A Poem A Day 18

Trumped

There’s a thing I want to leave

but just can’t leave alone

Spectacle America – watch it come undone!

All the entertainment of a bus crash,

the compulsion of an itchy rash

all this morbid fascination

with a disunited nation

Why can’t I look away?

What is causing me to stay

with this news stream, bad dream,

parade of disarray?

and this churning in my tummy

more uncomfortable than funny

makes me wonder what it is

that has me up in such a tizz

‘cos it’s not like we’re alike

in our democratic biz

All our pollies have integrity

They’re not moved by popularity

voted in for their celebrity

or bartered monetarily

oh, not here!  We’re far too pure

and reasoned, ordinarily

We have no disaffected masses

Who might vote for pompous asses

No societal divide

To make the plebs dissatisfied

And all our immigrants are welcome

All we want to do is help ‘em

And the rich aren’t getting richer

And the poor all get the picture

We have harmony and certainty

A rosy coloured future

Geez, they ought to put a tax

On such “alternative facts”!

Kerry Miller 

A Poem A Day 17

Sometimes

Sometimes, I’m fire-charged, incendiary!

All juice, and life – creating – an incandescent

wick of connection and peace and understanding

to light the world!

Sometimes I’m the best that my humanity can be… aware, alive

seeking, compassionate…  I like that me!

Sometimes, though, I’m a duller shade

of human.  Disconnected, disinterested, flat; a hermit

crab shelled in dysphoria, soul-sick and sunk. 

No time for you; absorbed in evading

me.

Sometimes the darkness is so complete

I see nothing but hopeless.  The sorry world no remedy;
but this murkiness is intimately mine.  That broken part of my
flesh-made machine, that always fails me

sometimes.

A Poem A Day 16

Hay Fields at Harvest

Hazy skies meet

gently sloping fields,

where cylinders, placed evenly

into golden distance

sing symmetry.  This organic

geometry substantiates

mystery; delineates

the space.

Kerry Miller 

A Poem A Day 15.

Poetry

Rap in time,

sing in rhyme,

do the haiku hustle

and write between the lines.

Bend and twist,

be a linguist,

make those words

vibrate like chords.

Splash your language

‘round like paint

to form a shape
that just words, can’t.

Kerry Miller

A Poem A Day 14

Dear Reader

If I knew I would die today

and only had one chance to say

what’s on my mind;

my last hurrah, my final shot;

my chance to give it all I’ve got

What would I say?

I’d tell you that the world is made

not of matter, rules or trade,

or even physics,

but of every small kindness

making threads of connection

to hold us joined;

that caring is not naïve, and

compassion never wasted.

(Even on cynics).

I’d tell you this with my last breath

because only love
can outlive death.

Kerry Miller.

I'm rhyming again...  

A Poem A Day 13.

My Life is Not a Poem.

My life is not a poem.

It’s not tidy or concise

There is no rhyme or reason

And some parts aren’t very nice.

My friendships are haphazard. 

My career is on the blink,

and more time than I‘ll admit

Is spent with dishes in the sink.

There is no rhyme or reason

for so much of what occurs,

yet moments happen anyway,

that make me stop, or pause,

and catch my breath in wonder,

like the sunlight after rain,

and the flocks of cockatoos

flying in the afternoon

and the wonder of my children

and the faithfulness of friends

and the way that sharing insights

makes connections of loose ends.

And perhaps the work of poetry

Is just to speak this out;

to remind us of our resonance

with universal things

and help us see the beauty

and the truth in everyday

and the way we are connected

in a feeling, human, way.

It seems that whenever I'm stuck, I resort to rhyme.  I think, perhaps, Judith Wright was correct, when she said "Free verse is harder to pull off than rhyme".  This is an excuse for a poem - today had me coming up dry.  However, the sentiment is one I genuinely agree with. 

A Poem A Day 12

The day

The day we escaped the heat,

tossed our responsible plans

and down the coast found beaches,

shimmering, the ocean still;

a sparkling pond.  We gazed from

acacia shade, then plunged, swam

in depths, so transparent our

shadows were far below and

we, suspended In  joyful

revelation of blue-green 

clarity

And after the clouds came, and

the beach emptied, still the sea

spread out like dappled glass, soft

grey light reflected, merging

Sea and sky together and

I walked out and swam in clouds

And floated in the 

horizon.

Kerry Miller