Welcome to The little book of shorts, from the 100 poems. The year is closing out in the next few weeks, so I usually start writing poem shorts, summer fun and all that down here in the South Pacific. Below are some shorts from the last year or so, some serious, some up lifting, some fun, and well some just to pass the time. So hopefully a little something for everyone. Please let me know if there are any you like, or if you were to pick a favourite, then which one… cheers!
I don’t know where this roof is, have been blind till I came here,
It makes no sense to roam these streets, the places they all look the same.
some domestic village or a city with their lanes.
dirty little streets, the clouds they hang around.
Pausing for that second till your feet they hit the ground,
running for your life, running from the sounds,
pausing for that moment, your dreams they are so bound.
Dirty little street
Everybody, come and party, in our dirty little street.
We got tall ones, we got short ones, we got fat ones, and we got skinny ones.
That’s all the drinks, party all the people, in our dirty little street.
We got garbage, we got signage, we got , and we got breakage.
Let’s get together, and have some fun, in our dirty little street.
As the moon rises above the coral sea,
I step on down upon its sandy beach,
To catch myself that hoverboard,
As a hoverboard would be so neat,
As the lamp cranes a top the bookshelf,
I stand up to climb a top a chair so high,
To glimpse myself these hoverbooks,
As for each hoverbook they’re so rare,
As the flowers in the window blossom,
I sit out on the narrow window ledge,
To spy myself a long hoverplanter,
As such a hoverplanter can fly so high,
What can you think of that might be cool if it could hover?
The rain here just starts and stalls us for awhile,
we tried to make the bend to cover on a smile,
The trees, their tops, now twist in the wind,
Our bare feet on the old road just as friends.
As the rain just kept on coming down,
We soon got tired and heavy, stop to look around,
The road it disappeared, with the water on the ground.
what is underwater sunshine like,
looking up at the sky,
somewhere near a small ledge close by,
someone waiting there,
to greet you at the surface,
to wrap their arms around you above the cover of the water,
underwater sunshine in your dreams at times,
These places lost beneath the deep blue sea.
Each passing story
I can only remember you, I don’t know where you are now.
Across the road in that big old tree, the days were long and the green our friend.
Running on those patches of green grass, chasing with all the laughs.
Swinging on that old roped tyre, reaching up to touch the branches.
Long ago the time, as the dust it rises up from the rain.
Looking back on the patchy old school yard, the steel and stone of our collision fast. Come breaking bleeding blood brother to this story,
Old friend I remember now, we did it all for the glory, for every laugh and each passing story.
To the sour taste of reality, but sweet with the taste of life.
Vinegar, in the reality we greet.
Treats, to the tastes to life here sweet..
Streets, be but the places we meet…
To whichever go the sweets, be the time, and the peace, here lost in the wheat.
A shift that sees one so weary, with La Nuit just for company, the calls they come like ripples upon the water of darkness, for as time passes, so do strangers in the night, though the voices of friends drift softly on the airwaves, flashes of violence break the silence, La Nuit so weary, lifts your head from the mellow guitar sounds traveling through your hands and thoughts, to tend the needs of others, then subsides till the morn greets, La Nuit is your companion, your solace for that time, until a new one fills the chair, so then La Nuit’s weariness leads you safely home, and those familiar…peace be in the dead of night.
I hear the sounds,
they echo from the valley floor.
The laughter, the joy it comes around,
as its spiral sounds rise through my open door.
To go with the people, the fun and colour you see,
for the time of carnival is here.
Oh where should I be, to let the child run free,
to see the wheel, touch the sky, and have no fear.
The carnival is here!!
Deserts at night
The best one can hope for in the morning,
is to think clear at the first break of light.
Where in the new air she stirs with a fight,
to find her cold feet in this world of great longing,
as the frost meets the deserts at night.
Roll on out of bed,
fall off the roof to hit my head,
or was that a tree I past instead.
Waking up now face to face,
with urban culture in its race,
to dominate the whole of space.
People wonder at true nature,
then want to replicate in steel structure,
such places foreign to run their caper.
I lost your pears, while in my chair, maybe this is a little rare…
A pear a day, to help one play, or perhaps to save for a holiday.
Maybe to take a journey from one friend’s kitchen to the next,
a pear per stay, for seven days.
Never to be empty handed, 7 gifts from 7 trees,
for the seven children playing cricket in the street.
Seven pears, all sweet to eat,
don’t you think they look a treat.
With out a doubt, they might be easier to catch than trout,
or safer than a water spout.
Those seven pears, they look such fun,
can they teach me how to run,
or might I just have another rum..
from a little nonsense..
Swamp hill tiger grass,
Taipan rises through the blades,
Seeks simple way past.
Grass trees lost ravine,
Steep to shallow chasm,
Calls for steady path.
Free to breathe
All just to breathe, to fly and by sea.
To spread the family wings across the way,
to find a cool place to stay.
Be it for a while and different,
be it something changing and non persistent.
Between the stars and the sun,
may the whole family have so much fun….
Seas of gold
A just as a breeze softly whispers across the wheat, as the amber waves raise and fall across the rolling hills like the wind in her hair, the flutter of colours dance to the tune of a beautiful heart and a brave desire to float across the seas of gold…
Spoken nor written
Spoken in one strange word,
How to tell a story, how to fathom in its depths,
Like every grain of dust caught upon a lonely shelf
Between the many pages never read,
Whose to tell the difference,
Between the written and the spoken,
These tales that live here born so old,
Be such transient, and nomadic words.
Walking through the lanes of a varied and dusty place,
the music’s playing different, and people have their space.
The colours come travel far with their running sounds,
like for each moment as your feet don’t touch the ground.
The village comes to life first quiet and slightly slow,
breaking breakfast soon, the stalls all in their rows.
Me, I’m just here on my own, breathing in the rhythms,
waking to the beats, free thinking of the moments….
Forests & rivers, brief places to meet, if just for a moment, cool waters, two feet. Earth cast, not a dream, in the shallows too deep, flows above the moist air, that here breathes so sweet. The kindred, they bind, to dance in a time, in the forest by the river without sleep. To share stories of the trees, where the water’s not steep, within her rivers and forests she greets….. Abnoba.
Dessert to dream.
Custard swamps and deep fried ice-cream trees,
Chocolate sauce oozing, what a sight to see,
Look, there’s spearmint frogs, and chocolate grass,
This has to be a dream, or is it to be my pastry last,
Saturated soft serve creeks, and miles of rivers deep,
Beneath the storm of desiccated coconut, oh, sprinkles up,
Fudge and muffins under foot, such tasty treats while asleep, and
Oh at last, a sky of blue berry ice-cream and pav, oh, have to have…
May the winter sun greet you in the morning,
then wash fresh the memories of days past,
and bring forth the cheerful joys of things to come,
leaving you in an all breath taking awe,
of the moments we make in our lives from our pasts, presents, and futures.
Taking us on an almighty uphill slide to the top of the mountains,
to the vistas of life that surround us…