Sunday Evening

It’s nice to get to Sunday evening without panic setting in,
to not feel stressed and anxious,
as to what the next work day will bring.

To know I have a job that I enjoy going to,
with each Wednesday off
as a special bonus too.

It’s really quite conducive to bringing out my best,
To know each Monday morning
it’s just two days till I can have a rest!

© ceenoa

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Apologies to Banjo

There was movement in the paddock, for the sight had got around
that the chick from Old Ma White had got away
and had joined the wild bush turbo hens – she was worth 5 cents all told,
predictably no neighbours had gathered to the fray.
For they didn’t care for livestock, which they let wander anywhere
and it made me wild to see their disregard,
for I’d oft had to remove their livestock from my garden and my lawn,
and chasing goats and chooks just makes me mad.

© ceenoa

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If you have never read the poem “The Man From Snowy River” by A.B. “Banjo” Paterson- which was one of my all-time favourite poems as a younger person, I could recite all 13 verse by memory at one stage – do yourself a favour and check it out here.

“On This Day” Repost – A Poem about a Cow and a Wedding

You can find the original here, if you are so minded, or simply read on.

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 I milked the cow in the morning,
on the day that I was wed,
a daily chore I deemed worth doing,
which made me rise, extra early from my bed.

The comforting sound of chewing,
her flank so warm, and soft as silk,
rhythmic sounds of fluid streaming,
as the bucket filled with milk.

I leaned my head against my cow,
and gentle handed squeezed,
as in my head I said my vows,
repeated now with familiar ease.

I milked the cow in the morning,
of the day that I was wed,
and in contrast to her cream white milk,
I married in a suit of red.

© ceenoa

A Suit of Red

A Suit of Red

 

The “selfie”

I’m not one for the “selfie”,
and I don’t usually indulge,
but there’s a time and reason,
to “selfie” I suppose.

And this past week has been it,
I’ve taken a whole two,
and now I’m going to show them,
to you lucky, captive, few.

Number one was my favourite necklace,
when I wear it I feel sleek,
and Number two was matching hair,
to my pendant of the week.

So there you have it people,
the real reasons I indulged,
it’s not about myself, you see,
it’s about the things I made!

© ceenoa

I had a dream – again. (Repost: A Dream and a Wish)

It happened again last night, it must be this time of year,
that prompts a rummage through my unconscious,
and in amongst the rubble, finding a flicker of a thought,
pounces, and drags it forth,
to present, like a cats favour lying at my door,

sadly unwelcome but understood.

© ceenoa

The original post below, which prompted the one above, is from 24 December 2014, and can be found here.

I had a dream of you last night,
I heard your voice, I saw your face,
and it woke again the yearning,
from it’s quietly slumbering place.

That desperate sense of needing,
which years have mercifully worn away,
the savage grief dispersed,
through life’s anaesthetising day.

And even though they carry sorrow,
I long to dream of you again,
to feel that fierce connection,
as you quietly say my name.

© ceenoa

“On This Day” Repost – Christmas in Tasmania

It’s that time of year – the week before Christmas.  Are you feeling it yet?  Facebook reminded me how I felt back in 2014, when I wrote this post.

Raspberries and Strawberries,
picked fresh from the bush,
the smell of fresh cut hay,
on a summers evening hush.

A thunderstorm with lightning,
flashing in the dark,
the mouth-watering aroma,
wafting from bbq’s in the park.

All of this says Christmas,
in the place that I call home,
my island state of Oz land,
what means Christmas where you’re from?

© ceenoa

Oh, Damn it all

evening-grassApologies to “Danny Boy” but the tune caught in my thoughts, and so the rhythm of the rhyme mimics the song , of a sort.

Oh, damn it all,
the grass, the grass is calling,
from fence to fence,
and down the driveway too,
it’s growing fast,
my garden’s disappearing,
into a jungle green,
of lush, and knee-high grass.

Oh, damn it all,
the grass, the grass is calling,
and I must go,
and get the mower out,
to cut the grass,
when I’d rather I was doing,
anything else, but sitting here,
and thinking grassy thoughts.

And I’ll be back,
next week to do the same thing,
for it is Spring,
and this is what it does,
it torments me,
this verdant, grassy greeness,
so I will go,
and slay it to the ground.

Oh, damn it all,
the grass, the grass is calling,
and I must mow,
and cut it to the ground,
the rain and sun,
will work all week to heal it,
and it will grow again,
and so the vicious circle goes.

© ceenoa

 

P.S.  Now, admit it – did you try and sing it to the tune? 🙂

A Brainy Rhyme

I want to declutter my brain,
to get rid of the names,
of people I’ve met,
that I’d rather forget,
I want to declutter my brain.

I want to declutter my brain,
of memories that pain,
and let go of that mess,
and have more space, not less,
I want to declutter my brain.

I want to declutter my brain,
then fill it with goodness again,
the hugs of a child,
their laughter and smiles
I want to declutter my brain.

© Ceenoa

“On This Day” Repost – Baggage

Seems that 31 October 2014 was a good day for writing – 3 posts came up in my FB feed today.  Of the 3, I decided I liked this one best.  If you’re interested, the original post can be found here.

Baggage

People think of baggage,
as something that is bad,
to be discarded soon as,
the opportunity is had.

But baggage can be useful,
for storing things you need,
to grow and learn and change from,
old life lessons you should heed.

New baggage is the hardest,
it’s lines are sharp and cruel,
painful corners on the cases,
where you’ve been played a fool.

Old baggage can be comfortable
as it fits like second skin,
especially on the corners,
where it’s been broken in.

Recognise your baggage,
whichever style it be,
you paid for all it’s excess weight,
you know nothing comes for free.

Understand the reason that you packed it,
with all the tales it tells,
save what you deem as valuable,
and leave the rest on the carousel.

© ceenoa