Feature Image Above: was created by Copilot and me. The trials and tribulations of the aging process — where questions deepen, and the hills keep rising.
After flooding my kitchen last night (again), I found myself wondering where simple mistakes end, and something more unsettling begins. This poem grew out of that quiet, uneasy space — the place where aging, memory, and meaning start to blur at the edges.
What’s the Difference
What’s the gap Between insanity and humanity Is there a difference Between oblivion and infinity
What’s the gap Between failure and fruition Is there a difference Between carelessness and forgetfulness
What’s the gap Between here and there Is there a difference Between thoughtlessness and memory loss
What’s the gap Between now and then Is there a difference Between Alzheimer’s and Dementia
Some days, the questions echo louder than the answers.
While waiting for my CHW article to appear last night, I found myself knee‑deep in “lucky envelopes” for the book‑stall dip — a poet’s version of factory work, complete with midnight muttering and a very patient supervisor. Somewhere between the folding and the stacking, this little whimsy arrived.
The Poet’s Lucky Envelope Humdrum
A poem a day is my way; print five copies of each without delay. Do not overflow the out tray – place the copies in relay, the next five crossways … and so on – it’s child’s play.
Fold each foolscap page in half, then fold again, into quarters. Any fool can do it! Open an envelope, shove in the folded page (No need for that frustrated rage). Start a row of five; put the next five on top … and so on – it’s child’s play ’til midnight ends the day.
And for the soundtrack to this late‑night humdrum, here’s Leonard Cohen and U2 with Tower of Song — a perfect companion for a poet quietly working under the watchful eye of Frankie.
Government – Corporate piracy – Rife everywhere in our binary society. Ironically, our privacy is *actively* The policy of every dynasty’s refinery. Corruption: slavery, bribery, impiety. And privately, I worry about the impropriety, The calamity’s spidery finality.
This poem began as a poetic comment I shared with Beth, in response to her moving article about a group of monks who set out from the Huong Dao Temple in Fort Worth, Texas. Their 2,300-mile pilgrimage to Washington, D.C. will span roughly 120 days and carry them through ten states — a quiet, powerful gesture of peace. I’m grateful to Beth for allowing me to reproduce the photos from her post here on my poetry site. Beth >> walking into the new year with peace. | I didn’t have my glasses on….
“Walk For Peace”
Silently, like daylight moves across a sundial, The monks walk for peace in a humble style.
Within myself, I wistfully smile, And hope that all the rank and file Will also freely walk every single mile. And add to the world’s peaceful stockpile.
Lisa O’Neill, If I Was A Painter, Lyrics
[Verse 1] If I was a painter with colours no end I’d paint the whole thing simply again Where everything runs into everything Where every colour is born without sin
[Verse 2] Red be a roaring river in my veins Green be the beat of the heart in the trees Blue be the pull of the moon on the tide Let brown be the base of some true love’s eyes
[Bridge] Give us a chance at an earthly lifе Then pull it from under us when wе arrive Sending us orderly – what choice had I? Born under the only sky
[Pre-Chorus] Vast, vast, vast Silver, gold and brass The moon′s milk, the sun’s silk All move among the stars
[Chorus] I found out when I listened Love is received from love Up in the steely night Stars span the Galway shawl I was scared of the underground in London At the speed of my generation Are the old people getting forgotten In this fuss of the world we spin?
[Verse 1] If I was a painter with colours no end I’d paint the whole thing simply again Where everything runs into everything Where every colour is born without sin
Hi, dear readers and especially my Geelong Followers. THIS FRIDAY 5 December
A Creative Christmas Market 5pm-9pm. Market stalls, workshops, and entertainment.
THIS SATURDAY 6 December
MAYD Xmas Festival – 10am-3pm – 40 stalls of makers and art. Open art studios, galleries, collectables, vintage
PLUS official opening of THE GIFT group show at Untether Gallery + Studio 1:30-3:30pm
Come to the Centrepoint Arcade on Friday, December 5th, from 5 pm to 9 pm, and Saturday 6th, from 10 am to 3 pm. I’ll be at the “Ivor’s Books” stall with my books “Tullawalla, Perceptions, and Until Eyes Hear Sound”, as well as various other Anthologies and Chapbooks. They could be that “Something Different” gift idea for Christmas.
Yes, it’s all about my new book, Time Hears No Sound. And my wonderful editor, Judy (from Jaymah Press), will be here at my home tomorrow for a meeting to review the proofreading I did of her draft copy of my manuscript. Another part of the correction process in preparing a polished manuscript before we decide to hand it over to the printers.
The image on the right is my Epilogue poem, which I added to the manuscript yesterday
Polishing Takes Time
Tomorrow the pages will breathe again, their margins whispering corrections, their commas waiting for release.
Around the table, time will sit with us, silent but attentive, as Judy’s careful eyes polish the echoes into a voice that endures.
And when the pages rest, their voices hushed in ink, we will listen together to the silence between words— where time hears no sound, yet carries every echo forward.
Last night, I had the pleasure of attending the vibrant celebrations marking the 10th anniversary of the Creative Geelong Group. Hosted at the Makers Hub — the beating heart of Geelong’s creative community, nestled in the Centrepoint Arcade on Little Malop Street — the event brought together artists, innovators, and supporters in a joyful gathering of shared vision and local pride.
Jen Cromarty, our dynamic and dedicated chairperson, welcomed guests with heartfelt reflections on the group’s journey, from its grassroots beginnings to its current role as a catalyst for creativity across the region. The evening buzzed with conversation, laughter, and the hum of possibility, as members mingled among storefronts and installations that showcased the diversity and depth of Geelong’s creative talent.
As the evening unfolded, the celebrations were punctuated by moments of surprise and delight — including a raffle draw that added a splash of serendipity to the night. I was fortunate enough to win one of the prizes: a captivating painting that now rests in my care. Its expressive strokes and vibrant hues seem to echo the energy of the event itself — a reminder of the artistry and generosity that define our community.