RANDOM POMES

Visitation

Some mornings
after the deeper dreams
in which he is still alive
but missing, lost or left behind,
I hear the sheets whisper
across his shoulders
as he turns in sleep
throws his arm across my body
spoons me as he used to do.

And I stroke his arm;
feel the roughened skin;
the wrinkles below the elbow;
the hairs on his forearm;
the warmth of his fingers
as they interlink
with mine.

And then I wake.

Wild B(r)easts

I’m like a white hunter
these days
when it comes
to trapping
taming
and caging
my breasts.

At sunrise
I rise
turn on the spotlight
and drive to the side
of the bed
with my rifle
cocked and ready.

Then it’s lure them in
shake them straight
lock them up
and close the back door.

They are tigers
chafing to escape.
They climb the sides
of their enclosure
try to leap out.

It takes fence wire
and tireless fighting
to keep them in
settle them down.

Then there’s a day
of relative calm
before the sun sets
and they are released again
into the wild.

Enid Blyton taught me

Enid Blyton taught me
that Dick and Fanny
weren’t dirty words
before I learned that they were.

She taught me
about fairies and goblins
and magic mushrooms.

Enid Blyton taught me
that the word misled was pronounced Miss Led
and didn’t rhyme with “fizzled”
to be pronounced “mizzled”.

She taught me
that children are strong and resistant
that it’s okay to be gay
or trans, or black , or just a girly girl.

Enid Blyton taught me that with
a bit of imagination
you can fly your mind
anywhere you like.

Enid Blyton taught me
that siblings belong together
and that everyone should have
a dog.

Enid Blyton taught me
about magic
and kindness
and happy endings.

Enid Blyton taught me
that we could all be
famous or adventurous;
or secretive.

Enid Blyton taught me
that every day
there is another world
at the top of the tree.

Cave Diving

He used to be
my dive buddy.
He led the way through
narrow passageways.
He checked my air;
gave me the OK sign.

He can no longer
read the time
on his dive watch;
cannot calculate direction;
does not remember
the way back.

So now
we both flounder
in zero viz.

In Thailand those kids
trapped in the cave
survived
with their minds intact.
They escaped
before the rains came.

If only we too
could be swum out
into the light.

Cathy

At 61
You are a force of nature:
a bundle of energy;
the embodiment of caring
and good will.

At 61
you have more energy
and a greater zest for life
than many people
half your age.

At 61
you are a brave member
of the front line
in these poxy
virus-ridden times.

At 61
you are preparing
to be a grandmother
to the luckiest baby to be born
in this very crappy year.

At 61
you give so much
to your family
your students
and your friends,

At 61
You look less than forty.

Thank you
for being you Cathy
We have no gift for you this year
but you are a gift to all of us.
Happy Birthday

Strife after Death

When a grandchild
asked me
“Where do we go when we die?”
This was my reply.

I keep my mother on a drop leaf table
in the corner of my living room.
She is housed in a blue floral pot
next to her old teddy bear
and a box that contains
a lock of my brother’s hair.

A friend’s mother
is in her wardrobe
and another friend keeps her son
in a drawstring bag on a bookshelf
next to her computer.

My auntie stores her husband
in the bottom drawer
of her bedside cupboard and
someone else I know
threw his mother
off Glenelg Jetty.

A woman on a recent TV talk show
retained a few grains of her husband
in a gold locket on a chain around her neck
This was OK until the chain broke
and he was absorbed
into her cleavage.

Another friend kept
his share of his mother’s ashes
in a ziplock bag
inside a copy of “Breath”.
When thieves robbed his house
the bag was stolen and we suspect
that someone might have
snorted his mother.

There’s a lot to be said
for cremation.
I told the grandchild -
lost relatives take up less space
this way.