Each day, another bit of independence falls away. His piano accordion, once his faithful daily companion, is silent. Dad can barely lift it.
We write to each other. About writing, mostly. Its place in our lives. Its ups and downs. Its twists and turns.
Stella slips into half light/silently, beckoning/her twin fussing/on my chest, first, as always
It was still plaintive and summery. It was by another St Kilda institution. A guy I first saw play at Deakin in the early 1980s. I tracked it down to a new double album of Christmas songs.
well-stocked op shop—/she sifts thru clothes racks/to find/an alternative/while I scan CD racks
Michael Leach celebrates his birthday with a song and a poem.
Here and now, a deer disappears over the distant mound. Three ducks peacefully paddle, winding their way ahead of the flowing waterfall gently calling me towards the steep terrain of my nightmares.
It’s a rhythm one could argue is difficult to not slow dance to and, in the sun and in love, I lifted her hand into mine and we danced together.
This being a prog show, there are very few young people, and only a handful of young women. Luckily, there’s a young couple sitting next to me, so I don’t feel too out of place.
Throwing protocol to the wind I even joined the exhibitionists in standing and swaying in something akin to dancing.