Please disregard the call for a Gift Subscription. The idea is NOT mine. I disown it. The reason as some of you know why I am taking a break from my blog is so I can spend more time on my manuscript NOT because I can’t afford the fee. I’ve attempted to let WordPress know this but so far without result. I will probably come back at a later date. I wish you all well. Happy blogging.
John
Horsing Around
Whenever I feel like lounging aroundin my beanbag
not working on my manuscript
not texting the kids
nor walking ‘round the ‘hood
but spinning my head around like Linda Blair
in ‘The Exorcist’
just horsing around
I think of what my friend Soon said
when we were in our golden youth
practising Taekwondo on the sands at Goolwa
‘plenty of time to rest when you’re dead’.
You Look Outside Yourself.
You look outside yourself
and notice things:
that daddy-long legs, for instance, dangling
from a windowsill in the outhouse,
like a Giacometti miniature,
the sneakers side by side in the doorway
as if eager to go for a walk,
and yrself at three on a wintry morning
hopping into a bowl of honey oat Weet-Bix
in your bare feet and boxers
Propped.
Whenever I feel like flagging
dropping out of the race
I can still stand tall
propped up by my faith
……………………………………….
like the hinges on a door
the roots of a tree
there’s plenty propping me up
besides ferocity
………………………………….
the fierce will to live
to take part in the race
to give it all that I can
to not be erased
……………………………….
and praise too for these meds
that prop me up each day
the unseen crutches that help
me bound along my way
The Little Metaphor from Nowhere.
She always admired his writing
but sometimes during the spiteful night
she’d envy it.
Hiss, she’d say, hiss
then sharply reprimand herself.
Still, he was kind, long patient
and would listen to her frippery fears.
Then one night in a swamp of a text
there was this:
You are the Ear I pour my heart into
Sonya from The Far Side.
Hello, I’m Sonya, she says,
I’m from the far side
indicating the distance we have to go.
You’re coming with me.
Okay, I say.
She has tatts on her neck,
time lines on her face,
little cracks in her voice
and faraway eyes though she is more gritty
than the Stones’ fantasy girl.
You don’t get to look like this without seeing pain.
She is my ferryman down the long, winding corridors
of Calvary.
She hands me over to Chris, the radiologist.
There are Gary Larson cartoons along the wall.
Welcome to The Gallery, he says with a wacky smile.
Have a fun time.
After the scans, Sonya comes and checks on me.
People got to lighten up, Chris says.
Paul Hogan, Benny Hill, wouldn’t get through
and Steady Eddy wouldn’t have a leg to stand on
as Sonya wheels me off to my far side.
*pic courtesy of pinterest
The woman next door is howling with pain.
It is 3 in the morning.
Clearly she is doing it harder than me.
I went in ten days ago
with a high fever
and within 24 hours my frail craft
had sailed off into the South Pole
where I was hit with pneumonia
and racked with pain.
It was Scott of the Antarctic meets ‘The Thing’.
I’m in calmer waters now.
Five days with minor ailments.
They’ve brought me into dock.
Going home today.
*pic courtesy of pinterest
John Malone 
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