I am still dealing with the aftermath of a big move in 2005 when we moved stuff, far too much of it, to sw Victoria in three shipping containers. What a nightmare! Poetry and art were creative and therapeutic outlets. This is a three dimensional art work of a shipping container packed tight I did at College. ———and a poem to accompany it——–
Our sorting started in the shed.
It needed clearing, enough said.
It would be refilled with stuff from the house,
it must be clean from rubbish and shit of mouse.
Stuff not worth keeping went out through the gate,
for the Hard Garbage collection we were not late,
our nature strip a sight to behold
the neighbours’ glances superior and cold.
In our house was lots of stuff
I must admit more than enough.
Into piles stuff I did sort.
What to toss, what battles were fought
Into boxes went lots of stuff
more into bags, I wasn’t rough.
Like soldiers boxes marched to the shed
flanked by bags of blue and red.
To the op shops went bags of better stuff
those shops can never get enough,
felt good to pass stuff on to others
though from all this stress it’s hard to recover.
Our house half empty is a sight to behold,
its new owners came in, we drove off in the cold.
To new pastures we’ll go later this year,
I’ll be organized then, have no fear.
There’s a message in this for all to hear,
sort your stuff at least once a year,
don’t let it pile out of control
or you will be very hard to console
when all at once the job must be done.
To have to rush so is never much fun.
When we make long distance road trips that entail overnight stops
we repack the car next morning and jauntily set off. Frank will
often be heard singing one of our favourite songs (see below) —-