no time

waking in the early morning
before the birds are even calling
and the suns not made a peep
and ice crusted grass surround the sheep
i rush through the house like a mini whirlwind
making lunch and cleaning for erwin
then in the gelid morning freeze
i jump into the car and breeze
down the freeway as fast as can be
hoping policemen and speeding cameras will not see
from the carpark to the office
running all the way
my breath ices all i try to say
during the day the endless chores
from this floor to that floor
up and down
chasing lores
customer service in the morning
phones ring off the hook
and in between the transcript records
im trying to fill in the other book
no time for lunch
cant stop for brunch
empty stomach growling
but there are still people to meet
and emails to greet
just so the service will run like a well oiled machine
and because latine is sick
and becka resigned so quick
and the other 3 vacancies havent been filled
im pulling all the oars ever so fast
and truly i wonder will it all last
or will jill come tumbling after
so as i leave work past eight
because all the end of day papers were late
i zoom home in the dark with a hurry
since erwin will worry and still want to have curry
never mind what he wants to eat
dinner is slapped between bread
not wanting him to start crying
i let him watch tv while i go to bed
without anymore being said
sorry for the lack of grammar
sorry for erwins broken scanner
but i really gotta go cos now its time to wake again
and the story flows
without a rose
everyday without a break
the company doesnt notice
and if i try to take
long service
leave im denied
without a poultice

trash

Where the wiggle has a squiggle, marching up to the bay, the miser and the lyser romp around all day.

Hush a moment, listen here. Can you hear it? Listen.

The salt on the table is called table salt, but you've never been to a salt lake, so you've never seen the salt monster.

Why should the elephant cry, leaving all the hazelnuts by? The crocodile will mash them all and then there really will be no ball. For bowling now, the squirrels use, the old jetsam coconut, not the quarrelsome cumbercue.

To what? See the pin drop on the horizon. Speak up, man.

On a day of contrary motions, the chromatics ran with glissful notion that all the scales of harmonic's pay will scare away melodic's day.

Starry night of mournful day, see how numbered people sway. In the cold wind biting, fighting for the last pot of whiting.

Chains and barbed wire wound round the pole. Red glooped and water ran down the side. This is what the punks did. Dirt blackened with liquid soaked and the smell of sweat lingered still. Glassy eyes stared unfocussed. Not far away, another coughed. Unnoticed. Immobile. Pain filled, with black bile. In the rising mist of the height, this lowly plain drew screams from the main. Scuffled dirt and crushed leaves stuffed up the nose. This was the price one must pay when they disagreed with the Metaglee.

Water flowed in wispy strides, down the battered gardenside. In flowing motion, like her scarf in the wind; in quiet grace, like her dancing by the stream.

Enigma of enigmas. This rat has a black day to fill with yellow. The maze that had been built, lost all who entered it and swallowed all who dared find their way. And yet, from the perch on the apple tree, one could see the straight road through it. Enigma of enigmas. This rat has found a new source to wallow.

Trash is what trash does. Smells of fairy floss and pee. Orange peels and rotting leftovers. The stench of carcasses swollen with maggots, the open sewer running over and filling the tip with its filth. Trash is what trash does. Loves all, takes all, embraces all and is no respecter of persons. If you stop still for hours, you'll see them that live among it. What is one man's loss, one man's junk, one man's waste, becomes another's treasure. They frighten easy and answer with surly silence.

Teacup, teacup, buttered toast on cheese. Grilled to perfection, without even a please.

Her ladyship's gown hung in the shadows. A grim foresight of things yet to come and this her happiest day. A life filled with torment and pain - to achieve this level of joy and gain... all to be lost to another's fancy whim. Just because they can.

meticulous

Upon the bench must sit like so
the ornaments and Face of Bo
if they're crooked then you'll know
when the wind blows and down they go

Have you seen my study room
where even I am wary with the broom
for to knock one think out of loom
will bring upon us scary doom

The colours of this pattern here
each must leave white borders at the rear
for if it is not so, I fear
that there will be a frightful tear

Please be seated on that chair
careful, mind the cushioned camel hair
you can use that green one with the bear
but please don't touch the purple hare

Oh, already you must go so soon?
Is it because you've no teaspoon?
watch your step, don't hurt the 'coon
he's good friends with the loon

There's no hurry, we've all day
we can sit or go walk and say
all the things aside we lay
because we think it doesn't pay

If you must go, you must go
yes, of your niece you have told me so
nevermind, I'll come next show
and bring her Bo-Peep's giant bow

I'm sorry you don't have the time
and I'm sorry too about your dime
here, don't forget the extra lime
and sorry too for all the rhyme!

Heheheh. There. Good riddance.
Actually, I'm not at all sorry about the rhyme. Just glad they've gone and left me alone... and they thought they were picky. Heheheh

the bestetht

I want to wite the very bestetht for my kind weaders. But. It ith haad to wite vewy weww when one ith been wuthed (wuthed not watthed). Tho. I wiww take thith vewy thwowy tho that it wiww be good. I hope. Thowwy about the thtaating withp.


'Twas one of those nights. A lesser evening than others where nothing was happening and you just lounge by the warm fire - or heater if you had one of those instead, reading a book or watching television. The evening breeze was still somehow finding its way through chinks in the wall and beneath the closed doors, sending chill air that wrapped occasional icy fingers around me. I have a fire. Therefore, I was reading a book by its warm glow. If I had a heater, I would watch TV instead - if I had a TV. Modern tasks with modern objects, traditional tasks with more traditional objects. That's how it is.

What was I reading? Let me see... It was... it was Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. Yes. That was the one. A trifling detail. Not remotely important in this story, but I am sure that there will be people out there who will ask me at some inopportune time, hence I give you this minor detail. I was nearing the end, you know, the part where Elizabeth's father tells her which of his girls' husbands he likes most; when I heard a distinct thump. From my bedroom.

Forgive my oversight. I forgot to mention that I was alone that night. Alone in my big three-story brick house and in the sitting room on the main (that is the middle) floor. Jackson had gone to have dinner with friends and it was Millie's night off, so she was out at a party. Glenda's 21st, I think.

Although startled, upon listening further, I heard no more and assumed it was the cat who had somehow gotten himself locked in my room. I couldn't think how it was possible. Certainly when I had left my room before dinner I had not seen him. Perhaps he had been hunting mice and had ironically been as quiet as a mouse. Who knows?

Grumbling to myself under my breath about stupid cats who get themselves locked into bedrooms and muttering that he had better not have dirtied my nice carpet or clean bed or he would get the wallop of his life, I stalked off to investigate and were it the cat, let him out. However, as I neared the room, I heard the muffled tapping of the clock gone wrong coming from within my bedroom. At least, that's what it sounded like. It could have been foot steps.

"Mintzy!" I had called, still disgruntled, "You had better not be playing with my clock or I will put you in a pot and boil you alive!" For I had on occasion caught my playful cat batting at the painted birds on the hands of the open faced clock in my room. Open, because the face had been missing to start with when Jackson had decided to buy it from a garage sale for me.

Flinging the door open, I gave a start. The window was open. I seldom opened the window, even in summer, because it had no fly or mosquito screen on it... and I never opened it during the winter... but it was a loose window with a broken latch that I had not yet gotten around to replacing. Thinking that the wind had somehow knocked it loose, I reached out to close it and took a pen from my table to use as a bolt. By the way, dear reader, this was performed without me turning on the light, for I knew where everything in my house lay and could walk about it in the dark as easily as if it were day; and it was a very dark night with an overcast sky and nothing but the tiniest sliver of moon lost behind the opaque clouds.

Then something brushed by me. I am not easily a-frightened, but I will tell you that that gave me a shock. Literally. A static shock and I'm sure the thing brushing by me felt it too, for there was a sudden movement. Also, it's shadow was much too large to be Mintzy. Turning back to get out of the room, I heard the door slam and the lock click. There being no key to the door, I knew that the person in the room had locked themselves in with me. I wondered how they had climbed up the wall. There was no old ivy and there was no tree. Only one rusty old... drain pipe. Who climbed drain pipes these days, anyway?

Moving swiftly, I ensconced myself within my wardrobe, but of course, my movement gave me away and I was pulled out roughly. However, while within the wardrobe, I had managed to catch hold of my old broken curtain rod that had snapped when Jackson had used it as an impromptu fishing pole, after he had lost his the previous week to a giant fish. With the rod I hit my assailant and brought it down upon his head. How dare he trespass upon my property and then lock me up in my room! He shouted and groaned, snatching at my foot to bring me crashing onto the floor. I dropped the rod. Up, I sprang after giving a sharp kick that crunched something - his nose, most likely and flicked the light switch.

Nothing happened. Before I could reach the door knob to unlock it, my vision suddenly sported stars and I stumbled, as the sound of the crack on my head came belatedly to my ears. That made me mad and though I reeled with dizziness, I gave a most awesome roar that swelled throughout the empty house and made the ceiling ring. My assailant paused and then I heard scrabbling at the window, the clean 'snap' of my pen in the latch as he pulled open the windows and a scrambling over at the drain pipe. There was a wail and a slight thump.

Good riddance, I thought to myself, making my way over the window and looking down. In the shadows, I saw the figure of a man stumbling away in the dark, holding his nose with one hand and clutching the broken curtain rod with the other. I laughed to myself, making a mental note to ensure that I got a new lock for my window the next day. Feeling that that was enough excitement for the day, I re-bolted my window with a much thicker pen this time and went to bed. As for the lights, Jackson could deal with it when he got home.

The next day, while Jackson and Millie lay a-bed, no doubt sleeping off the effects of their previous night's outings, I walked to town, wearing my usual green vest to stave off the cold. It was not as biting as it had been last night, but warm enough not to require the use of the jacket that I carried. Anyway, the brisk walk had warmed me up.

As I paid for my new window latch, Jill the shop girl asked if I knew of any bears currently residing within my home.

"None that I am aware of. Why please, Jill?"
"Mr Lambkin, you know, the sleazy one that's been sweet on you since, I don't know, forever, well, he came running into town with bruises of all sorts, a broken nose and a well cracked head, crying last night. He woke the town saying that he'd gone to visit your house and been attacked by a bear."
"Truly?"
"Yes. He said that he'd knocked on the door and there had been no reply, so assuming that everyone was out, he made to leave when he was attacked. Fancy that!"
"I didn't know we had any bears hereabouts."
"Mr Lambkin must have had a few shots too many last night. I heard that he'd lost at cards with Jackson again."

I laughed and bid the girl farewell, stopping by the pub where the bruised man himself, covered with bandages was still regaling his story in a slurred speech.

"Excuse me, Mr Lambkin," I tapped his arm, having pushed my way through the crowd. "I just heard your story and thought that I'd stop by to express my regret that I missed you last night when you called. How any bear came to wander by last night is an astonishment, especially considering that this is Australia. I will, however, let Jackson know so that he can be sure the bear has gone for good before it tramples all my flowers into the ground again. I fancy that was the same animal that had climbed my drain pipe and invaded my bedroom last night. If I remember correctly, I gave him a good bloody nose and a good many bruises, much like yours today, so there is no need to be concerned about my safety. You see, I can look after myself fairly well. You must understand, I managed to scare him out the house, such that he fair fell out the window. Seeing as you are already acquainted with him, next time you meet him, Mr Lambkin, please do send him my regards and ask him to be so kind as to knock on the front door instead of climbing in through my bedroom window and Jackson and I will be glad to treat him to honey and bread, if he means no harm. I must also thank you, sir, for rescuing that broken curtain rod of mine; snatched from me by the bear. I'd very much like it back, if you please."

The man's face changed from a flushed red, to a sheepish yellow and then a satifying white as he glanced down at the broken rod he still held in his left hand. At this, the men roared with laughter and the constable, slapped him on the back as he led him off to the station, winking at me as he went.



Thowwy.The ending'th a bit wuthed becauthe I'm now wate and my thithta ith waiting fow me in the caah. If I had time, I would edit thith a bit mowe, but ath I have no mowe time weft at thith moment, thith wiww have to do. Hope you aah thatithfied with it. Hopefuwwy my teeth wiww not be tho thowe tomowwow, tho that I can tawk pwopewy again.

Btw, if you want a twanswathion of the withp, pweathe wet me know and I wiww twy to potht it heeaah. That ith if you can dethipher thith two thententhes ath weww.

as a rainbow

Flying around the world so high, the fly observed disturbance. After hiding beneath a leaf as raindrops pattered down, the sun came out and shone nonsense when water still battered from the sky. Then in a moment of brilliance blinding, two bows appeared minding, carving out a pathway in the blue.

In all, with all, zipping in and out, the fly set off to find how such colours came about. Chasing further in the sky, it never seemed to reach, for just as it thought it was drawing nigh, the rainbow just moved further out of reach. On and on, the fly kept doggedly, wanting coloured prize, but then in utter fatigue the fly fell and fluttered, feeling small in size. Feebly trying to steady flight, the fly stretched out its wings, but too tired was its meeting and too fast was it wheeling.

Down below, while painting hall, the man turned 'round a moment. A little splosh he did not hear while tin of paint sat in rear. Swashing up a brushful, there the poor fly stood. Evermore to grace the halls and in death, to enhance the walls.

a letter

To the wending stream to the willow
By the whistling moss-strewn pillow

Myrias of myria
Greeting of the dee
From a time gone by

Here in ancient room now bare
Where all is torn and taken
I sit at the last remaining furniture
To write you this
My last
At last.

I remember a time from long ago
When we ran beneath daisied boughs
Laughing, rolling by the stream
Together
The two of us a team.

We had good times and many laughs
It's been an age
But no present time
Has been as great as those
No, not by half.

Remember the day we found that frog
Hidden beneath the stone?
How we built him a little house
Caught insects and fed him?
Remember how you insisted he needed a friend
And after many hours
Found one about his size?

I know you are busy
I know you don't have much time
But I wanted to tell you one more time
That while I know things have changed
And we have turned our separate ways
You the high road
I, the low road

My love for you has not dimmed
It has not paled
So while now you send me away
From this old place full of memories
I know you do what you think is best
And while my heart twists within me
To think that perhaps I've been betrayed

I remember that your heart is not so cold
That still
You are a human being
Capable of feeling
Despite our differing opinions

One day this war will be won
And we will both be judged by other men
Let our consciences be clear
Of all the deeds we have done.
I know mine is.

So as I go with your men
Willingly to my death
Please consider this
My last
Request
Let me see your face
One last
Time.

send me

"Send me, sir. I will go," said the young boy.

Hairy caterpillars worked up and down as the man contemplated the offer.

"You realise, lad, that this will be a dangerous task?"

"Yes sir, I do. I'm quick on my feet and know the streets better than any cabby. I can hide and nobody would ever question another little boy running around."

"That is true, but do you understand the utmost importance of the responsibility you are taking? It is but one letter, but the weight of its matter could well break your back if others learn that you are the messenger."

"Yes sir. I understand. Send me. I will go. Nobody else wants to."

Wrinkles forced the hairy caterpillars to writhe in what seemed like worry.

"You cannot stop for breath, cannot misplace, cannot lose this letter. You may well be sought for and killed. Are you absolutely certain?"

"Ask the master there, sir," said the boy, pushing his peaked cap up a little higher so that he could look above the man's well groomed chin. "He knows how responsible I can be."

The master nodded thoughtfully, though his thin-pressed lips seemed troubled.

"He's a good lad. He'll do as his told without a second to waste."

"Very well then. You, my young man, will go. I only wish you weren't so young, for though you may deliver the letter, there is a good chance, you may not make it back."

"Oh, I will, sir. You wait and see. I'll be there and back in a jiffy, only you tell me where to go and who to see."

"I will that, my young man. What's your name?"

"Jeffrey Hold, sir."

"Then young Jeffrey. Here's the letter. Put it in your breast pocket and let no other see it or even know it's there. Do not lose it at any cost. It must be delivered within the week to either a lady with golden hair and a pearl ring upon her left little finger or to a tall footman with a scar across his nose like so and who stutters when he talks."

Jeffrey repeated what the man said, committing it to memory and the hairy caterpillars lifted in seeming surprise.

"The place you are to go is Castleford, across the river. There you may find either of the people I have described to you and you may be sure that if you ask them if they had found an apple penny, they will be sure to answer you with a confirmation that they had and will tell you where next, you are to go. Here, Jeffrey, I will give you a few coins to keep you on your way. Be careful."

"That I will, sir." Again, Jeffrey carefully repeated the instructions until he knew them and the hairy caterpillars nodded in time to his words. "When should I start?"

"That you'd best ask your master. When do you think would be best?"

"I believe he should have a good supper and rest well tonight. Then tomorrow morning, he should leave in the morning market rush, with a full stomach to send him on his way."

"There you go, lad. Is there anything you would like?"

"Only a spare handkerchief and a belt."

"And you shall have them." The man pulled out a extra large sized handkerchief from his pocket and gave it to the boy. "There you go. I dare say your master will see to the belt."

"That I will. Go see Cook for supper first, lad, and I'll see what I can find you."

"Thank you sir. Thank you master. I'll bid you a good night then."

And off the boy trotted, looking ridiculously much too young for such an important task as this. The men almost felt as if they were monsters, for sending such a young lad into the fray, but they were helpless to do anything else.

"God help him and watch over him," murmured the bushy caterpillars, already moist.

"Amen," said the master in a quiet tone.