David in Pen and Pics

 

Three autumn leaves
A crack in the pavement
Nearby a blackbird
Love the sound of a blackbird
Strong, and clear,

A blackbird is purposeful

In the morning broadcasting

His plans for the day

My hearing these days not the best
A shame
 
Hearing aids,
“Now is the time Sir, your new hearing aids
What in particular
Are you listening for
And we’ll offer you hearing aids to match.”
 
What sort of a question is that?
‘I want to hear the footsteps on the moon!’
Nah, that’s being stupid.
 
I’m paying as much for these hearing aids as I would for a small car.
Why are they so pricey?
They make hundreds, no thousands, of these things.
A big machine, Whump! Whump! Stamps them out.
 
“Look buddy, sorry, Ma-am
(Do they still say Ma-am?)
I want to listen to my family
“Poppa, would you . . .?
“Hey Poppa look what . . .
“I’m hungry
 
And I want to be able to switch ‘em orf
Both the hearing aids and the family
 
But
Just as important:
In the morning
After the first highlight of the day –
Breakfast
I walk along the road
Up the steps
Under the trees
 
Blackbirds
Love the sound of blackbirds
Set my hearing aids for blackbirds please
Ma-am, Sir, buddy
 
And verily the hearing aids were set to blackbird
 
I don’t quite understand this
But hearing aids can somehow affect your balance
And
When I’m on the bike
I can hear stuff behind me

Yes
I can set ‘em for all around sound
Or diminished for restaurant clatter
A setting for music!
Bach
and the good old Sixties
Oh yeah
ABBA
I ain’t got no class Duckie
 
I wonder
Hearing aids
Do they make ‘em to hear in colour?
 
Just a thought
Could they make Chirping Aids?
For poor souls like me
Who find the price of hearing aids
.  .   .

 

A morning walk up the steps

Three autumn leaves

Black Birds

 

Does a poem have to rhyme?
My first two lines do, just this time

Popper, Karl Popper
“Never heard of him!”
David Benson has

So had that kind lady
Sheet (must be dead now)
“Oh I was his secretary dear – many years ago now.”
One seat left in the whole cafe
Wellington, early seventies, a student cafe
And she beckoned me over
“Come and sit here, love.”

And what are you studying?
“Uhm, Philosophy.”
“O O  O Oh.
You must have heard of Popper
Karl Popper”
“Yep.”
“Oh yes, I was his secretary.”

Karl Popper was philosphicating
philosphicating?
Lecturing
Lecturing in Christchurch
A long time ago

I never finished the degree
I have time on my side
I did finish that coffee

Thames
Saturday morning market
Greg’s $4 table of tired books
There was this book
Popper

And there was David Benson
“Oh yes,” he said
#Karl Popper,
I started philosophy
Never finished the degree.”

Two contented failures
In the dizzying depths of philosophy
The book, ‘Popper’,
I’ll leave casually on our coffee table.
And visitors will say ,
“Ooooh, an intellectual!

And
If I ever meet Popper
I can say
“Oh, Hi! David Benson
David Benson in Thames
has read a bit of your book
A likeable guy!”

“I’ll look Popper in the eye.
Now look old chap
Why don’t you brighten your book up a bit
Add a few illustrations, pictures.
No, not your cute young things in scanty summer frocks

“How about
Uhm
How about a cow in a field
Give a pastoral uplift old chap.”

I’m sure David Benson would say the same
Well, maybe David would say,
“Just one Cutey, in a bikini milking a cow or something.
.Anyway,think about it buddy”
And Karl Popper would dawdle off
Thniking about it.

One Day
David Benson will publish his book of poems
and I’ll say
“Now look old chap
Why don’t you brighten your book up a bit
Add a few illustrations, pictures,

Maybe of me
sitting on a three legged stool
milking a cow!”
And

Being a model,
Published in a book
I could make a few dollars

A a a a h
I’m not that comfortable being that close to a cow
They’re bloody big animals you know

Look
A picture of me
Holding a carton of milk
It would be a real hit!

Well, that’s me poem, no more cow
I’ll make the damn thing – rhyme somehow


.

An angry call
Wings flapping on water
“Listen Ducky, there’s enough water for the two of us”
Summer time
You can’t enter gracefully into this river
You jump, you fall
Or you slither
Like an eel

Poppa, at your age, you shouldn’t go swimming on your own!”
When I was very young, old people were always telling me stuff
“If I were you . . .”
‘But you’re not me’, I was too polite to respond
Now,  I guess I’m an oldie.
And young people are always telling me stuff

Floating, just floating
Such relief for lower back pain
Brief reflection, I’m coming back as an eel in my next life!”
But
Eels don’t ride E Bikes
Electric eel?


The flow of summertime cars
Friendly jostling for parking on that narrow grass strip
Squawking, happy kids
Half naked summertime bodies shiny-wet with water
Bits of forgotten clothing

Swirl of dark water
Small eddies –
Where do they come from?

White clouds, blue sky
Dancing in reflections

“Poppa, at your age, you shouldn’t go swimming on your own!”

Days of sun
Happiness
Bike rides
Chats to cows, munching bulls
Ponies who no longer look up as I pass

Then it rains
Indignation
But
Happy gardeners
Those on tank water

It is all about timing
Fifteen degrees this morning, cool for this time of the year.
Prepare breakfast, catch up on news, messages
Check weather forecast – a fifteen Km wind from South East predicted
Looking at the clouds it’s actually South West.

The warm up
The sun rises and warms our front porch
Doves, sparrows arrive and hover about our bird feeder. Cat biscuits and wild bird seed pecked.
I don’t provide the coffee.

No rain, so a bike ride for me – to meet squawking pukekos, gliding heron and the raucous magpies.

Not yet a man, no longer child,

Benji sleeps, or he’s in a dash

Loved dearly, drives his mother wild

Forever hungry, needing cash.

Here, our breakfast, eaten, done.

And from my daughter, good morning wishes

She’s off to work and on the run –

“Last night your grandson did the dishes!”

Fixing stuff, he’s sharp, he’s quick.

And finding out just how stuff works

The Wifi’s down – “Oh just a tick.”

Once, that was me, now “Damn!” it irks

Swimming togs, ‘n socks ‘n towels,

His mind just flicks from now to next.

He’s become immune to mother’s growls –

And me, his Poppa? Amused ~ I’m not at all perplexed.

from Our Back Deck

The sunshade cloth has long been up

The setting up reminding me of the sailing ship days, the rigging I read about from borrowed books in my early teens – I have long since sailed into old age.

Contented pensioner-hood.

Shade cloth aloft, our back deck is still hot. It is our ‘summer seat’ for meals, visitors, that extra coffee.

It is from where I gaze across the back garden at jobs undone. But guilt sleeps in the summer heat.

From this back deck I look at individual plants, their bright, cheerful summer flowers, most of which I don’t know their names.

Nearby, quite prominently a light green display

“What is that?”

The reply is patient, clear, “It is a fennel seed head.”

Thence the contrasting sentiments on my social networks

“Great pic, but yuk!”

“Oh that makes a great herb for . . .”

Summer time

Coffee is drained. Shade cloth ‘n all pur back deck is hot.

Back to the unhurried pace of being a pensioner

Family
Sunshine
Making our way downhill.
A field of daisies
Daisies nodding, weaving about in a vigorous breeze
Blue Sky

Next the call of Canadian geese.
Beautiful in flight
In tight formation they circle, calling to each other.
Locals shoot them. They foul our waterways,  restricting the life of native species.

To steady ourselves we carry sticks, walking poles. The stability. The comfort, a reassurance of grasping something.

Not long ago, alive with energy, , I’d rush down that slope. Stride up again. It was all about energy, that zest for life. I’d see very little about medium.

Below us a  contentment of ducks drift across the dam, which is lazily eking it’s way through rocks, plants, debris, into an unhurried stream.

Just to my left
A cafe
I’m hungry
Late morning, an active, ‘useful’ morning.

I buy a toasted sandwich
Yes, I could have made one at home
But

No 44 is perched on my small window table.
Moving pictures of Thames people going places along the pavement.

An old bloke
My age
No sure where he should be going
Trousers too big
He’s probably shrunk
He’s happy to just be
To stand there
And not go anywhere

Car stops out pops a guy out pops a dog they both know where they want to go but in different directions.

I finish my chunky toasted sandwich of ham, cheese, and brown onion.