ink marks on a blank page Monday 29th June

Slightly damp this Am and I had to set off earlier than usual so attired myself suitably and swanned off into the gray dawn,tinged slightly pink by a weak, albeit slowly rising sun. Each morning I wander down to the bend in my river to try and get a pic of the water rat as it wends its way home from getting in the days shop,or whatever water rats do of a night.Mostly all i get to photograph is the ripples where said rat dives as it spies me or hears laboured robbi breathing as i lumber to view. Sometimes on the opposite bank a gentleman appears who marches up and down making bird calls. These aren't your everyday strangled childish attempts, like graggggh/hoot, they are full bloodied exact cries of parrot/crow/magpie/duck and other assorted winged creatures. Not all at once mind ,but done on seperate days and normally in various ways.As a parrot he runs about busy like,magpie calls, he is studied in movements etc etc etc, you get the picture, do you not? Sort of in costume if you may, he finishes the cry of the day and strides away at a majestic pace not to be seen for some days, I know that 'cos i go to that spot each day and he only appears about once a week,or in a busy birdy time ,twice. This day (saturday) he was there on the opposite bank uttering cries of great distress like a badly love sick moorhen, but a very very agitated one as he was pacing about most furiously,flailing arms and hooting quite loudly. I do not fear for my safety as I am firmly ensconced on the opposing bank and unless he actually can take on all the characteristics of a bird and fly, I feel quite safe, for myself.. Alas I do feel a trifled concerned for his condtion as with the addition of the moorhen cry he has gone through the entire species of bird on the river, what next ?

In truth I do know that we are all different and there but for the grace of god go I, and self will be the first to admit that his bird calls are very similar to the real thing, buuuuuuuutt?



Leaving all the birdy stuff to one side it would appear that an event which threatens to overtake that of 'the' bomb going off somewhere, has awoken the interest of all bar those who live in outer space. Do I refer to the passing of that icon of crotch grabbing, quite possibly I do. Will anything I say on the matter make one iota of difference, not an atom, so I shall just finish at this point.

There is not one person or thing on the planet that can be all things to all, so whatever floats yer boat.



Many little things grab my attention, sometimes I feel that life is so full of just so much wonderful happenings, of course I dont discount all the crapola, that would be stupid and I know that I am not that. At my time in life I can truly say that I understand most of what makes ME, as a functioning human, tick over. There is no burning desire within me to be something else, I mean to be George Clooney would be okay,if you were George Clooney but imagine how hard it would be to be you and George. Do you see what I'm getting at? See, you are you,okay?, but by some act of something then you can be you and then someone else, just how hard would that be.

I would have liked to have been Marlon Brando when he played in 'The Wild One' because at that time I rode with a motorcycle,call it? a gang okay, DD/MC. (Darlington Devils MC) .
I designed the insignia, the skulls head from the old Mercury Record label(our band did a 45 for them) underneath that a pair of crossed pistons. Yes I did read a lot of books about chivalry, and okay so some of went to my head.The head really was a bit empty back then, looking back it was all pretty awful and juvenile. Perhaps we were the forerunners of Hells Angels here, who knows, but perhaps not as we were pretty tame stuff compared to how they are now. Don't forget this was in 1958 and life was rebellion then for most at 16.The film itself took ages to actually play here in OZ as the local censors were afraid that it might corrupt us poor innocent antipodeans. But all that is well in the past, although it took ages to outgrow the love of riding fast motor bikes as I only sold my last one 7yrs ago. Reaction times just don't cope with a machine that can get to 100kph in 6.6 secs once you get past a certain age. I raced bikes ,tore 'round the streets madly for years and dare I say was an absolute lunatic on them yet never had an accident worthy of the name. fell off a zillion times, but nary one bad prang.



Yes Hortense I know what you are about to say, given half the chance I would be down at the bike shop in a jiff, but not true old girl. Know my limits now, although it would be nice just once,
just like our esteemed prime minister who went to a strip club in New York, just the once mind.
We have had a very strange week in the federal sphere,politics I mean. But the oddest part of the whole week was that the person who actually committed a really heinous affront to parliament was the Treasurer and because of the way the Government could spin the words and muddy the waters, he wasn't made to answer any of the allegations. The opposition handled the affair badly and missed an opportunity to show up the Government for just what it is,on spin cycle numero 9. Wnter here so Horty and I haven't had the nerve to head off to Cocolat, we managed a meal at the Greek restaurant just afew doors up , that was super .Generous plates and lovely food all for $41 for the two of us it's still possible to eat well here in Adelaide at a reasonable price. I feel like indulging myself a little so I am going to leave one of my poems behind. This just came off the cuff from a line someone else wrote that grabbed my fancy, it is like all my stuff autobiographical. I liked writing it as there are memories there that I will hold onto. Grazie per quelle ricordi.

the fish monger sold samphire

(before you steam samphire
wash it carefully under cold water,
then steam over a pan of boiling water
a couple of minutes,
serve with melted butter.)

we picked samphire
she and I,when we wore younger clothes
washed our pickings in the crystal waters
of Salt creek as the tide rushed in
then lay in the lee
of sandhills that were Camelot,
she as Guinevere,I Arthur
and we did as all innocents will

here, it was market day ,
samphire was legitimate
encased in furled paper

a fine morning
with a sometime quick breeze
replete with scudding clouds,
late sun lifted, then
warmed ones back as it should,
given the month
though my June is never warm
unlike this place,
where skeins of history and life mixed,
colours of a different palette

an empty book, artfully laid carelessly to table top
seemingly randomly left, although contrived
forgettable memoirs of a pop diva or some such
lunch arrived , followed by
small talk, brushing the edges of compassion
mixed with truth and regret
reflections that were etched into the glass of time
so it was left to the question,
half full or half empty?
I plumped for half full
but then optimism is a forte,
thus the day was sweet
as time spent like this should be
its memory forever mine
better than pieces of eight

June 27th 2008