Chook Ku

the rooster crows
foraging with his hens
savouring the field

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Decanting a Poem

photo by G Bryden

Decanting a Poem

The poet selects a bottle
from the cellar,

ponders the label,
wipes away the dust,

nods and smiles,
if it pleases,

sits down in that chair,
in that place,

slips the cork
from the bottle,

decants
the brew,

letting it breathe

some words evaporate
some dance and rearrange
some stay to play,

the poem morphs once more.

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Note: a repost

Acrostic for Sufferers of Bovinephobia 😉

Run (by Michael Bryden)

 

Acrostic for Sufferers of Bovineophobia

Beware the beasts
Out to get you.
Vibrations of rage, running deep
Into the heart of the ground.
Nimble thy feet will be to avoid the
Excruciating crush of the bovine burden.
Oppressed you will feel, it is only fair.
Pray for divine assistance –
Holy cow!
Oh Lordy, get me outta here.
Bovine phobia, yes
It’s a thing.
And the cattle cry – Alleluia.

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Note: for bluebee who is a sufferer 😀

 

Nuddernote: fear of cattle is justified 😉 they are huge beasties and can squish you without even meaning too!

A hat tip to Basho’s Thin She Cat

the family dog –
she’s a little fat hippy
from too much love dude

___________________________________________

My apologies to Matsu Basho – hahahaha – I’m bashing his famous haiku:

The she cat –
Grown thin
From love and barley.

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The Imperial Russian Ballet Company

Nariman Bekzhanov

flight of
the Russian dancer
spirits soar
~
soloist
Nariman Bekzhanov
rapture in the air
~
the spirit of
Rudolph Nureyev
reach for heaven

________________________________

My daughter (11yo) and I went away for a girl’s weekend 😉

We saw the Imperial Russian Ballet Company’s Don Quixote. The production was amazing – the costumes, music, and most of all the supreme athletes who make up this ballet company. The technique of the principal soloist Nariman Bekzhanov has been compared to Rudolph Nureyev.

We had the best time!

________________________________

 

Homeless,

Homeless,

today

the man wakes from a (one eye open) sleep

with the sore back on a hard bench

stretch and groan, early, to steer clear

of the passers-by sneer and eye-roll

with quick turn of the head,

~

and they move along …

~

at home

way back when

the boy woke from a (one eye open) sleep

with the hard and fast pounding hand of panic

pressing his heart, and iced-up breath in his chest,

as he waited for grave footsteps

and a stale beer breath fog,

~

and he couldn’t move,

~

and he can’t move on.

_____________________________

Note: this poem is not based on any one individual.

If you live in Australia and need someone to talk to – you can contact Lifeline (Crisis support and suicide prevention).

___________________________________

Haiku (Cow Ku)

photo by Michael Bryden

~

black cow chewing

slowly the wind flutters by

an uncluttered mind

~

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The Nose Has It

May the smellathon continue 😀 Here is a slightly edited version of a poem I wrote a few years back, to continue with the carnivale of the nose.

The Nose Has It

Couched potatoed I watch Nigella
mix up moist chocolate cupcakes,
the smell wafts
through the flat screen,
landing softly in my olfactory
factory.

Whiff of wattle flowers
transports me back
to where my brown school shoes
clipped to class
under the watchful shelter
of a yellow canopy,
and the water fountain
bubbled a simple tune.

Freshly cut grass
oozes aromatherapy
on the weekend,
enchanting our souls.
It’s a scientific fact
the smell of cut grass
makes you feel good –
here’s to Victor Mowers.

I can conjure your aftershave,
was it called
sweat and sadism,
which I haven’t come
across in twenty years –
you smelt that good.

When people talk about
the big flood of ’74
I can smell the rotting stink of mud
ripping houses and marriages apart,
sticking on walls for decades –
things take a long time to dry out.

Then there is the smell of hospitals
which pretty pictures on the walls
fail to cover
and bouquets of flowers
and baskets of fresh oranges
cannot mask,
no matter how much we wish
they did.

When I look into your eyes
I smell fear –
you may smell anger
in my pheromones.

Can you smell things on the TV?

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Aromatherapy (A Beginners Guide)

 

When you are down

smell a segment of mandarin,

pungent, sachet of zing.

~

When you are down

smell toast buttered

and almost burnt

~

or maybe a cupcake,

straight from the oven

of your childhood.

~

When you are down

smell the hazy blue

scent of a eucalypt forest.

~

When you are down

smell a chocolate covered mint

and reflect on a full stomach.

~

When you are down

smell rosemary and mint,

but not together.

~

When you are down

smell hickory chips smoking,

away from your cave.

~

When you are down

smell coffee in a café,

when you’ve not had coffee for a while.

~

When you are down

smell the invisible mist of jasmine,

the spirit is breathing.

~

When you are down

smell rain on soil and listen –

fresh seedlings sing.

~

When you are down

smell freshly baked bread

that someone else has made.

~

When you are down

smell the stuffing of an antique shop,

and travel through time.

~

When you are down

smell a baby’s soft neck

but remember to ask the mother.

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Rainbow’s End in Sochi

We will rain on your parade Putin

for chasing the rainbows away,

for covering the ice snow in Sochi

with the blues and the blood

of stray dogs and the bruised

Pussy Riot in their bright colours,

their shirts and short dresses

made for a place of greater warmth.

                     ~

Cossacks will horsewhip the populace

into a Papier Mâché face

with smile, plastered in red

for the world to admire and deny

the destruction of human rights

in Russia, in this Olympic space,

say the girls in the brightly coloured

ski masks which hide their faces,

but not their song.