Tuesday poem: In the pub
September 3, 2012
In the pub
Wedges of moon
float in my glass
sky lemon stings
Vodka ice glass
nine tenths hide below
titanic kick
Poker beeps
sour head nods in shame
beer swims laps
Salt chips taste
absent smoke plumes
long since flown
P.S. Cottier
internal combustion
After a day where my car broke down, necessitating a service call to the NRMA and a tow truck, I think a drink or two is called for. At least I was wearing flat shoes today, so I could walk home after sending my daughter in a taxi to school! I’ll have to get stuck in at the poem mines to pay for the repairs. About 200 years’ poetry should do it.
Now, click this boozy plume, dropped by a bird that can’t remember what, or who, it did last night. Read some more poems, a few of which were written by sober people. Perhaps.*
*If New Zealand poets are the same as Australian poets, I am just being polite here.
And here’s the official launch invitation for Triptych Poets Issue Three, of which I am one-third:
come along canberra
The poet’s diet
January 7, 2012
Warning: this post contains improper haiku.
mangoes and vodka
occasional longish walks
haiku in no time
This rare excursion into the dubious realm of ‘lifestyle’ is presented with apologies to all haijin (which is not a cocktail). I do know that counting syllables is the devil’s pastime, but sometimes it’s so much fun. Also with apologies to Japan, mangoes and vodka.
that's me sorted...
PS Cottier 