There are only memories now

The sunlight streams in through an open window

A cool breeze follows it in

The day holds promise – relax, chill out

Yet a family is frozen in time.

How do you handle the loss of a young one

His future – a brilliant sky blue

An apprenticeship to go to

A drivers licence just obtained

School Captain – A goal achieved

And in one moment – the promise ends

No one to blame

No one to hate

No one to direct anger to.

Devastated

Numb

Mute

The why – perhaps it goes unanswered for ever

Cruel to take this young man

An honour to his family

A prime example of the character we need more of in this confusing world

Gone

Just gone

His physical presence wiped from this Earth

Perhaps his soul will remain

But his memory – lives for this generation

No children left – his line ends.

Definate.

Gone.

A beautiful child

Bang – no more.

His legacy – not genetic

His legacy – memories

So F***ing sad

so F***ing painful

To think that there are only memories now.

Written in memory of Liam Keagan – passed Tuesday 23rd March 2021 in a freak acident that was just that.

Death of the young

The world is down right crazy

And death of the young – so sensless

This week a young man died

His life so full of promise

A freak acident took his life

Leaving us all so devastated.

He was what I call a “Good Man”

And the world needs more of them

Respectful of all

Helpful and cheerful

Happy, bright there are not enough

Adjectives to describe

We are lost

The future blighted

A good man’s flame snuffed out at the start of his life

An ode to single parents

By God you are amazing

I really wonder how

You manage to parent children

When you are alone – not in a crowd.

I struggle to think of dinners

Yet alone to remember to sign those notes

As to making lunches

Independance is my new byline.

Every day and every night

You are duty bound to answer the call

“Help me with this homework,”

“My phone isn’t charging.’

I am tired of this already

A mere three and a half months in

Fortunately for me

Only four more weeks of this.

The Calm

The house is peaceful

The children engaged

Study, Gaming,

At least it’s quiet – That’s what I say.

The washing machine tumbles, in a near by room

No TV on – it only portrays gloom.

I shifted last week – into this house

And the list of things to do….

The internet,

New batteries for the TV remote.

Water proof the bathroom

Weed an over grown garden

Meet the new neighbours.

Service air conditioners

Re-direct the mail,

Buy some decent groceries

Unpack, unpack some more.

Change my postal address on fiftty thousand forms.

And this is after the packing up,

The repainting and so much more.

My life has been full of craziness

When all I want to do is write

So now I sit down and relax – the end is at last insight.

FACELESS

You don’t notice

These students

Silently hiding

Facing you

In the classroom.

They sit

Neat and tidy

Their manners

On show

Doing everything

To hide

In plain sight.

They dutifully

Copy down notes

Make you think

That they are doing

The work.

But inside

They are dying

Their stories untold

Providing a lesson

In perserverance.

Which ones will fade

My students sometimes fade from existance

My mind a swirling black hole

And I assume that the same occurs to them

Another teacher, years later, unremembered, unremarked.

But each student I teach touches me

In ways I cannot explain

The quiet of the McA’s

The future artisitc director, the one who was a parent – too soon.

I wonder which ones will fade, held in my black hole – for just awhile.

It touches me to be remembered,

To be greeted at the shops

Yet for me the names blur meaninglessly

Faces, like uniforms, the same.

I remember the one who tried so hard, yet always got it wrong,

The one who’s father gave her up, the one who’s Mum walked out.

I remember the one who always smiled and always made my day,

The one who started out hating maths, then loving it, cycling back to hate.

I remember the one who quit school without a word,

The anxious girl who hated her life so much, she ran away.

I remember being told I suited a child because I did not fuss

And the child who used to love the fuss because at home they were an item of furniture.

Yet I never know which ones will fade and which will stay the same.

Who have I forgotten, what talents and strengths did they have?

I spend this night wondering, pondering and wishing I had written it down.

Perpetuates

There is a pain inside of me

And that is not what I like to admit

We go about life ignoring the bad

Someone else is in charge

Someone else will fix it

Child services

Education

The police

The government

But we lie to ourselves                           

That is not the case

The only thing that cures these ills

Is time or death

And by then it is too late

The cycle perpetuates.

Hands off these little beauties

Hands off these little beauties

I’m rather well endowed.

They used to enjoy just hanging loose

But age has not been kind.

Hands off these little beauties

They do not like being poked and prodded,

The cold gel of ultrasound,

Hands off these little beauties

They’ve done their job quite well

They do not like the look of that

The FNA Needle can go to H***.

Netflix binge

The day starts sunny

But soon degrades

Blue turn white to grey

Wind picks up

Moods descend

Windows close

Doors shut

Trying to stay warm

Distraction does not work

Netflix calls

Ekka Winds

We have a show called the Ekka

It’s in early August each year

The show is fantastic

Full of life and laughter

Showbags, fashion parades,

Wood chops, tent pegging

Over priced goldfish to win

Chickens with plumage on display

Beef cattle and dairy parades

Goats and horses

The Country comes to Town

Arts and crafts

Cakes and bickies

Firemen and strawberry sundaes

Sheep dog trials, Fireworks

And don’t forget the wind

Bitter and cold

Lazy to the extreme

It can’t be bothered to go around.

The bloody wind goes through you.