Butterflies of my Mind

small butterly

 

I was out among the fields, here one more time

Vigorously out hunting the butterflies of my mind

All the poems, the stories that had given me the slip

And would it seem once more; I had to be quick.

All the bright, beautiful things just beyond my net

Any moment now I’ll snare one; damn! Not just yet

Pachyderm

skinx

 

I used to think I’d like to be thick-skinned

Like a pachyderm

Then it wouldn’t hurt when your dreams

were overturned,

when people turned nasty and your heart

wants to explode

and it’s hard to walk defiant on that

long. lonely road.

But being thick-skinned essentially means

that you’re numb

And for an artist of any kind that’d be

Recklessly dumb.

 

A Hail of Taxis

automobile-1845650__340

 

Not the first cab off the rank

Nor the last cab to darwin

Nor the one de niro drove in taxi driver

Not even the big yellow taxi that joni mitchel drove to the top

Of the charts

But a little black and white number which took me to the icu

Late in the night the day juno’s heart packed it in.

Frissons

indhhh

 

Frissons are what you get when you ride the ghost train

Or rush out wheeling in the sudden summer rain

Or whenever an idea hits you high in the brain.

Frissons almost always go against the grain.

It’s the feeling you get when you take a big chance

And it pays off or  the hay-days of a romance.

It’s the feeling you aim for when you write a poem.

Frissons are what keep readers turned on.

 

Have you had a frisson lately?

I’m Good at Last Lines

writer

 

I’m good at last lines. I really am.

The rest of my poems are crap but my last lines

Are really something.

I’m thinking of bringing out a book called ‘My Fifty Best Last Lines’.

The trouble is it’d be like bringing out a book of punch lines without the jokes.

‘By gum, I wish I could do that’ or ‘It’s okay for you two. I have to walk out by myself’ fall a bit flat without the jokes attached.

I suppose I could make the rest of the poems as good as the last lines but it’s a pretty big ask.

Now I can’t even get a good last line to this poem.

The Lean

 

images

I have a tendency to lean

Towards the left

When standing,

A condition acquired during

My teenage years.

 

Lately under treatment

I lean more towards

The centre

But wobble at times

Either             side

 

My children hope

The condition

Will right itself

Before too long