Bitter brew

March 28, 2016 at 10:53 am | Posted in Poem | 6 Comments
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We’re all out.

Glug, glug, glug, go the dregs

of my dad’s last

home brew.

Not down my throat,

but in the sink.

Testament to

30 years

of continuous

unimprovement.

It began as a fine recipe.

With fresh ingredients from a ‘way-out’ 70s

health-food shop

that smelt like nothing else (before or since).

But as people caught on,

prices went up.

So dad started shopping around.

First the hops.

Then the malt.

The sugar.

Yeast.

Bulk buying.

Damaged goods.

All ingredients meticulously re-sourced to shave costs.

The result?

A total price of just six cents a bottle.

Dad’s beer used to be so good, I’d take it to parties.

Fellow teens would gather to marvel at my cooler bag and try a sip.

But as time passed, the beer got leaner and meaner.

Bereft of zest and flavour.

Until I couldn’t drink it any more.

Yet my parents’ thrift paid their home off in just

nine years.

My shop beer costs $6.95 a bottle.

And after 17 years,

my home loan is bigger

than when I began.

Not so smart after all.

Pic by Kristopher Volkman.

Anxiety

January 27, 2016 at 10:09 am | Posted in Poem | 2 Comments
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A crushing victory.

Got the irrits and the shits.

Can’t abide nongs or nitwits.

Think I’ll shake myself to bits.

Anxiety.

Put away the jolly pills.

Out of bed to pay the bills.

Hi! to Life! and all its ills.

Anxiety.

Kick away my trusty props.

Down the slip and brave the chops.

Time to see if this plan flops.

Anxiety.

Bell is ringing like a brain.

Fingers numb yet bruises pain.

Crazy not to be insane.

Anxiety.

Cue the voices in my head.

Self esteem for them to shred.

With no dogs I’d long be dead.

Anxiety.

Ditch the pies and hold the sauce.

Cut the crap and stay the course.

Cry and scream until you’re hoarse.

Anxiety.

Had two coffees and a tea.

Diet tonic; plenty wee.

Think this Coke is bad for me …

Anxiety.

Stick it in a bodgy poem.

Cast it as a bad genome.

Stuff the edit; almost home.

Anxiety.

Fret us not the broken egg.

Life’s a deal; we can’t renege.

Up and go: don’t make me beg.

Anxiety.

 

 

Alcohold

December 15, 2015 at 8:05 am | Posted in Poem | Leave a comment
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Alcohol’s a millstone

That drags you to the deep.

It poisons all your daytimes,

And Alptraums your sleep.

It steals ‘fun’ from your future,

Yet when it comes it’s gone.

And if you ever get there,

You’ll find that there is none.

Today is what you make it:

Thy Heaven, Earth or Hell.

But if you try to fake it,

It’s the most broken spell.

 

 

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