing your eyes.

It had not rained for a while and a storm blew in. I had gone out into it and was marvelling at the experience. Then, I turned my head skywards and closed my eyes - the experience was transformed.

You Fill Up My Senses

You fill up my senses
Especially my nose
To you I'm allergic
And my sinus, it flows.
You fill up my senses
Of that you are proud
I like to wear earmuffs
Because you're so loud.
You fill up my senses
Be proud of that
I cannot see past you
Because you're so fat.
You fill up my senses
On the hospital I have a lease
For whenever I touch you
I slide off the grease.
You fill up my senses
You put nothing to waste
Because you won't shower
Your odour I taste.
You fill up my senses
I overload
Come and embrace me
So I can explode.

Sorry, John.

Time and Space

The days have dragged dispiritedly
Seeming endless in their complexity
Each moment bitter, dry and twisted
Grinding with merciless determination.
When suddenly they accelerate
Exponentially joyous and full of hope
Rapturous, engaging and empowering
Filling heart, mind and spirit.
Bright flames burn so intensely
But they never burn for long
The days become slow and painful
For the workdays have returned.

I don't feel this way, but it does seem that a Saturday is much faster than a Tuesday.

Erosion

You won't allow me to reach you
Our relationship has eroded
It can't function the way it did
So with it we must change.
You don't seem to be willing
To change what you're doing
But if I do all the work
Am I selling out?

I can't reach a kid at school. The arrangements that have been put in place for him have served to make matters worse at home and at school. However, he was warned that this would happen. If I alter the deal for the sake of harmony, does that mean "he wins"?

The Literate Gift

One of the greatest gifts we give
Is the gift of language -
People write
and share their thoughts.
People look at things critically
Making better decisions.
People laugh and smile
As the written word makes sense.
I can't tell you
How it really happens
But when you witness it -
A great leap forward -
There are few better feelings.
Revel in the world around you
Rejoice in what it offers
But better still share it with others
Through the power of language.

My daughter has come into work early with me (she likes to do that sometimes) and she has made me a card, complete with pictures and a story. It never ceases to amaze me how well my eldest daughter is reading, writing and speaking. School has captured her imagination and through what she has learned, she has become a more confident and engaging person. It excites me to see what she will do next.

False Security

Lulled into a false sense of security,
Comfortable in my surrounds,
But then shocked into the realization,
That nothing is forever.
I was safe and secure for months,
Pleased that all was going well,
But now I am alarmed to discover,
That all is melting around me.

Spring doesn't last forever. You're nice and comfortable for a while, then - WHAM! - it's friggin' hot.

I'm Right

I just want to have a discussion,
It's something I must do,
There so many things going wrong,
And they all begin with you.
But I don't want your explanation,
I don't want to hear your side,
I'm here to make you feel bad,
Your beliefs I'll then deride.
But don't say anything about me,
That will never do,
Any failure is not my fault,
It all comes back to you.
I don't care if I'm the only one,
I don't care what other people think,
I don't care that others love you,
I'm sure you really stink.
Don't prove my points invalid,
Don't let the others speak,
Don't show me for the fool I am,
Don't prove that I'm a creep.
Now I'll just run away,
Like pus oozing from a boil,
I'm happy to have wrecked your day,
And leave you in such turmoil.

Friends who let you down - you can't shoot them.

Bed

Sleep comes in fits and starts,
Visions fill my head,
The sheets with me play tug of war,
And this amuses the bed.
The pillows giggle with feathery whispers,
The blankets dance with glee,
They headboard practices its Irish dancing,
As they all love to ignore me.
I give up and move to stand,
All is quite then,
I sigh and crawl back to bed,
And the bedlam begins again.

I don't sleep well often - too hot, too tired, too much going through my mind - whatever. So, I thought I'd blame it on the bed. Plus, as I toss and turn, the bed makes all manner of noises. Charlie must hate it.

Free

I'm happy to believe all manner of Hell,
From movie quotes to CDs,
I have nothing of my own to say,
Of insights I'm blessedly free.

Many people, myself included, use quotes from movies and songs in everyday life. I enjoy swapping quotes with people - be they Monty Python, Ace Ventura, Marilyn Manson - whatever. I even caught myself doing an Agent Smith in the interrogation room from The Matrix when I was interviewing some students.

Siren

We have a siren installed,
It's a government requirement,
So, we organised an electrician,
And had the siren to us sent.
But it's impact has been large,
Not in our students' homes,
The staff just love playing with it,
And won't leave the thing alone.

As part of Workplace Health and Safety we had to have a siren installed. When we need to use it the thing won't work because people play with it so often.

Foiled Midnight Incursion

Our plans were a midnight strike,
In and out with speed,
Under the cover of the darkness,
The only protection we'd need.
A visit to Charlie's home town,
Our girls were dancing there,
Not alerting the in-laws to our presence,
Would avert so much despair.
But with their sentient evilness,
Our presence was ascertained,
Now we have a full schedule,
Leaving me feeling pained.
"If you're down here you might as well,
Visit this person and that,
Then there's two birthdays to attend,
Outdoors, bring a hat.
You can stay in our humble home,
Keeps your kids under control,
Make sure you bring in no dirt,
I'll be on 24-hour patrol.
You must wash hands five times a day,
Don't use anything new,
Don't consume alcohol near my house,
And keep your kids near you."
So, what was a quick trip,
Then home for some rest,
Has turned into a trip into Hell,
And a monumental patience test.

We were set to just blast down and then blast back, but word got out that we were going to be in town. Suddenly, there were family events organised everywhere. Bugger.

Happy Birthday

Have a happy birthday
It sucks you have to work
But use it to your advantage
Savour every perk.
Allow others to be nice to you
And accept the nice things they say
Enjoy, this, your special time
For the next's a year away.

Just a little silly - people do nice things for you on your birthday, you might as well enjoy them.

Opening Presents

Watching your face light up,
The many presents before you,
You rip each one open quickly,
Using fingers and teeth to.
The rooms is littered with wrapping,
Sweat oozes from your pores,
I hope you enjoyed the presents,
Too bad they're not yours.

Have kids - never open a present again.

Birthday Shopping

Charlie's birthday's coming up,
It my spirit lifts,
For I love to look through the shops,
For the perfect kind of gifts.
A circular saw, a new hammer,
A vacuum cleaner too,
A home car tune-up kit,
A G-string coloured blue.
Some chocolates, a negligee,
Perhaps a new mop,
This is just so much fun,
I just cannot stop.
A carton of the finest ale,
Perhaps a new garden hose,
Or a Dust Buster for the house -
No I've got he one of those.
The Godfather series on DVD,
A new set of guitar strings,
There's so much choice available,
With these and other things.

I never seem to come up with the right gift. I've never got the "that's an amazing present" reaction. Still, I've only got a small number of amazing presents myself - including my first guitar from my wife and a Swiss army knife from my parents.

Pants Elf

There's an elf loose in our house,
He's a nasty sort of crawler,
Each night he sneaks into my wardrobe,
And makes my pants a little smaller.

No comment.

The Phone

The phone is my constant companion,
With it here I won't be alone,
There's one in my office,
My car and my home.
A mobile in my briefcase,
For the times I'm gone,
My handheld could be one too,
But I haven't turned it on.
Together they serve to fill my day,
With info and complaints,
Piles of useless information,
Congrats and legal complaints.
Laughter, tears and anger,
The odd bit of sympathy,
But the nastiest parts of all these things,
Have their origins in me.

Sometimes I cringe when the phone rings - not often is it a hand grenade, but it happens.

Respect

I was walking across the veranda,
The Grade sevens gave me smiles,
Then they turned in unison,
And let forth some "Zieg Heils!"

Little bastards.

Resource Assembly

With great care it was assembled,
From the finest parts,
Each selected for its quality,
Top grade from the start.
Layered with great deliberation,
An interplay of finest things,
Then wrapped with obsessive protection,
And the safety that it brings.
But when the big moment arrived,
The tomato had gone soggy,
The cheese had also liquefied,
The whole thing rather boggy.
Packing lunch is a deflation,
Of both heart and head,
Tomorrow I'll forego the effort,
And buy my lunch instead.

School Swimming Lessons

The kids are off to swimming today,
We teach it at this school,
They travel in some busses,
To the local pool.
I love the way they get excited,
I love their lack of fear,
But mostly I love the fact,
That for two hours no-one's here.

True - most of the school goes swimming on Thursday. It's good that we're teaching them a skill, but I love the relative quiet that follows it.

Farting in Bed

Relaxation
Flatulation
Deflation
Consternation.

I enjoyed the last poem, so decided to bastardise it.

The Creative Process

Inspiration
Perspiration
Evaporation
Desperation
Frustration
Deflation.

This can happen to me - the "tip of the tongue" feeling when the thing you're working on doesn't quite pan out.

I Love

I love the way your look at me
I love the way you smile.
I love the way that I can get lost,
In your eyes for a while.
I love the way you cuddle me,
Coo and stroke my hair,
It serves to refill my optimism,
And remove my despair.

My daughter's birthday - written for her.

Christmas?

We were walking through the supermarket,
And what did we see?
Christmas trees being put up,
My kids responded excitedly.
"Is it almost Christmas, Dad?"
They began to happily ask,
I settled down to break bad news,
Never a happy task.
"Christmas is three months from now,
The stores is getting ready,
For the rush that will happen,
The days will soon get heady.
But we have a long time to wait,
Plenty of time at hand,
The stores do this every year,
For reasons only they understand."

Death Wakes Early

Stumbling through the darkness,
Muscles screaming and inflamed,
Morning just to far away,
Spirit racked with pain.
Feeling drunk and cumbersome,
Trembling with adrenaline,
I'm waiting to shuffle off my mortality,
And let the afterlife begin.
What was I thinking then?
What light blinded my eyes?
How did I convince myself,
To get up and exercise?

I'm the consummate fat bastard. But I need to exercise. For some reason.

Misty the Ferret

Misty the ferret was quite ordinary,
As far as ferrets go,
She liked to do ferret things,
In tunnels she loved to go.
The folks at Peterson Air Force Base,
Which is in Colorado,
Had a tricky sort of problem,
So Misty they got to know.
Some computer cables needed drawing,
Through 40 narrow feet,
Many methods had been tried,
And the swearing I won't repeat.
But Misty did it in record time,
Emerging feeling fine,
Saving the taxpayers thousands, and
The missile warning centre was online.
Misty amazed them with her intelligence,
She was glad to play her part,
And all she asked for in return,
Was a strawberry Pop-Tart.

All true - it was reported by The Associated Press in 1999. (Party over, oops, we're out of time.)

Time Was of the Essence

Time was of the essence,
I know you understand,
So, I used a screwdriver,
Which then cut my hand.
Time was of the essence,
I thought I'd use a tissue,
Then I remembered that,
That would cause an issue,
For the tissue I had selected,
Was covered in motor oil,
Also in dust and crud,
And anti-freeze/anti-boil.
Time was of the essence,
As the pain ran up my arm,
In my quest for greater haste,
I had brought about such harm.
But time was of the essence,
My heart was full of fear,
Damn the company that,
Did not make screw-top beer.

Sort of true. I was hurrying to get something done and couldn't bother getting scissors from in the house - I was in the garage - so I sued a screwdriver to open a packet and ended up stabbing my palm. Now, I have to deal with the discomfort, instead of taking two minutes to get scissors. Idiot.

Scream at Me, Please

Call me from your home at night,
Preserve your identity,
Abuse me with your twisted logic,
Be welcome to harass me.
Don't do it to my face,
Hide behind technology,
Swear, curse and make your threats,
It's all the same to me.
My incoming calls are monitored,
The phone company keeps a list,
For morons just like you,
Who like to yell when they're pissed.
So, do your best, you moron,
Scream to you're heart's delight,
You'll be hearing from my solicitors,
Before tomorrow turns into night.

This doesn't happen to me anymore (unlisted number), but it happened to a teacher at school this week. People can just be creeps, sometimes.

Unforgiving

You're just so cold and distant,
You will not let me in,
No matter how much I cajole you,
My fight's over before it begins.
I beg, plead and gnash my teeth,
Sweat dripping over this spot,
You're a nasty little network,
When my password I've forgot.

A few times I've been locked out of this program or that one. There is help available, but it still takes time, considering I have 14 passwords and they all have different requirements - number of characters, ratio of alphanumeric etc.

People Industry

Working with other people,
Is a constant source of fun,
If it wasn't for the last minute,
I'd never get anything done.
Competing timetables collide badly,
Egos come into play,
But I love the tension and
Wouldn't have it any other way.

Welcome to my world.

Hedgehog

A child was telling his class a story,
Just the other day,
About how they were getting a hedgehog,
And with it they could play.
The teacher was quite perplexed,
Saying, "I am quite confused,
There are no hedgehogs in Australia."
She was quite bemused.
The child answered confidently,
"I'm not making silly wishes,
Mummy she'd give Dad a hedgehog,
If he did the dishes" …

True story - teachers often have to cover up then forget tales like this one.

Monster Approaching

My dreams were twisted and troubled,
And I was wrestled from my sleep,
The blankets were wet and tangled,
In a heap around my feet.
I looked through the doorway,
And lumbering through the night,
Was the worst kind of monster,
Bulging with its awful might.
I vacillated on a course of action,
Run? No, instead,
I hunkered down and cowered,
With the blankets draped across my head.
And as it approached me murderously,
I sensed its sad defeat,
For everyone is aware that,
Monsters can't bite through a sheet.

This is a universal rule - see a monster, duck under the sheet - they can't bite through them.

A New Way of Thinking

If our heads came with shiny hinges
That made our noggins lift-off lids,
I'll bet all us poor students
Would be really smarter kids.
If our ears were little funnels
That hooked up to our brains,
I'll bet all our school learning
Could be done with little pain.
Instead of notes and study,
In place of books and pens,
We'd just go up to teacher
And say, "Pour some more smart in!"
She'd lift our lids and fill 'em up
With all the stuff she knows,
And when we got our fill of smart,
We'd simply holler, "Whoa!"
And if we ever took a test
And our thinking could not flow,
We'd just explain to teacher
That our thinking tank was low.
So she'd get her pail of knowledge,
And she'd make us tilt our tops.
She'd pour good things inside us
And when we'd leak, she'd stop.
But so far I've got no hinges,
And my funnels still are ears,
And teacher makes me study hard
And expects my ears to hear.
Perhaps some day it'll happen,
And perhaps all pigs will soar,
But until that magic moment comes
I'll just have to study more!

Repairs

With some pliers and some determination,
Some time and some glue,
Some chewing gum and a hammer,
There's nothing you can't do.

My name badge for school broke when I was wrestling the kids into the car. A new one would cost me $10. So, with some determination and a pair of pliers, I fixed the old one. Sort of.

Toxic

I dine on the depths of my despair,
And sup from my cup of pain,
I wallow in the mire of my self-pity,
Secure to be hurting again.
Perhaps I have found my purpose?
I suffer so completely and well,
That I should enable many others,
To find their personal hell?

Again, the first line just came to me - after lunch at the Principals' Conference. I wrote on with that line in mind. Plus, it reminds me of people who are what I call "toxic". They talk to anyone and that person comes away negative and depressed.

High Maintenance Gal

She's such a high maintenance kind of gal,
She jerks and she twitches,
She shuffles almost constantly,
Her hands massage constant itches.
She refuses to wear any shoes,
When at home or out shopping,
She berates and she curses me,
Then cries without stopping.
She drives me crazy with her demands,
In things I have little say,
But you can expect this with a pregnancy,
I love her more every day.

At the Principals' Conference one of our number was heavily pregnant. The shuffling, no shoes, itchy images came to me and I reflected on our family's two pregnancies.

Two Kisses

You balled up your fists up to me,
Lit by the early morn,
I gave you two kisses on the cheek,
On the day that you were born.
You fell from your bicycle,
The tears bright upon your face,
I gave you two kisses on the cheek,
And away you brightly raced.
I stand beside your loaded car,
Your hand loosely in mine,
You gave me two kisses on the cheek,
In the world you will be fine.
I watch as you drive away,
Proud as a mother hen,
I trap the kisses on my cheek,
And can't wait to have some again.

Our three year old said to me whilst on my knee, "Daddy, you look a bit cranky. I'll give you two kisses, then you'll be happy."

My Chosen Path

I'm on a path to self-destruction,
I skip on curb and grate,
I'm keen to destroy my everything,
I eagerly embrace my fate.
I'm ambivalent to any assistance,
I scorn such feeble things,
I'm longing for the inky blackness,
And the final peace that brings.

I was getting up to get another drink when the "I'm on a path to self-destruction" bit came to me (now, THAT'S a worry). When I sat down I wrote the rest. I don't feel that way, but being on a path to self-destruction seemed headed in that direction.

End of Term

School has been trudging forward,
For weeks numbering eleven,
The holidays are two away,
And then it's simply heaven.
They have been getting angry,
Bored and sick of school,
The constant tension and frustration,
But holidays make them drool.
Not long until their release from,
This lumbering form of Hell,
What's more I'm sure that,
The kids fell this way as well.

It has been a long term. The kids are betting cranky, the staff are tired. Some poor decisions are being made by everyone. Roll on, Father Time.

Trophy

You encouraged me to participate,
You made such a din,
You promised that I would be successful,
And that I would surely win.
But it appears that you deceived me,
You really have no class,
Please give me the trophy,
So I can cram it up your ass.

Oooooo - just a bit cranky about a personal experience - where I was encouraged to do something "because you have a great chance of winning" when all along I was invited to participate simply "to make up the numbers" and make someone else meet some nebulous target.

Silence

I ask you something simple,
You just stare
And frown.
Has our relationship eroded
To the point of no return?

I wait with patient silence
You just stare
And stare.
I am stubborn and single-minded,
I won't save you this time
Rest under your narrow blanket.

I am tempted to intervene
You are plainly uncomfortable
And withdrawn.
Do I set a difficult precedent
Or play your game?

This came from a conversation with a student. I asked her a simple question - she refused to answer. I suspect it was a power struggle. It served as the genesis of a poem, so I thank her for that part at least.

Just Playing with Words

Circumnavigate,
Circumcise,
Concise,
Conquest,
Request,
Relieve,
Believe,
Beneath,
Underneath,
Underpants.

For some reason I had the "Understand, Underpants" bit in my head. I saw the pattern and wondered how I would go about using it. It's surprisingly difficult, particularly when the first word that came into my head to start the series was "Circumnavigate". I considered trying to go for the whole alphabet, but remembered that life is finite.

Our Fight is Over

You and me have a history,
To you I have been cruel,
To me you have been determined,
That of me you would make a fool.
You have been prodigious in your efforts,
Rumours have been spread,
And I have cut you down so often,
The memories hurt my head.
But let's put that in the past,
That's where it deserves to be,
Come, accept this drink,
You look so parched and thirsty.
And as you slake your thirst,
Safe that our fight is done,
Know that your drink was poisoned,
And that I've finally won.

We live on 5 acres and have a weed that had taken over. It has taken me six moths of cutting, burning and poisoning to control it. However, I spent two hours yesterday poisoning any new growth. It is the growing season for the weed, but it's quite dry at the moment. Thus, the weeds look quite thirsty. As I was poisoning them I thought, "If I was the weed I'd see me coming and cringe, only to get a drink. Perhaps the weed thinks I'm finally being nice to its kind, when in fact I'm still trying to kill it." There you go.

You Don't Notice

I give you my very soul,
I proffer my all,
You don't even notice.

You've got to write a haiku every now and again.

A Man and his Dog

Living quite near to me,
Is a man and his hound,
They really piss me off,
When down the road they bound.
For they trot down the middle,
In their rhythmic groove,
They refuse to budge an inch,
For no-one they will move.
So, I was coming home cranky,
In need of a rest,
When I happened on the duo,
And decided to give them a test.
I kept driving towards them,
I was getting so near,
But they did not waver,
Or show a trace of fear.
Until I'd stopped before them,
And much to my intense shock,
The bastard caused my car damage,
With a large rock.
But far from seeking restitution,
Over the dents grieving,
I just ran over the bastard's dog,
And then called it even.

A few changes here. It's a woman and her dog. She walks down the centre of the road, or in my lane. Often when I approach her, if I swing to other side I'm on the crest of a hill, thus endangering myself and my passengers. But she doesn't move. So lately I haven't been swinging to the other side, just approaching her and slowing down if she doesn't move. She grudgingly gets off the road, but isn't happy about it. I guess I'm being stubborn, under the guise of being safe.

DVD Sale

It was a DVD sale,
For so long advertised,
And people were brought together,
Next to those they despised.
For each person hated the other,
Their loathing deep and complete,
For each person that attended,
Was another with which to compete.
They gathered deep onto the footpath,
Jostling for the best position,
For being too far away,
Was not a good proposition.
The doors flew open wide,
And people pushed and punched,
They dove headlong at the opening,
In a throng they were bunched.
The door frame exploded impressively,
As the horde thundered on,
They wanted to reach the tables,
Before the good titles were all gone.
I had delivered explicit instructions,
To my kids numbering two,
"Run under the legs of people,
And this I'm telling you -
Grab every DVD you can,
Snatch them if you must,
Because the adults will give into you,
Because that's only just.
Don't grab multiple copies,
Just a single of each one,
I'll signal with a whistle,
When I think we're done.
I'll go to the centre,
That's where the crowd will be,
Soph go right, Erin left,
And then in the centre meet me."
Soph was tugging with a gent,
Over a title that was rare,
She started crying with gusto,
For this tactic we'd prepared,
He sheepishly let her have it,
And Soph didn't linger,
She just smiled and kept going,
While he gave her the finger.
Erin crawled under the table,
Making it slightly sway,
Only to find tomorrow's releases,
Where they'd hidden them away.
I elbowed through all the people,
The kids did remarkably well,
We gathered some impressive titles,
The other shoppers can go to Hell.
We selected the ones we wanted,
Put the other ones on the table,
I know that this underhanded,
And even slightly unstable.
But my girls and I are addicted,
When we watch a DVD,
They grab a drink and some chips,
And come and sit on my knee.
For, they take after me like this,
And whatever the weather,
DVDs are our time enjoying,
Just being all together.

Well, it wasn't THAT bad, ummm, by the time we'd got there, there were only a handful of people in the store, so, the poem is a lie. This time. I've been to ones like that, though. I really think that the sales are becoming far less angry, as more and more people have stocked their libraries to the point that they don't want many more movies. (I looked at the Top 100 list the other day - I own all the ones that I would pick from there already.) Plus, the rental places are forever selling off excess copies.

As for my endless fascination that is DVD - I love watching movies and can watch a good film many times. Just last weekend I was watching a film I've seen 20 times or so and picked up things that I hadn't previously. Plus, the commentaries and bonus materials are fascinating. Each weekend I go out with the girls to the stores so we can spend time together. While we're out I look in my favourite DVD haunts. I also look periodically on eBay. Many times I don't buy one. Sometimes I buy two or three. If I'm in doubt, I don't buy it.

Grey Hairs

I had just been to the toilet,
And while I was washing my hands,
I looked into the mirror,
And a tremor struck my hands.
For standing there before me,
Returning my horrified stares,
Was a person besieged by,
A multitude of grey hairs.
Now, I've found the odd one,
But didn't dwell in the dumps,
But now they have multiplied,
And are there in clumps.
It's the first time I've noticed them,
They have come to the fore,
But I won't worry about them,
Because then there will be more.
I won't dye my hair either,
That never looks quite right,
Plus, where do you draw the line,
When against aging you fight?
I won't pluck them out either,
Against that I'm firmly set,
Because with my receding hairline,
I need every hair I can get.
So, perhaps I should become more stately,
And less inclined to rage,
This could be a blessing in disguise -
It's time to act my age.

Nah.

I did just see them for the first time. Bastards.

What Work is Like

Coming to work is like have a crap,
You do it every day,
It's just the minor details that are different,
And that's all I've got to say.

Pretty much true, isn't it?

Stop

Stop yelling at me
Stop stomping in the house
Stop kicking the dog
It's not my fault.
Stop shredding the newspaper
Stop all that crying
Stop eating chocolate
It's just that time of the month.
Stop bitching at the kids
Stop breaking dishes
Stop whining about it
You still have to pay your credit card bill.

This is a twisted poem - I was hoping that you'd not be expecting the real reason the subject was venting their anger.

Fog

Broiling with tumbling intensity
The fog embraces the trees
Warmly encircling them
In its damp embrace.
Sheathing everything in indiscriminate grey
And blurring harsh outlines
Objects meld into delightful blends
Striking, startling and surprising.
The light diffuses through the mist
In some places harsh and glaring
In others making little impact
Merely adding to the mystery.
Until the day moves inexorably onwards
Gradually burning off the mist
Erasing evidence of the event
But leaving a lasting memory.

I awoke to find a misty morning. The way that it seemed to almost imperceptibly flow and move through the trees inspired me.

Bad Dreams

I know you've just be frightened,
You're timid as a sheep,
Come into my bed to escape your demons,
And in my arms you can sleep.
I'll banish the gibbering images,
And the ones that have no form,
I'll be the rock in your life,
Through the night to the early morn.

This is in the Dad Job Description - and I love doing it. I love helping my kids and to help them when they're frightened brings home the awesome responsibility that is being a parent.

Street Artist

I need to write my name everywhere,
On the bus and in the train,
To see a blank and fresh painted surface,
Causes me much pain.
I'll tag any type of building,
The street and gutters too,
The hospital and the police station,
The morgue and the zoo.
You should appreciate my commitment,
My art and work ethic,
To not be surrounded by street art,
Is just bordering on pathetic.
I work steadily on new designs,
With products experiment,
Using new and different paint techniques,
And products I've been sent.
I'll paint on any surface,
I'm a concentration of skill,
I'll even paint moving objects,
To get a challenging thrill.
But recently I got caught again,
To spend the night in jail,
This is just another warning,
Through the experience I'll sail.
Of course there were no witnesses,
Even though everyone new,
There was not enough for a court of law,
There was nothing no-one could do.
But there was something in the water,
It put me straight to bed,
I awoke the next morning,
With a rolling thunder rumbling,
In the centre of my head.
My cellmates were quite hysterical,
Behind them my thoughts lagged,
Until I looked at my body,
For in my sleep I had been tagged.
The officers and my cellmates,
The business owners I'd defaced,
Had all come in with a tattoo artist,
And over me graffiti placed.
Like, "One day I'll be man-sized",
Placed on my balls and dick,
And in the centre of my forehead,
"And you thought a stone was thick ..."
Of course there were no witnesses,
Even though everyone new,
There was not enough for a court of law,
There was nothing no-one could do.

This is a twisted poem, where the subject (I HATE them) is the subject of the twist. If only it were true ...

Reach

Tangible excitement grips me
In its thrilling embrace
Providing me with the fortitude
To bravely step forward.
The possibilities seem endless
Limited only by my own courage
Take my hand and help me
Reach for the ice chip stars.

My toothbrush is a "Reach" brand - so you can reach all your teeth. I took the title and applied it to someone who wanted something, so had to reach for it.

So Proud

I'd love you no matter what,
I'd sing it long and loud,
For you are just so remarkable,
Of you I am so proud.
But recently you achieved so much,
I had expected the worst,
But you came out ahead of all,
My heart was fit to burst.
You're just such a kind-hearted one,
And whilst that's not a sin,
Often you go unrecognised,
And I was so pleased to see you win.
So, take these accolades on offer,
And the spoils proudly wear,
But no matter what comes tomorrow,
For you I'll always be there.

Sophie came first in her race at Sports Day. She's such a sweet kid - it was good to see her win something - normally she'd slow down for someone else.

I've Got Good Teeth

I've got such good teeth,
They're shiny and they're white,
I admire them at every opportunity,
Morning, noon and night.
You can see them glistening brightly,
From near of from far,
I keep them so scrupulously clean,
Beside my bed in a jar.

After my recent trips to the dentist I thought, "I've got good teeth." I just twisted it a bit.

The Seagull

You are the human seagull,
In my life often stopping,
To fly in from the bright blue sky,
To leave with me a dropping.
You feel cleansed by the visit,
I hope you’re proud of it,
Because you have left me feeling stressed,
In your pile of shit.

This is my day. However, I've developed the Monkey Theory.

People come to me with a monkey on their shoulder. The monkey is their problem. When they start to speak, the monkey puts a foot on my shoulder too. They can leave me with the monkey, or take it with them. I like to encourage them to take it with them. At worst, I take the monkey, train it for a short while, then give it back.

Reap the Whirlwind

For years I have been patient,
Courteous and you respected,
But lately my values have changed,
To your side they have defected.
You have not made any effort,
To give me courtesy,
So now I will give you back,
What you have given to me.
My vitriol will be explosive,
I’ll interject into what you say,
I’ll be aggressive with my choice of words,
Each and every day.
I’ll frown and complain loudly,
And cry that this isn’t fair,
I’ll mutter obscenities under my breath,
As I give you a poisonous stare.
I’ll cease to pay attention,
To your every word,
And when you ask a question,
I’ll pretend that I haven’t heard.
This has been brought to you by you,
My anger you have empowered,
The milk of human kindness,
For over time can be soured.

Sometimes I'd like to give people back the attitude they give me. But that would make me like them. Nah, I'll just infuriate them with stubborn politeness.

Pocket PC

I have a new pocket PC.
iPaq is its name,
I’ve had PDAs before,
But this one’s not the same.
Internet and email capable,
The day’s tasks and meetings,
When it synchs with my PC,
They send the fondest greetings.
Pocket Word and Excel,
Audio through MP3,
Lots of pixelicious colour,
So images you can see.
Bluetooth facility included,
And I don’t mean to gloat,
But software that makes it,
Replace every household remote.
So, when you see me playing,
In my pocket for a while,
It’s electronic, not organic,
That’s the reason for my smile.

I love my iPaq! It's just enhanced the way I do things away from a pc.

In - Tray

The in-tray in my office,
With it I’m obsessed,
It seems to be demonic,
With evilness possessed.
No matter how I toil,
The documents push or pull,
Every time I turn around,
It seems the bastard’s full.
I grab paper by the handful,
Do work by the reams,
But it grows faster than I work,
Or that’s the way it seems.
But I have a plan in mind,
All my wishes to fulfill,
I’m going to remove the paper,
And put in a hundred dollar bill.

Well, if the money multiples like the paperwork ...

Giant Marshmallow

I was eating a giant marshmallow,
Down my throat it was steered,
But when I woke up I discovered,
That my pillow had disappeared.

Ink Jet Cartridge

I arrived at my sleepy school,
That rests atop a ridge,
To see the works I fear the most,
“Please replace cartridge.”
This is the one in the fax machine,
It’s an ancient one I think,
And to save ourselves some cash,
The cartridges we re-ink.
I assembled my menagerie of tools,
Plastic gloves and syringe,
A supply of ink and sticky tape,
Then I began to cringe.
The ink tipped over on my desk,
Turning all the papers black,
It shot up and painted the ceiling,
Then ran down my back.
The syringe trembled in my grasp,
In my flesh to stick,
I felt just a little bit silly,
I felt a little prick.
I syringed ink into the cartridge,
It flowed rather fast,
And squirted from the cartridge top,
And sprayed someone walking past.
The tape refused to seal the top,
Perpetually coming away,
But it wrapped around my head,
And I have nothing more to say.

I hate changing them, but a new one is $55 and a refill pack is $7. It's worth the ink stains on your hands for 48 hours.

Breathless

Ihavemissedyougreatly,
Thesinthatisyourskin,
Breathlesswithanticipation,
IsthestatethatI'min.
Ican'tbreathwiththetension,
Youhavecapturedeverybreath,
IfIcouldexpireinyourembrace,
Itwouldbeawelcomedeath.
Butthatshallneverhappen,
Youaremytreasuredwife,
Weshallalwaysbreathtogether,
Andtogetherwe'llembracelife.

This is a sappy little bit where I started with the "breathless" idea. If you're breathless, you'll eventually die, hence the bit in the middle. I also ran the words together to simulate someone short on breath.

Trepidation

For months I have avoided you,
The prospects so unkind,
But the fear that you implanted,
Was never far from my mind.
The day approached with malice,
Over the horizon it sped,
I wished I had been stronger,
Or that I used my head.
With trepidation I participated,
But fear accounted for nought.
Things weren't nearly,
As bad as I had thought.
So, I've learnt to be more rational,
To be positive each day,
To try to stay ahead,
And not let my imagination run away.

Inspired by a pending trip to the dentist - it's amazing how long I put things like this off for, only to find out my imagination had run away to the point that my expectations were a mirror of Hell.

Shiver

I shiver, I shake,
I tremble with anticipation,
I come out in gooseflesh,
Much to my consternation.
I wiggle, I waggle,
I squirm and I wriggle,
I am so uncomfortable,
That nervously I giggle.
I am so disappointed,
I am such a jerk,
I should have brought myself,
A warm coat to me to work.

That'll learn me for going to work early - the day was warm, but it quickly turned cold. Never mind - it was a Friday before a long weekend - not much could make that bad.

No Outward Sign

I don't know if you're happy,
You won't give me a sign,
Your happiness is so truncated,
It never matches mine.
You don't display much emotion,
Your moods are uniformly grey,
You never seem to comprehend,
A single word I have to say.
Why must you torture me so?
Just give me an outward sign,
A slight form of movement,
Just this one single time?
But I refuse to be disheartened,
My sorrows I shall not wail,
You can't show me you're happy,
Because corgis don't have a tail.

I just love my corgi, however, with no tail to wag he has trouble showing it. However, his eyes and ears give him away.

What You Give Me

I'm just an ordinary guy,
I know you understand,
But you love transforms me,
Into an extraordinary man.
You give me breath when I'm suffocating,
You give me water when I'm dry,
You inspire me when I'm listless,
You're the truth when I'm a lie.
You give me sparkle when I'm dull,
You fuel my flagging fire,
You're the banquet when I'm starving,
You're solidity when I'm a mire.
Without you I'm an empty shell,
Hollow from head to feet,
You're the last piece in the puzzle,
You make me deliciously complete.

Sappy, sentimental saliva. Move along.

For You

It's nice to be nice to others,
There's not enough smiles today,
But who's looking after you,
Who will you attention pay?
When you're feeling dark and down,
Who will remove your bitter tears?
Who will nurse you back to health,
Or be the banisher of your fears?
Just turn my way and smile,
Or give me a meaningful stare,
Because for your endless kindness,
Forever for you I'll be there.

I was thinking about how some people give themselves selflessly, often for no reward other than the intrinsic worth of helping others. So, I added a reward for the person mentioned in the text.

Eating Pussy

I like to eat a little pussy,
It's a throwback from my past,
It's a hunter-gatherer type of thing,
But man, they're really fast.
I catch them in my neighbourhood,
And remove their little paws,
Fry them in a very hot wok,
And add some satay sauce.

I was watching "Rock Star" and the term was used. Sounded like another perfect piece of twisted poetry.

Myself

I won't pretend to be another,
Myself is just for me,
I am a self-indulgent type of fool,
A study in individuality.
At times I conform with the mainstream,
From my head down to my shoes,
But that's because it suits me,
And the mainstream I consciously choose.
But at times I worry even myself,
My passions so dark and strange,
The thoughts that I entertain,
Border on the deranged.
But when I finally harbour worms,
Or my ashes rest upon a shelf,
I'll know that I've been successful,
Because I've remained true to myself.

I know, it's a trifle self-indulgent. So sue me.

Big Stiff One

I like a big stiff one,
It makes me feel all right,
It gives me so much pleasure,
Each and every night.
I like it in every room,
I like it long and white,
I even like it long and black,
They're all the same at night.
I like to hold it in my bed,
I'll hold it in my chair,
I grasp it with both my hands,
Until empty - nothing there.
I caress it so very often,
It makes me strong and stout,
I love my occasional coke and bourbon,
What did you think this was about?

I'd just sat down with a big, stiff drink and thought that term might be confused with something else. Perfect fodder for poetry with a twist.

Proud (contraversial)

This one's a bit black - you might be offended. I was merely looking for irony, the subject came to me as I marched with reps from my school today in the ANZAC Day parade.

He survived the landing at Gallipoli,
All his mates were killed,
It was that God was smiling on him,
And in preservation he was skilled.
He survived the Turks' machine guns,
He survived the frag grenades,
He survived catching dysentry,
And the ravages that made.
He survived his bloody capture,
And life in a prison cramp,
When all you have to dine on,
Is the occasional stomach cramp.
He survived his daring rescue,
And the perilous homeward trip,
He survived the loss of a leg,
And the loss of part of his hip.
He proudly marched down the street,
In the noble veterans' parade,
He marched through the heat and humidity,
When his tired legs abruptly swayed.
Proudly he sank to the ground,
Surrounded by his surviving mates,
He survived a Great War overseas,
To die decades later with his mates.

High Heels

The orchestra played its sinuous symphony,
A flurry of sensuous moves,
The music was addictively absorbing,
But I only had eyes for your shoes.
Your legs coiled with mischievous intent,
The leather a supple black,
The heels so long and pointed,
I long for them on my back.
They rested with anxious energy,
Moving in deliberative welts,
They embodied your femininity,
And caused my heart to melt.
All those around you were conservative,
Wearing sensible foot attire,
Yours with their rakish angles,
Set my blood on fire.
But now I am away from you,
The music I cannot see,
But your heels are always here,
Forefront in my memory.

No, I'm not kinky. But I did notice her shoes. We went to a concert last night and in the orchestra was a violinist who was wearing these pointy high heels, when all of those around her were wearing far more conservative footwear. I took my surprise and twisted it into an obsession.

German Shepherds

I had some stuff to burn,
Some leaves and trees and wood,
Which required me to visit,
People in our neighbourhood.
This was a friendly thing to do,
I'm like that you know,
So, if people suffered from asthma,
Somewhere else they could go.
The first neighbour had a dog,
A German Shepherd type,
They are a friendly sort,
Don't believe the hype.
The second neighbour had a pet,
No surprise to you,
As I arrived I was greeted,
By a German Shepherd too.
The third neighbour was a surprise,
As dusk gave way to night,
I arrived at their front door,
Not a German Shepherd was in sight.
I said, "This is the first home,
And neighbour that I've met,
Where a German Shepherd hasn't lived,
The attraction I don't get."
And as we stood at the door,
A woman came driving sheep,
She penned them up with great ease,
To allow them to go to sleep.
The man just grinned at me,
The joke the best of his life,
"Meet our own German Shepherd,
She's Eva, my lovely wife."

I have two great, big piles of old trees to burn off. To do this, I have to get the permission of our neighbours, fill in a form, get the Fire Department out to have a look at it, then I can burn it. The first two places I visited had German Shepherds. I got to thinking how the third one, which didn't have a dog, could still have one. Then, when I commented on it to the person, there could be an interesting moment of embarrassment.

Choices

It lazed with odious weight,
Constantly reminding me of its existence,
Forefront in my tangled consciousness,
Never far from consideration.
So many options lay before me,
All clambering for recognition,
All seemingly worthy of attention.
None signaling as a worthy selection.
Time may serve to be the answer,
But too much of it will pollute,
A decision is looming large and lumbering,
Grant me the strength to chose wisely.

We had just been paid and I had a pocket full of money. Being the responsible consumer, I wondered what I could blow it on. The myriad of options spawned the poem.

Paint Frenzy

Our house interior was looking sad,
Echoing of the previous folks,
Who have painted it a bland salmon,
We were the butt of many jokes.
So, Charli grabbed the paint rollers,
And her trusty brush,
Went to the store for some ochre paint,
And then there descended a hush.
With a blur and a movement explosion,
A frenzy if you will,
She twirled around the house,
And proceeded to the walls fill,
With a lather of a yellow hue,
Akin to the rising sun,
And with her maniacal laughter,
She seemed to be having fun.
The furniture got the treatment,
The carpet and the cat,
The computer and the light,
But not satisfied with that,
She painted the kids and I,
But chortling with my glee,
We now all blend in,
And me she cannot see.

Charli wanted to expel the demons that were the people who owned this house before us. The best way she felt to do this was to repaint the inside of the house, changing the colour from a neutral salmon to a vibrant yellow. Strangely she wanted to do this without my help. Sounded good to me.

Easter Bunny

The Easter Bunny was not content,
With the girls and boys,
They had been misbehaving,
Arguing and breaking toys.
So, he did not want to deliver,
His clutch of chocolate eggs,
Instead he wanted proper gifts,
For all of humanity's dregs.
So, this year he left behind raisins,
Covered in chocolate,
But they weren't commercially available,
They came from out his butt.

With the way some kids are, wouldn't you do the same?

Kitchen Research

I was just in the kitchen,
And then something I hate,
My toast skittered off the surface,
Of my shiny plate.
The spread side of course landed,
Spread side facing down,
I hate the way that happens,
It really left me down.
But it inspired some thinking,
Some research would be a treat,
You know how felines,
Always land upon their feet?
I went outside and got Daisy,
Smeared Vegemite on her head,
And dropped her form the roof,
And she landed cranially instead.

I had made some toast and it fell off the plate, landing spread side down. I was thinking about how that could ever be considered a good thing ....

Blah Blah Blah

Thanks for coming in Mrs Parent,
It's good to see you today,
I'd like to talk about your child,
And attention you must pay.
He has a blah tendency,
To often blah behave,
And blah eduspeak consequences,
Will blah blah to my grave.
When we blah blah eduspeak,
He blah blah blah eyes,
And blah blah eudoublespeak,
He blah blah blah tries.
Then blah edudoublespeak blah,
Suspension blah blah blah,
Edutriplespeak blah blah blah,
Blah blah blah blah blah.
But blah blah occasionally,
Blah blah great,
He edudoublespeak blah blah,
And he blah blah rate.
The he can blah surprise me,
Be is blah bright,
He eduspeak and blah then,
He gets them all blah right.
So, blah eduspeak is hope,
And whilst he can frustrate,
I find he has great potential,
And a knowledge that's blah rate.
So, thanks for seeing me today,
These things you should know,
And do you have any questions,
Briefly before you go?

I was reflecting on jargon that professionals use and obviously, education is no exception. Jargon is a necessary and desirable thing in the profession. It gives people a common language. People can talk about ICBMs and RAM and infrastructure, so why can't education promote some of its terms? This would allow teachers and community members to more fully engage in dialogue about education and that of children. However, we're not there yet. So, I wondered what a parent-teacher interview would sound like to a parent who was a bit nervous about coming to the school, didn't like school themselves and knew that there were issues with their child.

Raid

The police officer entered the grounds,
The day was clear and bright,
The school glistened with sparkling dew,
Left over from a crisp night.
He wandered under one of the buildings,
Old and countless times mended,
When, to his surprise from nowhere,
Three children came forth and surrendered.
"We're so sorry, Officer, sir,"
They were heard to exclaim,
"We didn't know they were stolen,
We can easily explain."
He rounded them up and restrained them,
And continued his stroll,
As three students burst from the bushes,
Their de facto hiding hole.
All consuming alcohol,
And cigarettes galore,
All minors subject to prosecution,
For they were breaking the law.
He walked towards the Staff Toilets,
The school still in a hush,
And as he approached the building,
He heard every toilet flush.
The smile on his face was priceless,
For he was nobody's fool,
If only the ones concerned knew,
He was just dropping his daughter at school.

One of our parents was at school yesterday giving a talk to students. He's a police officer. Now you know where the inspiration came from.

New Strategy

Just when I thought I was worldly,
Everything seen by my eyes,
A reaction from a child appears,
And catches me by surprise.
The child had been referred to me,
For stealing another's tyre,
My patience was non-existent,
His enrolment was to expire.
As I tiraded around him,
Really, just at the start,
The child was so scared that,
He peeled forth a fart.
Not a quiet, timid type,
This was a full-blown roar,
He knew his world was ending,
And what his future had in store,
But the fart caught me off guard,
And as I scowled upon his face,
His flatulence distracted me,
And I forgot my place.
My heart was then not in it,
My anger faded fast,
I'd obviously made my point,
So I sent him back to class.

True story - I was going off at a student and he got so nervous he farted. I lost my train of thought and then my heart wasn't in being angry. Besides, I think I'd made my point by then.

Self-loathing

Resolving my reluctance
And marshalling my reticence
I gather my avoidances
To feed my procrastination.
Collecting my poor self-esteem
And collating my self-criticism
I group my insecurities
To continue to myself loath.

The last few days have been taxing. I don't mean what I wrote, I'm just moody.

Chocolate Desperado

The feel of warm summer showers,
The relaxation of a back rub,
Fresh brewed coffee in the morning,
A long soak in a hot tub.
The smell of freshly mown grass,
Of someone else doing your chores,
But there's nothing better than,
Eating chocolate that isn't yours.

I was having a complex day at school - all manner of personal issues that needed attention. I had a few spare minutes, so I went to the Staff Room … and there was chocolate in the fridge! Not any more. (I did replace it the next day, but for 24 hours I felt like a desperado.)

Assault on the Senses

The light mingled
In an uneasy penumbra
Heightening the ominous
Interplay of shadows.
The mist writhes around
Encircling my position
Wrapping me in a blanket
That is uncomfortable.
Stealthy whispers creep
Stuttering and stammering
Causing unconscious unease
To echo through my mind.
Bitter fear assaults
My undeveloped palate
I can never develop
A taste for trepidation.
I see the dawn arriving
Blistering red and yellow
Identifying my fears
And shepherding them away.

The first four lines came to me in bed before I drifted off to sleep. Like all people with a memory like mine, I keep a pen and paper beside the bed. If I didn't write it down, I'd either promptly forget it, or spend the next hour lying awake attempting not to forget it, only to wake up and realize that I have forgotten it. So, I took the lines and did the old "I've got one of the senses, so let's do the other four" trick. I extended the ominous theme, with the "ray of sunlight" ending to provide a "happy ending". Too many clichés? I think it works.

You, My Affliction

Do I refer to you as my chronic ailment,
Or are you my acute affliction?
You are remarkably consistent,
But that is in your consistent variation.
You are oblivious to the mental havoc,
That you germinate and nurture.
I'd prefer that you would eschew me,
So I could return to my own infinity.

This began as a loose group of phrases that I tied up together in order to experiment with a new style. I call it "Desperate Lameness".

From Four Words

Replete with enormous complexities,
Each clambering and demanding,
Their essences intoxicatingly fascinating,
Attentional vacuums greedily absorbing.
Such is life's eternal intricacies.

A fried and I were discussing life and she summed it up in the four words "complex, demanding, fascinating, absorbing". I wrote the four words down and forgot about them. I found them yesterday and thought, "Can I write a poem using those four words as the last word on each line?" I went close, but felt I needed the last line to give it context.

Paper and People

The paperwork is piling, not to be ignored,
The people are queuing, not to be ignored.
The paper's gobbling up my time,
The people jealously try to keep up.
The people want something to be done,
The paper too, by an explicit deadline.
The people have complaints to lodge,
I give them the appropriate paperwork.

Some days I have paper days, where all I seem to do is paperwork. Other days seem to be people days, where I attend to the needs of many people. I don't plan them that way, that's just the way that they work out. So, the title came to me first and I started writing two lines, where the paper and the people wanted the same thing. After four, I reversed the order. Then , the last line came to me implying that one generates the other in some self-perpetuating circle.

Unconsciously Conscious

What determines consciousness?
Is it simply being ununconscious?
To be one is necessary,
To simply be the opposite of the other?
Being unconscious or conscious,
Are opposite ends of a spectrum,
Separated by the delights,
Of states of confusion and stupor.
Such a tautological circle,
Is surely a travesty of logic?
Perhaps we lack the words,
To be more aware of our own awareness?

I was talking with a colleague about what we knew, what we knew we knew, what we knew that we didn't know and what we thought we didn't know, but needed to. (It made sense at the time.) I got to thinking about states of consciousness and how you knew when someone was unconscious, but the definition of consciousness was much more slippery.

Serpentine

It snaked and slithered from its den,
From Hell reluctantly sent,
It coiled and emerged with a,
Head full of rapacious intent.
It's skin shone with harlequin intensity,
Glistening in the sun,
Causing much revulsion and unease,
Before an action it had begun.
People recoiled in fear and horror,
As more of the serpent appeared,
It seemed it was intent on disquiet,
And its visage was much feared.
Peals of terror rang from everywhere,
And screams were freely issued,
Please help me in my despair,
And provide me with a tissue.

I arrived at work and had to clear a backlog, so to speak. That made me wonder how a natural by-product could be amplified and the terror that would bring. Viola!

I Can Help

You see me and immediately scream
Thrash
Cry
Wail.
I reach down into the depths of my soul
Searching for sympathy
But I'm coming up empty.
You want to be elsewhere, somewhere
Safe
Familiar
Comforting.
So do I, but we have no choice
We have been thrown together.
My job is to keep you here
Yours is to do what you must
Learn
Develop
Grow.
I can help you through this
But first you have to want
To help yourself.

A child was dragged into my office. This happens a bit with this student. He doesn't want to school, so the parent, usually the father, drags him in. The whole time he screams, "Mummy! I want my mummy!" all run together in different orders and sequences. After 30 minutes I can calm him down and get him to class and he's fine. I, however, am not fine for the rest of the day.

Monday Work Issue

One near to me had made an error,
The thing seemed quite small,
But its effects accelerated,
Then it wasn't small at all.
People all around were frustrated,
They had much to say,
About the inconvenience caused,
And the impact on their day.
I could see their issues clearly,
And I then apologised,
To them their points were important,
And needed to be recognised.
I didn't accost the staff member,
That is not my way,
But we looked at what could be learnt,
From the issues of today.
Such issues with people are quite common,
I treat all of them the same,
I look for ways to solve the problem,
Not go looking to assign blame.

Pretty much as it happened. There were a number of factors that contributed to the issue - I call this an "event cascade". Still, we have put new measures in place in an attempt to minimise the chance of this occurring again.

Cooking for Dad

My father had come to stay,
For eleven days,
He has so many charming ideas,
And some peculiar ways.
He has very simple tastes,
And a similar outlook,
He is a fussy person to feed,
So simple fair I tried to cook.
Until one night I cooked spaghetti,
His comment changed my mood,
"It's wonderful what you can do,
With a can of old dog food."

Dad likes to say stuff like that. He does have simple tasted and I must admit that the sauce did look a bit like dog food. I thought his comment was funny, but a lot of people would have taken it the wrong way.

Shopping Trolley

We had some grocery shopping to perform,
We needed milk, meat and bread,
Toilet rolls, detergent and shampoo,
And some aspirin for my head.
My children were appropriately excited,
To at the shops to be back,
So, we ambled to the entrance,
To get a trolley from the rack.
This trolley looked so meek and mild,
Quiet in itself,
But it was possessed by Satan,
The Prince of Darkness himself.
It leapt at the merest touch,
And strained to be set free,
It bucked and pulled and jerked,
Eager to dominate me.
It struck a blow to tins of tuna,
Packed in a pyramid,
People accused me of knocking them down,
I said, "Satan did!"
It swerved across the polished floor,
Slaloming down the aisle,
It chased and rammed a little old lady,
And sent her sprawling for a mile.
It lurched through the frozen foods,
Doing slides and skids,
Inappropriately touching all young mothers,
And injuring their kids.
It broke the containers in its basket,
And in my arms it did flail,
The contents of our trolley spilled forth,
Leaving a treacherous trail.
The manager came forth in challenge,
And took a mighty leap,
The trolley caught her in mid air,
And left her in a heap.
The security guard drew his weapon,
And was to shoot to kill,
The trolley dodged every salvo,
With its demonic skill.
It grabbed all sorts of items,
Condoms and ice cream,
Rectal lotion and internal lubricant,
And all manner of feminine hygiene.
It raced through the checkout lanes,
It's cackles ringing far,
It sped through the car park,
And stopped beside my car.
The SWAT team had then arrived,
And spilled forth from their van,
The trolley leapt and attacked,
Leaving it looking like an old can.
The army thundered onto the scene,
With tact and careful steppin',
They captured the trolley alive,
To use as a secret weapon.
I surveyed the debris all around,
Checked my kids, and then,
Both of them smiled and asked,
"Dad, can we do that again?"

Whilst probably not possessed to the same extent, the trolley that we used was pretty bad. It wanted to go left all of the time and the heavier it got, the worse its misbehaviour became, so I ended up turning it on a 45 degree angle and pushing it that way.

A Job Well Done

My garden tools were assembled,
Glistening in the sun,
My motivation was surging,
There was labour to be done.
With sweat and strain and pain and tears,
I attacked the job with vigour,
I scraped and honed and cleaned and dug,
And was brutal in my vigour.
And with the task completed,
Wearily I laze about,
I'm so glad I took the opportunity,
To clean my navel out.

It's awful, but it's true. I'll spare you the details, but I had just cleaned out my navel (I couldn't remember the last time I did THAT) and was surprised to see how much stuff was in there.

Come Back, We Can Work Through This

You have been my love, my light,
My muse, my inspiration,
My source of continued existence,
My receptacle of admiration.
Circumstances have divided us,
Grudges have been borne,
Between our love and your background,
You have wretchedly been torn.
I know you need to leave me,
I'm going out of my mind,
You want to return to the drawer,
And be with your kind.
So, go now my precious,
Take your liberating walk,
Rejoice at your new freedom,
Rejoice, and be a fork.

Apparently, the fork and I had no future. It loved me and my feelings for it have been well documented, but it was still a fork and all forks need eventually to be returned to their kind. No relationship with cutlery has ever worked. Some human-utensil relationships have lasted, but only with some minor surgery and blacksmith skills. So, I set my fork free. It still comes to visit once in a while, but there's an odd, vacant, glassy element to it's gaze. I've moved on. Really.

My Cutlery Mistake

It seemed my poem of yesterday,
Has created a minor war,
It's led to dissent in,
My kitchen cutlery drawer.
The spoons grip each other tightly,
And refuse to come out,
They have anti-Ymir placards,
And slogans they yell out.
The ladle has adorned itself,
With barbed wire by the score,
But this protest is OK,
I didn't know what it was for.
The knives are ominously quiet,
Well organised and planned,
The first time I picked one up,
It stabbed me in the hand.
The bottle openers have self-sealed,
Corkscrews are in a protest line,
That doesn't affect beer or bourbon,
So that just suits me fine.
The knife sharpener refuses to work,
But the issue's plain and clear,
I prefer it not to work,
Now blunt knives are a good idea.
The spatulas have all curled up,
The couldn't flip a bean,
Everything else has disappeared,
Not an item can be seen.
So, as I survey my kitchen tools,
From a bunker on the floor,
I realize my fork is precious,
And I love it even more.

As stated, this one springs from the poem of yesterday. I wondered how the other cutlery would take my obsession with my fork. Is it just me, or do I sound like the Blue Raja from "Mystery Men"? In any case, I included some other items of cutlery and tried to include humorous takes on their functions.

Ode to You

I love the way you're there for me,
Patiently you wait,
You are at my beck and call,
I think you're simply great.
We never fight or argue,
You like to hold my hand,
You listen to all my problems,
And try to understand.
You've never deserted me,
In my times of need,
You are not prone to jealousy,
Anger, stress or greed.
You've always done what I ask of you,
At a suggestion you never baulk,
I know I can rely on you,
My treasured, trusty fork.

Believe it or not, forks are a precious commodity at school. No sooner do we buy a whole heap more … they disappear! So, I have a fork in my office that I have brought from home. As I sat down I saw it out of the corner of my eye and thought, "Now, what if I took this fork thing a bit further?" I didn't want to take it too far, so actually drew some mental boundaries about how far I was going with the idea (sex with cutlery isn't a pleasing metal, er, mental image - there, I said it).

I'll Show You

I know you're a bit closed off,
Your love you can't freely show,
Expression of emotion is foreign to you,
It's a way you do not know.
But take my hand and I will help,
You discover what you have inside,
I have enough love for both of us,
It's something I cannot hide.
And slowly we will journey forth,
Discovering passion along the way,
Tonight will be our road's beginning,
And tomorrow's another day.

This poem came to me while I was on our veranda having a beer with Dad. He was a bit closed off until about 20 years ago when his Dad died. There were so many things he didn't get to say to his father. I guess then he figured life was too short to be closed off. In any case I was thinking what it would be like to be in a relationship like that. The poem resulted.

HighwayMan

I approached my car with determination,
A long distance to be traveled,
The fate of the future rested with me,
Society was about to be unraveled.
I had procured fuel injection,
Lowering my fuel consumption,
The blower made me travel faster,
To any city of my compunction.
I charged my car with a fuel cell,
From my inventory,
I checked my destination on my map,
And left with expediency.
I journeyed long and journeyed hard,
Nerves set and ice cool,
I took out my favourite weapon,
And remembered I was at school.
It seems I've rediscovered Fallout 2,
It's good and bad and such,
Perhaps I've been over-doing it,
And playing the game too much?

This one is reasonably self-explanatory. A little while ago an internet colleague (BC) posted something about Fallout on the Unwashed Village board. This was enough for me to install and fire up Fallout 2 again. I had just been using the car in the game, when I had to go to the shop for bread and milk. The poem came to me as I started our car.

Desert Warfare

The desert stretched across the earth,
The wind stirred listless dust,
The opposing forces advanced determinedly,
Because for freedom they must.
Both considered themselves correct,
Their cause was noble and just,
They were going to destroy their opponents,
And grind them into dust.
One group controlled the area,
The other wanted it for its own,
One was fighting to take over,
The other defending their home.
In a blinding flash both were dead,
The terror coming from the sky,
The horrible fire swept all before it,
And the instigator was I.
I was building a sand pit for my kids,
The ants just had to go,
Petrol and fire kills ants effectively,
And the weeds will not grow.
Now the two kids have their pit,
For a month I have been slack,
S.E.H. has been pestering me,
Now she can get off my back.
The kids have played and laughed and sang,
Built castles and a mouse,
Now the sand is everywhere,
In the yard and in the house.
But again I watch with wonder,
As under the shade I rest,
That these kids know what fun is,
And the simple things are often best.

This one was meant to be a "start with one topical issue, but twist it with the last bit" poem, and I could have stopped at "And the weeds will not grow". However, I got carried away with the "simple things are often the best" theme. I never know how they might turn out - it often changes as I get to the end.

Intertwined

Issues threatened to enclose me
Weighing with concentrated intensity
I had planned to confront them
And be successful though determination.
Steeled I arrived to face the issues
My tension matched by my focus
Only to find my staff had functioned
To remove the obstacle before me.
Working with people is challenging
Attitudes and motivation are tenuous
But one day you see that people have grown
And your lives are intertwined.

Today I had been a bit tense about coming to work - there were a few things that I had to do that were going to make the day quite frantic. I steeled myself as I walked into the school and unpacked my briefcase … only to find that some members of my staff had taken it upon themselves to do most of the tasks that I had been concerned about. It was such a nice feeling.

Collective Nouns

An aarmory of aardvarks,
A throat full of pips,
An accompaniment of condiments,
And an armada of ships.
An army of caterpillars,
An array of luminaries,
An assemblage of jigsaw puzzlers,
And a seven of the seas.
An atlas of physical maps,
An attitude of teenagers,
An audit of accountants,
And a hospital of nurses.
An aurora of polar bears,
A hat full of milliners,
A bale of sea turtles,
And a band of mountain gorillas.
A battery of intelligence tests,
A bed of ocean clams,
A bed of rock oysters,
And a candy full of yams.
A bed of writing snakes,
A bestiary of mythological creatures,
A bevy of beauties,
And a movie-house of features.
A bevy of tiny quail,
A bevy of stately swans,
A bloat of hippopotami,
And a stock full of bonds.
A bouquet of scented flowers,
A bout of estimations,
A brace of spangled grouse,
And a chorus of exhalations.
A broadside of artillery shells,
A brood of bust hens,
A buffoonery of orangutans,
And a pocketful of pens.
A building of noisy rooks,
A bunch of seedless grapes,
A burden of yolks,
And stack of hot canapés.
A bury of conies,
A business of flashing ferrets,
A business of annoying flies,
And a chest full of merits.
A buttload of proctologists,
A cackle of hyenas,
A camp of transvestites,
And a suit of dry cleaners.
A candle of jungle tapirs,
A cast of actors,
A cast of fierce falcons,
And a magnitude of attractors.
A cete of busy badgers,
A handful of pinchers,
A chain of desert islands,
And charm of finches.
A chorus of Heaven's angels,
A class of students,
A clench of nervous sphincters,
And a bore of jurisprudence.
A cloud of gnawing gnats,
A cloud of grasshoppers,
A cloud of swarming plankton,
And a beaker of stoppers.
A clowder of prowling cats
A clutch of newborn chicks,
A clutch of any eggs,
And a Karate full of kicks.
A clutch of kleptomaniacs
A clutter of house cats,
A collective of collective nouns,
And a nest of bubonic rats.
A colony of busy ants,
A colony of industrious beavers,
A colony of penguins,
And a basket full of weavers.
A colony of rabbits,
A company of soldiers,
A congregation of people,
And a lane of bowlers.
A congregation of plovers,
A congregation of worshipers,
A constellation of some stars,
And a compilation of rhyming verse.
A constituency of voters,
A convocation of eagles,
A covey of grounded grouse,
And a howl of frenzied beagles.
A covey of flying quail,
A crash of software,
A crowd of gaping onlookers,
A beach of those who bare.
A cry of scenting hounds,
A descent of woodpeckers,
A dilation of pupils,
And a butt of prickly burrs.
A division of soldiers,
A dole of peaceful doves,
A down of wild hares,
And a graveyard of forgotten loves.
A dray of staccato squirrels,
A drift of pungent swine,
A durante of toucans,
And a tree of lime.
An embarrassment of riches,
A falling of dominoes,
A fidget of anxious suspects,
And a surrounding of your foes.
A fleet of noble ships,
A flight of cormorants,
A flight of shining doves,
And a stench of underpants.
A flight of golf balls,
A flight of goshawks,
A flight of refugees,
And a drawer of table forks.
A flight of swooping swallows,
A float of crocodiles,
A flock of docile sheep,
And a rectum of irritated piles.
A flood of incompetent plumbers,
A fold of wooden chairs,
A formation of geologists,
And an armpit of hairs.
A gaggle of giggling geese,
A galaxy of stars,
A gallop of Greyhounds,
And a frequenting of bars.
A gang of stately elk,
A gang of hoodlums,
A greed of litigious lawyers,
And a percussion of drums.
A grind of household chores,
A grip of hand tools,
A groan of painful puns,
And a government of fools.
A gross of fruity farts,
A grove of all trees,
A guilt of sinful pleasures,
And a pants of knobby knees.
A gush of trembling sycophants,
A hand of bananas,
A handful of palm readers,
And a bed of pajamas.
A heap of useless trash,
A herd of elephants,
A herd of horses too,
And an exile of tyrants.
A hide of majestic tigers,
A hill of beans,
A hive of swarming bees,
And a cover of screens.
A horde of insistent gnats,
A skeleton of marrows,
A host of brilliant angels,
And a host of sparrows.
A hover of hummingbirds,
A hover of river trout,
A huddle of hippos,
And a belly of stout.
A hug of teddy bears,
An imposition of in-laws,
An incantation of witches,
And a pad of paws.
An incision of surgeons,
An indecision of managers,
A Jagger of ceaseless tongues,
And a lifetime of Gypsy curse.
A knot of wriggling eels,
A knot of green frogs,
A knot of shoelaces,
And a blaze of logs.
A leap of frisky hares,
A magnum of hitmen,
A mask of raccoons,
And a business of acumen.
A maul of wild bears,
A garden of fairies,
A maze of weathered canyons,
And a meaning of dictionaries.
A mob of kangaroos,
A murder of crows,
A muster of peacocks,
And a stream of flows.
A mute of tracking hounds,
A nest of mice,
A nest of venomous vipers,
And a berg of ice.
A number of mathematicians,
A nye of pheasants,
An obscurity of poets,
And a tree of shiny presents.
An orchestra of musicians,
A pack of hounds,
A pack of suitcases,
And a scenery of surrounds.
A pad of sheets of paper,
A paddling of ducks,
A pander of toadies,
And a fleet of heavy trucks.
A parliament of owls,
A parliament of rooks,
A party of jays,
And a library of books.
A peal of church bells,
A piddle of puppies,
A plague of hungry locusts,
And a trend of yuppies.
A plane of geometrists,
A plump of waterfowl,
A pod of playful seals,
And a night of menacing growls.
A pod of regal whales,
A poke of fencers,
A ponder of philosophers,
And a flap of tissue dispensers.
A prattle of pretty parrots,
A prickle of hedgehogs,
A prickle of porcupines,
And a trap of sticky bogs.
A pride of savannah lions,
A pryde of griffins,
A quake of seismologists,
And a Hobbiton of Pippins.
A rafter of turkeys,
A rain of cats and dogs,
A range of towering mountains,
And a cave of shuffling trogs.
A reflection of narcissists,
A release of anglers,
A rhyme of poets,
And a clutch of cattle wranglers.
A round of refreshing drinks,
A salvo of artillery shells,
A scale of ichthyologists,
And a haunting of personal Hells.
A sedge of watchful cranes,
A sheaf of golden wheat,
A shitload of troubles,
And a shuffling of feet.
A shoal of thrashing bass,
A shock of bursting corn,
A shortage of dwarves,
And a heap of scorn.
A shrewdness of apes,
A stack of unopened boxes,
A siege of attentive herons,
And a skulk of foxes.
A slew of complex homework,
A slice of circumcisions,
A smuck of jellyfish,
And an absence of decisions.
A sneak of stealthy weasels,
A souffle of clouds,
A Sousa of marching bands,
And a sepulcher of shrouds.
A splash of dormant puddles,
A spring of active seals,
A squint of proofreaders,
And a group of squeals.
A staff of reluctant employees,
A stand of flamingo,
A stash of weed,
A tottering of vertigo.
A stench of angry skunks,
A can of past laughs,
A streak of intent tigers,
And a stretch of giraffes.
A stripe of wild zebras,
A stud of brood mares,
A sulk of angry teenagers,
And a begging of bears.
A swarm of cranky bees,
A swelter of blankets,
A tangle of tricksters,
And an excuse of lost bets.
A team of eager athletes,
A team of horses,
A team of oxen,
And a challenge of golf courses.
A tedium of golfers,
A treachery of spies,
A tribe of mountain goats,
And an annoyance of flies.
A trip of mountain goats,
A troop of monkeys,
A troupe of performers,
And a ring of keys.
A tumult of tubas,
A ubiquity of sparrows,
An unkindness of ravens,
And a quiver of arrows,
A vision of optometrists,
A wake of patient vultures,
A watch of nightingales,
And a confusion of cultures.
A wave of aging surfers,
A wealth of information,
A wedge of gorgeous geese,
And a handful of masturbation.
A wedge of flying swans,
A whistle of modems,
A wisp of snipe,
And a necklace of precious gems.
A wriggle of garden worms,
A denouncing of all effective,
All belong to an exclusive club,
The nouns of the collective.

A teacher had called in sick and we couldn't find a replacement. Hence, I had to take the class for the day. I drew up my "bag of tricks" - a collection of well-used and mostly successful lessons. One of these, believe it or not, is collective nouns. I was saying this in the Staff Room when one of the staff remarked, "That class will eat you alive if you teach that boring crap."

Right.

So, I offered, "You watch the lesson. If the class enjoy it, I win. If they don't get into it, you win."

He counter-offered, "Let's make it interesting. If they don't get into it, you owe me $100."

I added, "If we write more than 100, real of made up, you owe me $100. If I can turn it into a poem by then end of the day with the class, you owe me $200."

Anyone need a loan?

Stress

Echoes in the silence
Fissures on the ground
Harpies in the atmosphere
Sniping all around.
Poison in the watercourse
Blades against my feet
Demons hurl their barbs
As they gibber in retreat.
Stress is my counterpart
It accompanies me everywhere
It gnaws at my entrails
And removes my hair.
It overworks my heart
It strangles at my chest
It haunts my waking hours
And torments me at rest.
It does a repeat performance
Each and every day
It serves to fire and motivate
I like to be this way.

The first two lines came to me in the shower - from where I don't know. I thought, "I like that - I'll use them when next I write." I got to work and had a spare moment, typed them and just kept going. As I wrote I thought of life-threatening situations and used them as they came to me.

Flatulence Symposium

Yesterday I attended a meeting of about 100 principals on the “latest” in curriculum design. I was thrilled (not) by the confusing juxtaposition of buzz-words and trend-phrases. Here’s a sample:

Retrospective connectedness
Particular strings of consciousness
Utilising a very strong quantitative team
Chunking the syllabus
Futures perspective
Assessment is merely sets of anticipated evidence
You can do without the overhead
The biggest problem with syllabus documents is that teachers don’t understand them
Notions of curriculum entitlement
Preservation of curriculum entities
Let’s not assume that we have made much progress at all

However, there was one aspect that I found very rewarding:

The principals arrived eagerly,
To receive the word,
This promised to be the most crucial,
Thing we’d ever heard.
Bit rapidly the promise dwindled,
This was a time mishap,
The information was confusing,
It’s inherent message crap.
But most excellent were the chairs,
Made from cushioned plastic,
The were a form of whoopee cushion,
A cruel manufacturer’s trick.
As people carefully shifted,
The noise cam in fits and starts,
The hall was filled with the music,
Of an orchestra of farts.
If you tried to be careful,
It only made it worse,
As you shifted slowly,
You just elongated the burst.
People who moved quickly,
Trumpeted well and great,
Those wearing polyester,
Had a sound prone to vibrate.
I was in Heaven then,
It made the time go fast,
To me the first was so funny,
And it continued to the last.
But what I enjoyed the most was,
How it made me feel,
When I peeled forth a genuine one,
With a stench that was surreal.
People ignored my genuine trumpet,
Thinking it was the chair,
Until the fruity odour came,
And put a curl into their hair.
They suspiciously eyed each other,
Their tempers a simmering flame,
But I disguised my glee so well,
That they had no-one to blame.
I ignored the temptation to continue,
I had escaped detection,
Besides, it’s impossible to,
Improve upon perfection.

Meeting Delirium

blinking rapidly
attention wandering
words swirling
meaning dwindling
reality shifting
realization dawning
I’d rather be elsewhere

I was at a meeting and was a bit tired - up early to go for a walk, the meeting was not what I thought it would be, it was full of jargon and quite irrelevant. I caught myself going to sleep.

The Mouse in School

"Vermin! Vermin!" Our
Teacher's voice was shrill!
And that much exuberance
Gave us kids a thrill.
Since our school isn't noted
For having much excitement,
We take what we get
And turn it in-to an event.
Teacher scrambled on top her desk.
My, but she could scoot!
And Johnny started throwing spitballs
As fast as he could shoot.
Betty grabbed the dustpan,
And Larry poked the broom
Behind the dusty bookcase
Which caused that mouse to zoom!
Kids were tipping over desks
And books were in the air.
You'd of thought a grizzly bear
Could cause so great a scare.
Finally, though, the game wore down.
The mouse tore out the door.
And teacher crawled down off her desk
And stood upon the floor.
"Now, Children, like I was saying
Before I climbed to get a view,
Find your notes, dust off your books;
It's time for our review.
Who can tell me, children,
If your brains have got calmed down,
Is 'vermin'… liked I used it…
An adjective or noun?"

I'm Such A Morning Person

I awoke with a haze descended,
I do not wake up well,
The mornings seem to scorn my being,
It is my private hell.
I turned on the spacious shower,
And unexceptionally stepped in,
The water was far too hot,
And now I have no skin.
I lathered up with the soap,
And what did I behold?
I had picked up the wrong container,
I’d lathered up Exit Mould.
I stepped out a toweled myself dry,
Glad to be free of dirt,
Only to find I had in error,
Toweled off with my ironed shirt.
I then used the underarm deodorant,
Letting out a strangled scream,
I had just applied a thick layer,
Of my shaving cream.
I brushed my teeth with liquid soap,
Anger building in my head,
I went to brush my receding hairline,
But used the razor instead.
I am far from psychic, but,
This thought filled my head,
I considered the way the day had started,
And just went back to bed.

This, in theory, is true. I don't wake up well. Sadly, our youngest daughter has inherited this gene from me and wakes up a similar way. Things should get particularly interesting as she gets older and we run across each other in the morning. I'm visualising two grizzly bears with attitudes ...

New Mouse House

My mouse was looking dejected,
I needed to give it a hand,
His balls were decidedly dirty,
He’s not optical – you understand.
So, I gave him a new pad to live in,
He’s quite a contented mouse,
He just lies there smiling,
On top of his new house.

I don't know what you mouse pad looks like (we don't even have one at home) but my work one was looking rather tatty. Our technology guru had enough one day and gave me a new one. Hence, the poem. I used the mouse ball reference because I thought it funny - of course I have an optical mouse. Well, at work, in any case.

Shampoo Bottles are Made from Animals

My shampoo bottle perplexes me,
It states no animal testing,
Or use of animal products,
My militancy was now resting.
But in small print on the label,
It says, “Made from recycled P.E.T.”
So, if no animals are used,
From where did the bottle they get.
Those poor little sausage dogs,
That poor little parakeet,
The bottle isn’t plastic at all,
It’s made from animal meat!
I was about to have a stroke,
And go into cardiac arrest,
When I picked up the phone and called them,
To give them Daisy’s address ….

That's what it says on the back of my shampoo bottle. (Don't you do other things in the shower besides shower?) It just struck me as a little ironic.

Automated Morning

I awoke from my blissful slumber,
The nightmares had been beaten,
I swallowed my breakfast tablet,
And that was breakfast eaten.
I showered using my showering gel,
Good for skin and hair,
It cleans, moisturizes and freshens,
And removes unwanted hair.
I dressed in my school uniform,
In the colours everyone wore,
I grabbed my complete briefcase,
And wandered out the door.
I opened the automated garage,
And stepped into my car,
With its electronic systems,
Transport has come so far.
I snoozed on the way to work,
The car did most of the driving,
And before I knew what had happened,
At school I was arriving.
I walked into the office,
Bedlam as far as I could see,
That’s enough of pre-packed automation,
Now it’s up to me.

It seems more and more that things are pre=packaged, combined with other products and/or automated. However, sooner or later, you have to do things for yourself. That's life.

Love is a Game

I was a confirmed solitaire
When, like a thief you stole my heart
I quiver and quake when you’re away
My love for you seems unreal.
But nothing is ever black and white
I have a feeling of impending doom
I am no longer your shining crusader
No regret: I await our tumultuous fallout.

This is a lame little poem that uses computer game titles in it. I don't think anyone noticed the games, just the lameness.

Kid Fight

I was having a quick shower,
When something made me pause,
It sounded like the kids were fighting,
And using teeth and claws.
The yells were harsh and raucous,
And coming in a flood,
I ran out at light speed,
Expecting to see blood.
But things were perfectly serene,
Me you can deride,
It wasn't the children fighting,
There was a cockatoo outside.

True enough - I was in the shower and heard the creams and ruckus. I bolted out, dripping wet, to find the girls happily playing and the cockatoo mocking me from outside. So I shot it. Well, I wanted to ...

Snake Encounter

I always look out for snakes
Around them I take great care
It seems we live in a snake corridor
They use our land as a thoroughfare.
So, I was out hanging the washing
And saw one from the corner of my eye
I couldn’t help but step on it
And let out a startled cry.
I thought it would surely bite me
You can imagine my shock
When the snake just seemed to lay there
Because it was a sock.

Again, true. I was hanging out the washing and saw the "snake" just as I stood on it. It felt soft and squishy, but I had let out a yell of surprise. No-one saw it, but I chose to write about it.

Pea Sea

Eye halve a spelling chequer
It came with my pea sea
It plainly marques four my revue
Miss steaks eye kin knot sea.
Eye strike a key and type a word
And weight four it two say
Weather eye am wrong oar write
It shows me straight a weigh.
As soon as a mist ache is maid
It nose bee fore two long
And eye can put the error rite
Its rare lea ever wrong.
Eye have run this poem threw it
I am shore your pleased two no
Its letter perfect awl the weigh
My chequer tolled me sew.

Old Fart Symptom #1

I am just a prisoner in this life,
It's related to my age,
I am restrained by my being,
And it is my back that is my cage.
It cannot support what it once did,
And whatever the weather or season,
I can be doing nothing at all,
And it pops out for no reason.
Just two days ago I was on the beach,
And out the cranky thing popped,
It seemed things were now to be hampered,
Most festivities had to be stopped.
I couldn't even get comfortable,
Sit or lie or stand,
Left untreated things would deteriorate,
The really get out of hand.
So, home we raced for the remedy,
Charlie drove to fast,
To imbue me with bourbon and cold coke,
Served in a frosty tall glass.

I've had back problems for about 10 years now. I remember the sympathy I got from one of the physiotherapists I went to, "You're a middle aged fat bastard now. Get used to it." I responded by drinking more, eating more and exercising less. That'll show her. (I HATE the use of shock tactics.)