It took some guts to change

This absence feels so strange

Resentment cohabits fear

talking cheap my Dear.

An honest break from me and you –

Good tidings severed clean and true.

This morning I was early, I should have slept in longer – blurry bleary tired and trampled. Bed is so good, rest is mandatory, I will lay here until the last possible moment. I am dying. Empty empty dying. My body is a renegade, my body is a castle. First mornings light, I shy away, until I can’t, avoid the day.

This is the end.

This is the end of us.

It happened rather suddenly –

A chat without much fuss.

I’m at a loss,

And full of pain.

A heart of pressure

Aboard a plane.

I drink my tea,

My seatbelt locked

How could this be,

Turbulence and shock

We barely fought –

We just gave up.

Our restless sort –

And empty cup.

These silent days

And nights alone

A sadness plays

Plays with his phone.

Split now in halves.

And sorry for what became –

Our loveless paths,

Will never be the same.

The lowest point, in Hobart.

Sport and games are just an advanced form of socialising

By raise of hands, who DOES NOT want to put their hand up.

Ok, so we’re all compliant. Or confused. Perhaps both.

DAWN OVER THE SEA

In the light and in the noise
The little village wakes up:
Children and women, on the beach,
Wait for the night fishermen.

The sea looks like a ribbon of moire.
The sails of the trembling boats
Are like light white dots
On the blue and black depth.

Great birds pass through the air,
Wings open, and the sails
Among the last stars
Shine in the azure of the clear sky.

There is a phenomenon called Covidbrain –
that makes the world a prickly pain.
It makes you cry and act insane –
sick to stomach, heart and brain.

Inward hurt, worry and shame –
cannot be cured with anger or blame.
Carry on my love, our world’s the same –
please stay on track and keep in the frame.

Ben Dayho was a small and unlikeable man. He stood just over five foot tall, with a weather beaten face and whiskers. All the ladies in town were familiar with his sidelong glances and found him entirely repulsive.

That carrot tasted like nothing. Bad nothing. It was the flavour equivalent of dial up broadband.