Best Holes Poems
my shirts and shoes
are wearing out -
and they tell me
I am too
I patch and glue
to make them whole -
but fail
to make them new
I have holes in my soles
and frayed treads on my edges -
but manage
for the most part to get through
until one day
they say
it will all fall apart
hopefully all at once
I pray
3 holes Hut on Cubbie
Yep me an Sow the wild pig were,
Under the low set hut, yessir,
I was 12 months old, I be,
Nappies were short, so I had none see,
The piglet kept me clean,
Did he…
The old hut is now a fallen down,
Where piggy an I would wriggle around,
I only came out, when she needed to see,
When mama fed the fat piggie,
Then I’d crawl and bound,
1946 I say it was,
under the one room hut of cos,
we had no lectricity,
and cooked outside under a tree,
brown boredrain fed the pig an me,
till civilized I got because,
I needed to be,
Tommy Hook he came to me,
A lousy Jack, one legged he,
Noisy family bird was, see,
Great chatterer, quite featherly,
A talker of the bush,
We came there by sulky,
with an unbroken horse,
it had the blinkin blnkers,
to maybe force,
it not be frightened see,
by the sight of a close sulky,
across the watercourse,
so harnessed up and circling free,
at the canter it, came round for me,
when mum threw me up by force,
an poppa caught me in the sulky,
one hand was free, I got caught,
she sprung aboard next circle brought,
and off sailed the family,
to old Cubbie, yet of course,
to the stink of wet Gidgee,
after rain, the smell so coarse… Don Johnson
Yes Joe...8
Yes at a year old i needed a friend,
so a wild piglet came and then,
was a pet of the family,
brought by my pig chasing dad for me,
from a brood that an old Sow had when,
he found em in the thin Lygnum bush old friend,
in the shade of a Gidgee tree...
sigh ...
there is no shortage
of gloom and doom these days
we are in the midst of something unseen in our time
and the fear and hysteria is palpable
that said, I'm not taking the blue pill ... no way
reality is important, as are fear and caution
those darker things keep us safe
they temper our decisions and guide our courses
still, choice comes down to line-of-site ...
every time I say or do or affect anything
remotely encouraging or positive or optimistic ...
a thick, cold, wet blanket is thrown
the "reality", I am told ...
here's the thing -
I've been in pharmacy and
medicine and science my whole life
and from the beginning of this viral monster
I've been extraordinarily aware of the "reality" of this rabbit hole
odds, numbers, percentages, statistics
trials, results, vaccines, treatments
sobering, to say the least
but HOPE is a reality as well, just as sobering
and while these aged-but-wise
lungs of mine can still push gases
I'll choose to take the hopeful, encouraging, OPTIMISTIC tack
bring on the darkness and gloom
I have been to hell and back a number of times
I know the darkness well
and therein shine the most glorious of suns
oh, I absorb and process and consider all the dark
and cold and discouraging elements of this horrible pandemic
(anyone would be foolish NOT to know the weight of this disease
or understand the deadly seriousness
of all that comes with it)
but sunlight can peep through a wee hole
and it is THOSE rays that will always draw my gaze
life IS hope, from where I sit
and as long as I can type -
as long as I embrace this gift of mine for crafting words
I'll consider it my duty to use that tool
at least in some part
for the promotion of all things shiny
bright, optimistic, encouraging
happy, joyous, hopeful, halcyon, uplifting
heartening, upbeat, inspiring
and absurdly sunny
call me delusional - I've been called MUCH worse
it won't bother me ... much, lol
but ...
this is no fantasy land or careless dream I'm living in
it's simply the brighter reality
that I CHOOSE to see ...
the more hopeful future
I choose to anticipate.
A Mountain forever
stands over me,
holding a treasure
she wont set free
Deep in her heart
beats a flame,
the organ of life
pumps into veins
Boating the breeze
blowing through caves,
passing the bones
of work weary slaves
Working a trail
through darkness
and fright,
playing her game,
long into night
The treasure I seek
isn’t of gold,
not of this world,
and nothing you’ll hold
This precious gift
I seek to find,
a poets heart
that flows divine
Seeking forever
in this poets hand,
I’ll walk to never,
as my shoes fill with sand
Precision incisions put holes in our ears
our noses, our foreheads and tongues
As for me, I had enough holes in my head
to last me a lifetime when I was but young
You may think he’s weird.
You may think she’s odd.
Look deeper than the skin and see something you don’t know, something you never thought of.
People are all different, finding different ways to heal.
People are all different, with unique ways to feel.
You may have a full heart ready and able to give love.
You may have a generous mind always seeking to feel love.
But some minds and hearts don’t have the range of what you can receive or give.
Exposed and beaten by life, a life you would not want to live.
Some hearts and minds have holes inside where nothing can get through.
Some hearts and minds are broken and there’s little you can say or do.
Listen to their pain and sorrow and listen to them too. Don’t judge a broken heart or mind because that’s the worst thing you can do.
the land of the free
except for that ovary~
a ten thousand dollar finders fee
***
Fixing holes with good intentions.
Lions and tigers,
Dolphins and earthquakes.
Liars with cider,
Have nothing to say.
Animals and insects,
Bugs for breakfast.
Mammals need sex,
So find true love and get wed.
Life is a milk tray;
Oh behave!
Nothing left to say,
So gonna leave to get paid.
Fortune tellers remain silent.
Two moon sellers, offer no guidance.
A magic hat is a box of tricks.
Forget about that; keep it real or quit it!
Lions and tigers,
Dolphins and earthquakes.
Fliers and riders;
We are all running away.
Life is a bad day, work is a chore.
Write it right, or do not say,
I could do with more.
If you don’t care,
Then give up what you are;
But if you are prepared,
Then we can build a heart.
(C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
April 26, 2018 Thursday 9:10 am A COMING APART OR A COMING TOGETHER
WHEN WILL I HAVE YOU?
I ask
oh, anything to get you to focus on us
Think about
Talk about us
but, the bait isn’t taken
You must forget how much this love seeks
to validate
to commeserate
to be
When will you be all mine? I whimpered, I wondered, I asked, I begged
Oh Love you stupid creature of myth
Why did you come to my doorstep in such a hideous way?
Full of lack
Full of insinuation
Full of stark days full of unrequited everything
The touch of you, the long drawn out harm derived
if it isn’t going to last
like forever promised
Full of holes is this love
nasty implications
this whores nest
a flipped over contamination of heart
two that want but won’t be
won’t be what’s wanted
you sit in holy non matrimonious bliss
as I wait in sanctimonious kiss
what kind of love is this
this blessed event soured in tentured history
you and your best flaunted
by me in daily horror
while I guess
is it fool or not
to keep you
when you show up
even daily is the promise
and you do
still I suffer the wages
paid to keep us apart
it wasn’t my idea
to have it like this
i put up with it
because like I said before
love is stupid
shot full of holes
blinding
binding
habitual
pissy
I’d like a hiatus
from this
though I’d miss
the interaction
in my mind
an intelligence dwells
the heart doesn’t partake though
it too, idiots up
at this rate
even if it comes
I may not take it
May forget the whole escapade
go my own way
without
without hoping it will turn out
I may let doubt override
I loved being a whole, one together
With you, I’m neither
barely a quarter, if that
so how come we’re still haggling over the details
why still together
got me
that’s all I know
is you still do
have me
When will I have you?
In the sloping corners of humankind hangs the skeleton.
Ghosts are not hidden and flowers are exhausted,
Although some folds shelter beauty and
the old man can smile for some seconds
while he scratches the sky looking for
a ball that may glitter inside all.
The players cannot find the secret of the elegy,
While history dress only with one color
It is not the hour for a pilgrim. Many are left
On the side of the road with the lack of revelations.
One must remain faithful to litanies
To the holy reverence to the fatigue society.
Humans are around a corner
It does no matter if a barrel of tar is thrown in their full face.
Mouth and tongue pronounce the morning
Edition of obsessions, although the thickness of
the age and the readiness the long roll deeply sunk
no months to build effigies
I swear, I would die for you, but I have
no austerity for breath. I dream cities without clocks,
they hurt me, then I would add up stone by stone of kindness,
worry about questions, good questions,
and dream cities full of flavors and faces I can touch.
My apologies. It is late.Where there is a city
there is no city.
Burying dead bodies usually takes place
In fancy holes dug on some land space.
Most people dig those holes somewhere nice
But sometimes they don’t have a choice.
Some people burn dead bodies to ashes
And this really saves on available land spaces.
Sometimes dead bodies are buried at sea
And slowly sink into muck for eternity.
Other fancy holes are dug large enough,
For the removal of some valuable stuff.
Sometimes these holes are dug somewhere nice
And most times people don’t have a choice.
When all the valuable stuff’s gone offshore
The hole is back-filled and land space restored.
Today we can dig holes in the seafloor
Right through the eternal muck and more.
Holes should be dug to bury the dead
And to remove valuable stuff instead.
Dreadful dawn dug doggedly deep, dazed dues
Prickle-prone paths pierce peer-less purpose
Buried bricks burn beneath brine and blood
Homes and holes hitch-hike heated Hours
Sync'd steps stoop, saddling steely shores
Shadows of sagging shoulders shed shrewd strokes
Sanctioned sympathy sealed and soiled in stoic stories
Homes and Holes hauling hymen of horror hormones
Nagging newts nutured nadir of nervous noisome nuns
Jilted jones jaded in jiltery journey of jerky joules
Measled mare much-malligned by myriad of magnetic manacles
Homes and holes held hostage in hidden hydrogen hades
Imagine a life without holes.
An unstable world,a round figure of nothing.
A straight line,smells like ptomaine.
Holes are everywhere,white and black,
polychromatic,pretty and ugly.
Holes that you may fill,other you may not.
They can think,memorize,imagine.
Emotional holes,logical,positional,
in a chessboard,a second before a knight arrives.
Holes in my body,in your body,his or her,
screaming for pleasure,with or without morals.
Living there,breathe,judge the way you treat them.
A hole can kill you,can make you suffer.
They are in brains,in hearts.
In great losses.
When out of nowhere they are born,proud,
captivated eventually,died full of years.
Significant holes,in maps,in history.
They feed on hopes,feelings,aspirations,
organic,inorganic matters.
Holes reborn,only looked at us.
Naked.
Cumbumer eyes fall
On leaves without thirsty ears
Is this fall's regret?
Oh gaping chasm of misfortune
A sign of council extortion?
Roads not fit for purpose
Driving makes us nervous
Neglect of civil responsibility
The cause of such hostility
Oh pot hole why so terrible
Our roads are just unbearable
What future for these holes?
Maybe roadside fishbowls?
My rage is like a rabid wolverine
I shall write today to the queen
Dear Queen Camilla Parker Bowls
Please send folks to mend our holes