I ... entered the poem of life, whose purpose is ... simply to witness the beauties of the world,
to discover the many forms that love can take. (Barabara Blackman in 'Glass After Glass')

These poems are works in progress and may be updated without notice. Nevertheless copyright applies to all writings here and all photos (which are either my own or used with permission). Thank you for your comments. I read and appreciate them all, and reply here to specific points that seem to need it — or as I have the leisure. Otherwise I reciprocate by reading and commenting on your blog posts as much as possible.

24 September 2011

15% of Full

My energy correspondingly wanes
and so does his. I’m down with flu,
he’s lagging just a day or two behind
with the same exhaustion that hit me
twenty-four hours ago. He has taken
to his bed with The Australian Author.

He is an Australian Author — 
but perhaps not The. I am one too,
but similarly....  Why am I sitting here
making poems, when I could be snuggling?
I guess I’ll be doing that to my dying day.
Making poems that is, not snuggling.

‘Not snuggling.’ It’s a theme.
I want to be comforted, babied,
now that I’m past the crabby phase.
(Lucky for me he’s not there yet.)
The moon and I are becoming 
littler, younger, foetally curled.

Journalling my relationship with the moon: 24

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