I look at my hoarder's mess over and over
I call my dogs to look – Alfie and Rover
They see nothing amiss but one runs out with a sock
At least that’s one less thing I say to a broken cuckoo clock
Take a chill pill, Alfie.
You're wired and need to calm down.
Take a long deep breath.
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2026
“What’s it all about, Alfie?”—
Are they hedonistic choices—and the katabatic void they leave?
This cup’s clutter, this timetable of supplejack sighs.
If the moon forgets—will it ever call us back?
Are we meant to have beyond what we bestow?
Or are we required to be seraphim?
We chase glitter, blind to its lamplight and oil.
Alfie, if a fool shows no interest,
Is revenge the clever answer?
And if life belongs only to the strong—
What’s your wager on the sphinx’s ancient rule?
Our aspirations fold like creased napkins—
still clean enough for an evasive guest.
Love? A leftover coat on the wrong hook,
a name spoken softly, reshaped when no one listens.
Hope? A medium-rare object—
warm in the middle, a blush of pink.
Never raw, though.
And relevance? The hum between two clashing chords—
your laughter mocking silence.
“What’s it all about, Alfie?” then…
Perhaps nothing.
Perhaps everything.
Or simply this:
You hesitate—and maybe that’s the answer.
As, A Place in the sun, Village Ghetto Land
Pastime paradise, Land of La La,
Master Blaster, Alfie, Living for the city,
and Part time lover, Faith,
Another star, With a child’s heart,
Used to be, Just good friends
with You and I,
Frankie and Johnny,
Superwoman and Black Man,
Ebony and Ivory,
My Cherie Amour, You are the sunshine of my life,
For once in my life, Golden Lady,
My world is empty without you
Until you come back to me
Outside my window, I’m wondering
How come, how long,
Never dreamt you’d leave in summer
My Love, I don’t know why,
Lately, I wish,
You haven’t done nothin’,
If you really love me,
I believe,
We can work it out.
Arrows, what are they good for?
In an embodied dungeon very near to
my molested liver
arrows pile up, bundles of barbs,
each one a love letter
that missed its mark.
Some older ones
still drip an attenuated poison
from their blunted tips.
Yes, love can be cruel
but it is rarely accurate.
It lives only to maim you
until you know how to live
with yet deeper wounds,
those piercing near misses
lodged between heart
and hope.
Oh, please, tell me please-
The name of the lovely lass.
Her charming smile,-
Angelic face and brown eyes,-
Captured my heart in a flash.
I was enchanted-
In a twinkling of an eye.
I was attracted-
When I sensed her concoction;
Enthralled by her magic potion.
Oh please, I’m begging-
You to tell me where she lives.
So I could send-
Her roses and chocolates.
Oh, please Alfie, tell me please!
There we were - Alf and I - Pharaohs,
surveying those white pyramids -
Nests of ibis - ovulating -
Opera.
Across the bridge we danced,
Swaying o'er the waves below -
Spectred lovers on a phantom ship -
Drifting snug into port - oh, so were we.
Yes, There we were - Alf, you - left me,
As you cantered away on your white steed.
I'm diverting - like a white capped copper
By the Circular Quay - away -
From Darling Harbour - rolling -
Onto the Rocks.
Yet, in Neutral Bay,
I - last - heard you say,
You'd be selling me down
At King's Cross.
So bye - my Alfie - it's over -
Just city lights and squalor - for me -
With whisky and history - this old bag lady
Stares dreamily over the sea.
The ancestral shackles I feel - loosening,
Pushed out - by the will to be free.
Morning
Slumbering in the shallow of sleep
where memories of movies are seen
The shift of the pebbles
nibbled by tiny crabs
senses of songs
“ What was is all about Alfie?”
Repeat itself
saddened by life's vagary
Dreams like oil slicks on the surface
of water-polluted thoughts
thrown into the tidal sand
Sinking into Hypnos's arms
wake, when birds sing
the blue hope
I have created for myself
a lonely place of despised remoteness;
many pictures I've taken off my shelf,
running away from humankind,
always refusing to settle down,
leaving no traces of my travels...
my identity remains unknown:
thinking I won't be found!
I have taken my retriever Alfie,
my suitcase and a few books;
soon new horizons to discover,
new faces to greet without doubts,
looking out for menacing glances.
and forward I go sensing dangers,
seeking a hut shaded by a huge tree,
hearing the bubbling water of a river!
I did not expect
to sing
"What's It All About,
Alfie?"
with as much embarrassing 60s passion
as I did
in my urgent
pre-traumatic midlife
self-critical 30s.
I thought,
by now,
I would resiliently remain swimming,
singing while dancing,
swirling in abundant win/win
economic ecologies
of deep polycultural meaning
and wide multigenerational
bipartisan wisdom
And not so much stomping
and storming
to merely win/lose survive
each anthro-supremacist competition
against MotherEarth
RightBrain disenabling
openly defying golden eco-democratic health
systemic win/win game
optimization rules
Because of LeftBrain supremacist confusion
about what MeWe bicameral balance
is all co-passionately about
EarthTribe secular LeftBrain health
is also RightBrain divinely endowed
safe anthro-wealth
Panentheistically felt
indigenously green cooperative
ecotherapeutic WholeEarth
neurosystemic wisdom
CoInvested communion,
reconnecting,
Earth healing
anthro-compassionate
resonant
bicameral
bipartisan resilience
Which seems to be what loving
enlightened
empowering
Democratic health
of wealth
is all about.
The mystery
The mystery of life is enduring
what is its purpose?
A couple having sex on grandfather´s sofa
while he is out milking his two cows.
The consequences of this brief union
was far from the couple´s mind.
So, I ask again, what is life´s purpose?
Was there a plan behind it?
Winning the toughed race and be born?
Or was it only a happendash?
Something a spur of the moment encounter
Was the newborn destined to become great?
And leave behind the immensity of the human mind
So, the individual could understand its meaning
“what was it all for, Alfie?”
The devil had a good day bringing forth another loser
doomed to the lowest rung of the ladder
and bring the idiot´s genes further down the abyss.
A waste of time
I have been so busy writing
that I have not had time to write.
Ploughing meagre soil
the harvest not enough to feed my heart.
A mountain of words that tell nothing
more than a wall to hide behind.
“what was it all about Alfie?”
A question that has no answer.
My August casts long shadows
and the famine continues.
lesson five
meals won’t be fun
alone
the clock will ring noon
i’ll hear myself say
o no, not again ~
then it will ring six
with the echo of
o no, not again ~
of course
dinner time might be
a little more encouraging
with a glass of wine
but i’ll have to make an effort
to remember to still eat something
i’ll be reminded of times
even when work was cleared to one corner
setting up the table for a tête-à-tête
being always romantic and intimate
but it will never be the same
i’ll forever miss the chatting over dinner
the winding down of us being together
needing to build new rituals around meals
reminds me of the widow who would set her best china
placing her framed photo of Alfie every evening just so
candles lit and ever gracefully pouring her glass of wine
before proceeding to dine with her Alfie ...
right at this moment that doesn't sound so crazy at all
it may be worth trying variations until something works
Published in my 24-page photo/anthology book ~TODAY I LEARN TO BE A WIDOW~ 2020
AP: 1st place 2021
If only I could hibernate
To awaken in the spring
To see sweet swathes of snowdrops
A welcome sign as spring begins
With daffodils and hyacinths
And tulips on their way
And pretty blue forget me nots
In gentle breeze shall dance and sway
The sun she rises higher in the cloudless bluest sky
Great feelings of expectation with every passing day
If only I could hibernate
Just like my tortoise Alfred the Great
For Alfie has the best idea
Snuggling down this time of year
Tummy full
And time to sleep
Not missing winter chills
Or other seasonal ills
I will awaken to spring sunshine
When all around is sparkling
Birdsong t'will infuse the air
There will be green shoots everywhere
Melodious love songs birds shall sing
To celebrate first day of spring
So now as I retire to bed
Snuggling ‘neath my duvet
Time for me to hibernate
And sleep until that special date
When sunshine takes the chill away
I’ll open up my eyes and say
hip hip hurray ~ it's spring today
‘tis time for me to celebrate
my happy springtime birthday date
Written 14th November 2020
tired morning
This morning a song from a film
filtered through my mind “what was it all for Alfie.”
I had no choice but being born, played no part of the proceeding
but had to bear the brunt of the aftermath.
The emptiness of poverty, the view of the sunlight from an opposite wall
in a back yard.
The dread of the midnight flight, bare rooms, linoleum floor doomed to endless boredom, no expectation of a blue sky day.
We, children, played in the street a window broke, they, the boys, disappeared
so quickly I was left holding a ball that wasn't mine
the policeman was so tall, my denial was a tearful whisper my mother
had to pay, and she slapped my face. Yet there was a moment of happiness green grass and animals that I had to forego.
What is life for?
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