Skip to main content

A proper winter day

 

A proper winter day

 

A proper winter day

Good day sir

May I kindly assist you?

Etcetera etcetera

With some grey

& with some cold damp

& yet I see pink within the grey

& yellow & blue & green

Were I a painter

I would use all the colours

To try communicate the awesomeness of the grey blanket thrown across the clotheshorse in the sky

I rode a bicycle when a boy in Beaumaris

I hit a bump one day & fell

& no one stopped to help me

I was 14 or 15

Evidently teenage boys are not well liked

I went crazy in Singapore & received assistance

We should soon take that toilet mat in

It’s been rocking on the line a while

It’s now a darker navy grey

I once saw an elephant ride a bike

Or it may have been a bear

After a bush walk with Pepper

A deeper purple in the grey

Shot with orange

& some clear sky blue beyond

& collars of white

It’s a good day

I did the washing

Now on an old fashioned wooden clotheshorse in front of the heater, thanks Max

The light has lifted

Food in the oven

The kettle boiled for another hot water bottle

Who is the rightful hero of this tale

She walks a keen gaze

Beneficent & wise

Efficiency & silence a great friend

He rides a red rattly squeaky tricycle

Like a ruddy cheeked child

All is calm

All is quiet

Entering eye & ear the universe of silence

Listening in being caressed

In the inner ear

Except for the interjection!

No sooner I speak

Of Max’s infernal telephone

Ha

Good to have struggles

Growth regimes

Else one dwindles

I wish to be easy with the fuckin breazy

“How would the poet feel about steakington?”

“I don’t mind, if that phone would shut up!”

Domesticity with housemates

Like a blackbird digging for worms

I dig for quiet fire

The sun comes out, a flock of pigeons & a breeze & this poem can rest & live.

 

 

Published & Copyright Malachi Doyle 2024.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

“I didn’t know!”

  “I didn’t know!”   Don’t get me wrong In a Two Party preferred system  I have no choice but to give preferences to Labor The Coalition are scum But Jacinta Allen, Victorian Premier Claimed in a Truth Telling Commission that she never knew about massacres Of Indigenous people in the state She’d never looked up The history of her country The history of the state she leads She’s Premier! She leads a department that ‘manages Indigenous affairs’ We are currently in the process of negotiating a Treaty What did she think happened to all the Aboriginal people?! They went up to live up the Magic Faraway Tree? “No one told me!” No one ever told me either I fuckin researched It was really easy Took 10 minutes There’s this new thing called the Internet & you search stuff up Like History A subject no longer taught in many schools past year 7 I deduced a lot from observing the place & how allergic we are of looking at ourselves ...
2 comments
Read more

In a very unorthodox way

  In a very unorthodox way # (For Max Sometimes) In a very unorthodox way, I’m an Irish Catholic. Of course, in terms of Belfast politics that MEANS something. & while that maybe true – in Australia, for different reasons, as Fr Bob Maguire put it – when Mary first saw Jesus walking out of the tomb on day 3 of his death, she exclaimed “JESUS!!!” – the first time his name was used as a swear word. In that way of an irreverent joke, REVERENTIAL & ORTHODOX are not my way to the Sacred/Love*. For me – I’m not really into Theology – as Max Sometimes quoting me, quoting my mate Richard, quoting Bob Marley, quoting Rasta elders, said today “who feels it knows it.” & I believe that if I am to write my Mass/Symphony of Hope/Love, I must include at least one blasphemous hymn, else the vision depicted be simplistic, like George Handel’s Messiah. The Hope/Love represented or perhaps alluded to (if you prefer) must include genuine despair, dejection, transgression else it...
Post a Comment
Read more

Though it made me a poet

Though it made me a poet   This is a superior microwave to the last if  everything has to be a competition I guess it does! In the Kafkaesque vortex Where one is trying merely to ask a question Instead one is sold something I’m monastic or have acute anxiety Anxiety is pretty cute Like a decapitated bleeding brain Covered in snails turned carnivore By the wrack & ruin of a child’s innocence The fist in the sister’s face The knife in the wall Did I imagine the latter, dream it or see it? Who threw it? Must have been the bowie Still life goes on So I went to school the next morning & got my mouth taped up For being a chatterbox Such is the life of a privileged 5 year old It made me a poet     Published & Copyright Malachi Doyle 2025.  
Post a Comment
Read more