Well, it comes and it goes, so it does.
It came and it went, so it did.
It passed right before us, a ship on the sea –
the time when we once all were “just a kid”.
Tag Archives: journal
Fit
Weird and awkward, odd and strange;
a set of quirks as broad as a mountain range.
Never really fit in but can’t seem to fit out –
what, really, is fitting all about?
If I can’t fit here, there, now or then,
will I fit somewhere – and if so, when?
Yes, yes you will – the “when”, I can’t say,
but when you fit with yourself,
you’ll be well on your way.
Remote
*Click* – a missile, flying through the air into the sea.
*Click* – some politician spitting “What I say shall be, shall be!”
*Click* – bird flu killed a lion, some otters and a bear.
*Click* – Kim Jong Un has a daughter and we’re supposed to care.
*Click* – twenty four new angles of Chinese spy balloons.
*Click* – ah, now that’s much better. I forgot about cartoons.
Life is work, uncertainty,
desperation to achieve –
it is plodding, it is pacing
it is the hope for a reprieve –
it is 9 to 5 and time enough
to think “What does it all mean?” –
it is all of that, but have you noticed
all good that happens in between?
Wander
I’ve read about the people
who laugh, then tumble down
ready to land across the sea
in an unfamiliar town.
They are more simple travellers
in heart and not in mind –
follow a path where it wanders,
wonder at what you’ll find.
Another kind of nomad
takes fewer steps, but still they see
it isn’t where you walk that matters
but where you want to be.
Whirr
The sound of a dryer
on a cold, wet day
reminds me a little
of a conveyer belt,
or a set of gears
mounted on a wall,
spinning, turning, grinding
to accomplish something
much more important
in the grand scheme of things
than ensuring I have a fresh towel
or that my jeans
feel warm to the touch,
but then what is built
seems always
to be bought.
Untitled
I took a little break, a pause,
juat enough time to pour
a stream of water down my throat
to cool the space around my heart.
Somehow the chill warms me
so much more than the fire.
These things more often than not
make very little sense.
Untitled
Magpie chatter skips across towering eucalypts,
those tall and crooked grandparents
of the bushland, sharing a cup of morning dew.
There is a knowing shared between them;
the bird, the bark, the branch.
Untitled
We all are only passersby,
waiting to alight the train.
From forward, twisted,
backward, winding railway tracks –
whichever run most parallel
to our own lives.
Untitled
Sometimes you lose motivation.
Sometimes the spark fizzles out.
But there’s always a path through the forest –
to find it is what life’s about.
Just Little Green Buttons 