On Marking

My eyes blur

At yet another sum

One wrong

But where

The world undone


The beauty of a page of maths

Neatly set up

Pen ink pressed into the paper.

The rows of order

Of logic defined

So clear when I teach it

No where do I find.



Starting the day

What a way to start the day

Slowly waking

Dawn a breaking


Gentle heat

A gentle breeze

No sign of the excessive humidity


20 minutes

laying in bed

Enjoying the calmness before the day


Oh how pleasant

It would be

For this day to continue like the early morn.




Speed Blogging

I’m running out of time

I’m getting really slack

The shorter daylight hours

Have me running out of whack.

I used to wake at 4am

Leaving plenty of time to blog

Now it’s dark until it’s time to rise

The night is such a hog.

I must get into the habit

Of posting later in the day

Otherwise all my followers

Will simply fade away.

The End of the day

It’s the end of the day

And I am tired

Drained and sapped

My spirit discharged

A hard day of work

Slogging over a computer

Crunching numbers

Responding to emails

Of other hard working folk

I am tired

I want a holiday

And yet the inside of me cringes

I think of my hard working farming relatives

Day after day

Up with the birds

Hard physical yakka

Til daylight’s end

And then there’s the worry

Of rain, crops and sales

A price drop

A crop glut

A plague of pests

Coming to them

I know that at the end of each day

I can feed my family

I can pay my bills

But what of those equally hardworking folk

That get paid only once or twice a year

And in some years don’t get paid at all.

I am tired, yet I get a weekend

I am tired, yet I get regular pay.

Worries and stresses seem less when you compare them

To someone who may be worse off this day.

Better off left?

I often wonder why

We still insist to survive

When the world is clearly done

With those it is done with.

My mother told a tale

Of an infant quite some months old

This baby had been born

With fluid on the brain.

Now every two or three days

The brain did need to be drained

This infant could do nothing

Not feed, nor babble, nor move

And it’s prospect for the future

Was not a different one.

No hope of getting better

No hope of any improvement

All that draining the brain did

Was to lengthen “life”

But what is life if you just lie there

Are not capable of movement;

Are not capable of communication;

Are not capable of digesting.

My mother often wondered

If this baby was better off left

No brain draining to occur

No interference to be had.



We all have an endpoint

A time that we don’t know

A time when fate will call us

And we will have to go.

We can fight for the best out come

We can enjoy our life

What I don’t know the answer too

Is how long should we linger for?


I would hate to be without words

With no way to communicate

With no comprehension of the world

Locked up in my body,

Locked up in my head.

I could live without a limb

I could live without some organs

I could handle some level of pain

If I could ambulate my self some how

And interact with the world in some form

All this is fine

But if I could not talk to you

If I could not express

If I lose my brain

Then I wonder, would I be better off left?

Much like life

Meander is to take some turns

Gentle and winding ones,

Paths that take you through the woods

And to the rocky outposts,

Sometime up undulations

Sometimes climbing mountains.

The point about meandering

Is the outcome is the unknown

Much like the life

We meander through.

via Daily Prompt: Meander


As I have my weekend lie in

A thought occurs to me

I have an assignment to write

I have revision sheets to read

I have a thousand things to do

But they do not appeal to me

I know that if I get up

And use this quiet time

My brain will feel much better

I can leave the work behind

I can enjoy my cross stitch

Or gardening and a run

I can enjoy my weekend

Spend some time in the warm autumn sun.

And yet I’d rather be writing

Or doing anything else

Than spending a quiet morning

Trying to engrose myself in my “real” job.

The head is foggy

I’d have to eat

And then I’d do the washing

All the while wasting energy

Convincing myself that I’d rather be free

Of school work for another weekend

Take the half day and get it done

Then tomorrow I spend time in the sun

Time with the family

When they are not busy

Get up, get up and just get it done

Get that school work under your thumb.

Better off Working

Sometimes you come across a kid

Gangly, long haired and somewhat off kilter

We’ve placed this otherwise normal human

In, what for some, resembles antiquation.

This child, by mid teens is in an adult body

With adult wants and adult games.

They want the supposed freedom of working

Of learning skills that schools simply do not teach.

And yet we legislate

“Stay in school”

“You’re too young”

“You’re too unlearned”

But this then belittles all the others,

Our elders, our parents, our friends,

The ones who left school, yet made it out there.

What would happen if there was another way?

Another style of formal education.

What would happen if these unsuited ones

Could work in a job, and learn just the same.

Would this provide better learning for others?

Would this provide better learning for them?

A horse let to water, will not always drink

The same too of our children, led to formal education.

A child, when given the “right” environment

Will always learn, and yearn to learn.

So is school really the “right” environment

For the ones who would rather be elsewhere?

Dawn Chorus

The crow with it’s caw

A tweet of a smaller bird

Dewit of something else

The rumble of an engine

Dopler effect

A mummer of chatter

The human kind on an early morning amble

It’s a restful time

That drags me awake

A kookaburra’s laugh

A conversation of Lorikeets

Perhaps the young ones are begging to go

Peace flows with the pace

No work to drive to today.

A lie in, sleep left long ago.

Oh I had a little one

A temper tandrum the other day.

I wanted it to be bigger

But tantrum would not come out and play.

I mean the toilet burst it’s banks

And flooded water every where

If there was anything else in it

I did not want to hear

(Or smell, or see)

The plumber couldn’t rescue us

Old cast iron ports do rust

We had to get the vent right off

To unflood that blocked up pipe.

The toilet, he was out of action

Over forty eight hours.

Off to the shops to use their one

When we needed too.

I wanted to have a tandrum

But there really was no point

For how would a tantrum unblock a drain

It would have only prolonged the pain.

‘Tis a shame to be so grown up.