Bangalow

Bangalow

Low

Swing me high to

Where their spirits

Rest

High to where

a glass of

passionfruit

fizz

meant holidays

and a beach day

made of

salt and the curl of

swirling spaghetti waves

colored beautiful blue

and whispery white.

Is that low

Hill

They called

Bangalla

really

Dreamtime

High time

River wide -

With all

That grew them

Churning about

From yesterday

And into

Tomorrow.

Such a small town

Such small little ladies

Such little little feet

but

Then why are you the

Tall palm tree

Of remembering

I climb to

Like the way

A warm breeze

Neath the tropical bliss

Is as subtle as forgetting

But feels like forever.

Or the fixed shapes

Through the window

That twitch and dance

In the peace of a still day

As if to say

Remember life

Won’t stay fixed.

Bangalow Low

Bangalla High

You still reach us.

What is a Star

What is a star

Did it start

With

Mozart

And wondering

What u are?

In the sea

Or the sky

On your back

In edges

Like invisible

Reminders

Of pointy

Memories

Or an arm

Up to reaching

Out for more.

Who is a star

On a big stage

Or a little street

Corner?

The person

Forgotten

Who is still

Making dot to dot

Shapes in the sky

Anyway

For dreamers

Lost at sea

Or the unrecognised

Souls with nowhere to go.

Or is it the one surrounded

By swollen number boards

With tight shoes on?

What is a star?

What do you mean?

What is star studded?

How many studs can u punch into

Leaving the loveliest people behind

The lonliest people

Just to say your escalator

Reached an expensive artwork for the

“collection.”

Life is not a queue

People hate that word.

Do you have points

Or did you miss the point.

Did I put a star on your

Hand for a chance to

Send you away

Eventually

No.

It was for

remembering me.

If you don’t feel tall enough

It’s not about height

It’s about depth.

I’s not about numbers

It’s about people

If you don’t feel seen enough

Or the most popular

Be a poppleheaded starolight

Or a muddlefuddled twinkletoes

We’re all of us from stardust

In the big Universe

We’re all of us the same but different.

The Shape of Love

A heart 

that shape 

on a card 

in it’s

Two hills

And deep valley

Isn’t enough to say

I love you

Isn’t enough to

Fill a space with

The strangeness

Of our mistakes

And victories

Isn’t so symmetrical

On every day

Of who gives more

And who less

And roundabout

Goes the swapsies.

The shape of love

Is a bit topsey turvey -

Few dents here and there

Covered in odd patches  

Can be as huge as a million stars

Or tiny as a grateful tear

Cant put a price tag on it

Even if you try

Might be invisible

And gentle

And swaying

To the clocks pendulum

Or loud and pointy.

Can be pulsing with ache or losing

In an abstract mess

Of pain

Or swelling like pride in a daze.

Pass me a balbis or squircle

Heptagram or triquetra

Skate to the Ilemniscate

or a vesical piscis

Stadium.

There’s no mold

Like a box of chocolates

That would fit in

Picassos dreaming

There’s no slightly

Dead bunch of blooms

In Aldi to capture

The roots of love

That take hold

In a tangled fury

Of loyalty

And never giving up.

It’s won’t fit in a handbag

Or an advertisement

For Cinderella at the ball

It’s always changing

Like clay or the day or

The hope of tomorrow

It’s not too fat or too skinny

Or any such comparison

And it could never fit the

pages of tabloid

brain junk where shapes

are pasted flat like

discarded mind food.

It’s freeform

It’s joy

It’s made of

Human beings

It’s brave.

It’s real.