Rod Morris Poems

Most times when I feel the urge to write,
The hands on the clock are well past midnight.
Within my head countless words run around,
Hoping I'll use them they're meanings unwound.
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Have you ever looked into a fire, with coals of orange red?
Have you gone on flights of fancy, with the thoughts within your head?

Have you ever lain upon the grass, and watched the clouds float by?
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Somewhere in shadow hides my fate, I am at ease to live and wait.
For all the years I've lived thus long, are merely first chords of a song.
The song of standing on my own, just me to face the great unknown.
The song of having to ignite, the flame that makes my future bright.
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Deep within this white-haired head of mine resides a memory bank,
It contains my life's great moments plus the people I should thank.
Family hours which were spent picnicking at some summer beach,
Bedtime stories told with love in hope that they would teach.
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Institutes cause confusion how are we too know?
Which one’s for us; which one will start the flow.
Institute of schooling; learn to read and count.
Institute of standards, obstacles to surmount.
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Frosty mornings, ice-armoured puddles, cobweb strung with beads of dew.
Reluctant folk beneath warm blankets, rugged up fighting off the flu.
Car roofs and windows glazed with ice, hard-hearted water in your hose.
Frozen fingers shortened tempers, cold that's reaching for your toes.
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Of course I love ya darlin you're a bloody top-notch guy,
And sometimes I remember you used to make me sigh.
Your bum it was a beauty the lust in all my dreams,
Now I mend your trousers since you've split the bloody seams.
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There are times in your life when the road seems so long.

When you think to yourself just what else can go wrong?
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If you are ever in Australia and would like a change of pace,
Just four hours south of Sydney, I know this magic place.
Drive down the Prince's highway, past Bulli, Wollongong.
Through Port Kembla and Kiama, where the blowhole sings its song.
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He walks around the house all day upon his face a smirk.
The hours he likes to while away whilst I do all the work.
Then when he lies upon the couch, I look from up above.
Into those deep-set hazel eyes that mirror his deep love.
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