A happy-go-lucky suburbanite

The place where ‘genius is likely to be born is a suburban area,

 not choc-a-bloc a place; In case you’re getting ducky,

there’s no denying that suburbia will do. It will be ace!

At first, you feel like bailing on small town, yet, just take it easy;

She’ll be right! There’s no reason not to see you there, mate.

Alright. Is there a chance you could arrive this arvo?

To put it other way, would be fantastic if you did go bush

with your beloved or cobber, especially if you are devo

or simply want to contemplate about ‘sense of life

somewhere far from bustle of big city life. Yay!

It’s heaps good way to make a getaway! Besides,

 it’s needless to dress up. Put on your darks and flannie,

however, grab a coldie along with sanga roll,

and fight a lion’s hunger after knocking off. Stroll! Continue reading “A happy-go-lucky suburbanite”

Please don’t look down on me

I am a bricklayer

Don’t look down on me

The work is tedious,hard

Don’t look down on me

I carry tonnes of heavy bricks daily

Don’t look down on me

I sweat…..my clothes get soaked

Don’t look down on me

My clothes get very dirty and dusty

Don’t look down on me

I’m heavily encased in cement dust

Don’t look down on me

My palms are rough,hard and badly scarred

Don’t look down on me

My nails are disfigured and dirty

Don’t look down on me

I look like a ragamuffin at work

Don’t look down on me

It  pays  the bills

Don’t look down on me Continue reading “Please don’t look down on me”

Lost beginnings

Retroversion of the word:

When it was noise in the throat

Of one who had not learned to write;

And the marks on the ground

Were not the moving finger of a god,

But evidence that man had been around.

There was a footprint, or an indentation

Of a certain size and shape,

Distinguishable from those of bird or beast

Who were more melodious, or more complete

In the manner they spoke.

Man had yet to wake:

That thing who moved on upright bones

And was moved by the sound of the wind

Or the groans of family or foes,

Those new divisions of research

On the obdurate world. Continue reading “Lost beginnings”

Smile for me

Where’s your place to spend a quiet night

Because these times have grown to show you your emotions just overflow You see your affecting others now

But you don’t quite know

Where to go from here

Wishing you can make yourself just disappear

I know how you feel

Hoping other people know how you feel Without saying a word

You want the rich to be poor and the poor to be rich! To feel the hunger when we switch

Hoping maybe then you’ll click

Trust me I understand!

I’m in your shoes so I’m with you

Don’t ever think that you’re alone when I’m always here with you

It’s about how you deal with the pain

Don’t let that feeling steer you away

From what you’re working toward

If you fail, ok

Nothing’s perfect, hey

Today is the day Continue reading “Smile for me”


Darkness befriends us, the shelter of trees.

Even when stark shell-shocked centers petrified,

they stand willing.  Afterwards, gently breeze- blown,

they are again solace sources.


So this moment palpably lives,

flesh lending warmth, steam-soft.

Hands funnel through like traffic,

fog-caught, lost and seeking.


Hands become thresholds,

paths recognized, appreciated, by-passed.


The lone continue journeying towards home,

exhaust, a trail left, mingling like sighs.



By Stephen Mead




Entered my life with abandon,

recklessly causing unwanted emotions,

reviving the lost hope of happiness.



Escaped the test of thought,

and was buried by loves intensity,

but continued to struggle to say alive.



Randomly dismissed and forgotten,

having no part of love,

joined reason in its isolation.



My life-long trusted companion,

please don’t linger far away,

I fear you must rejoin me soon.

For I do not believe in love,

and this feeling masked in beauty will soon depart,

leaving me where I will forever dwell…Alone.



By Gary William Ramsey


The idler

He strives to do absolutely nothing all day long

He is not stirred by alarm, siren, bell or gong

Being indolent is the art

That sets him distinctly apart

If he’s content that way, what’s wrong?



By Satish Pendharkar


Cuts like a knife

How could you do this to my soul, my heart,

And reject this poem, brimming with art?

I wrote it long ago when I was so young

And now it gushes, or is it too long?

This poem I reworked so many times!

As I sat myself down to start to revise

I worked so hard, and I did my best!

But I say uncle, I must acquiesce.

I hang down my head, again I begin,

I’ll revise as you wish and send out again.



By Joan E. Cashin



(thank you to Rickie Lee Jones)


isn’t linear.  A convoluting helix, its

taffy twists swirl:  a tornado’s central

nucleus.  There is stillness within

movement & DNA reeling into

all of our lives…


What’s that rappin’at your window,

pullin’ at your shirt tails,

sittin’ in your closet?


Open jars, sift through envelopes,

stretch forth, an antennae—–


Pulses tunnel chasms. Resigned rings well

as they were meant to:  moments, sea spray,

falling here, falling there…


Time breaks gravity, suspends destiny,

& flies on out.



By Stephen Mead