Peter Yowie Poetry
Go back to your mad hatters tea party in New York Lady Gaga, for all I care. And the next time any of these singers step on stage they can spontaneously combust for all I care. I listened to Princes love you so bad and it seemed appropriate.
The death of my father brought sadness. In his demented old age and in my own childhood we were like lost children looking to be found, we were both bound by that. Now they’ll spread his ashes in the rolling hills and the wind will blow and the sun will shine, carrying him away across all time. They came and collected his things, souvenirs of a holiday to the world, and memories play like panpipes in a rented car on a drive through childhood. I want to say rest in peace old man, yet there are pieces of me that will never heal. I couldn’t steel myself for the loss of innocence, can I feel forgiveness. I hadn’t seen him in over a decade but time doesn’t fade the scars. The raised eyebrows and voice over a crying baby. He had a choice back then but I didn’t. The house in Black Rock, the branch of a gum tree that broke off and fell down during a storm. The family tree is not normal and that’s why I broke it off with him. I can’t say sweet things when I feel such a bitter sting. Harmless old man, full of charm in his younger days but armed with a secret he carries to his grave and I’m the slave to the memories. One redeeming fact is the stray animals he adopted as pets as a boy. Too many drunk nights playing chess with his mates and the jade and marble chess pieces glued back together are as precious as the children from his own loins. Do we ever learn our lessons or do we just repeat them?
