Author: gozzter
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The Roads Just Taken
I know we should be thankful for what we have, and not be upset about what we don’t, but sometimes these things arrive as gifts: wind rustling through the leaves on a hot summer day, or creeks babbling like children playing behind a thicket of bushes just off the trail. It’s things like this, for…
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The Fall of Man
I feel I should tell you about falling on the Whanganui River -only metaphorically speaking, of course: one happens on a river, or less romantically, falls in; falling on is different. Very different. Falling, of course is not as easy as it looks; one has to forget about things to fall: the roughness of the…
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Searching for Muesli
Muesli. There was a time when I didn’t know what it was; maybe nobody did. But then they did, and I was caught unawares. Those were innocent times, to be sure, and yet I suppose I was raised that way: be aware of what’s around you, but don’t poke at it; never disturb anything that…
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Life in the endgame
I guess I’m up for it; I mean things have been working out for me for too long on this trip, and change is always therapeutic, eh? You can’t live forever in a candy store without getting some cavities along the way, I suppose. I was looking forward to this part of the trip at…
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Age is an imperfect vessel
Have you ever been trapped in a drive-through lane at MacDonalds? Would you ever even admit it if you had? I mean some things, like sweat stains on the collar of your favourite tee shirt, or the rip in the crotch-seam at the back of your sweatpants which a friend points out as you stand…
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Coffee at MacDonalds
I met himAt MacDonalds –In a quiet sectionTo be sure,But we both were OldAnd had no wishFor noise,Or kidsRunning around our seats. A portly man,With trembling handsAnd a pockmarked face,He made the first attemptTo speak to me,But I was here,On a sudden needFor coffeeAnd did not engage. But as he sat,Now staring straightAhead,I realizedI had…
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Being like a Bat
What is it really likeTo be a bat?OthersHave asked,But nowI think I know. One flewThrough an open doorLast night;The room was hotSo I’d snuck outsideFor a little breezeAnd left a fanTo wobbleIn the room. For a bat,It must have seemedLike the beatingOf a thousand insect wings-A ChiropteralShangri-la. ButThe one that enteredFlew around the walls,ConfusedAt its…
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Tis in my memory locked
For some time now, I’ve wondered what makes some places feel like they are a part of me -or more likely, that I am a part of them… And why are some things only superficially appealing, in spite of their evident attempts to mimic authenticity? I suppose we all have different needs, so perhaps generic…
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The Fallen Leaf
THE FALLEN LEAF The movementCaught meBy surprise –The colour,Too,I suppose. I was walkingSomewhereBehind my eyesThat day,Not in an autumnWood. I should have noticedChangeAll around:The lack of birds,The crunch of leavesUnderfoot;But insteadIt was only thoughtsDancingCarelesslyThrough my brain. ThenI saw a leafCome flutteringDown,Unsteadily:A lost childSearchingFor the groundAnd findingMy footInstead. I wonderedIf it knewAnythingOf Death,Or simplyExpectedSalutationsOn arrival;AssimilationWith its…
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Aye, there’s the rub
When I was very young, my older brother played in a minor role in his high school’s production of Brigadoon, a musical written in the 1940ies. He made it sound like a real but faraway place he hoped to visit one day. He was older than me, so I believed him, but I wondered what…
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