A fat man's domestic problems - John Romeril

Here's a poem from a book of poems I've had for at least 30 years. I found it recently tucked away in my bookshelf. I love the imagery and its metaphoric language. 

i am an elephant

compared to elephants

no mirror can hold me and live

to tell the story

look at the way i eat

spilling my gravy, tearing

at the bread stuffing the children's heads

with nonsense and jungle books

any wonder you complain

and the blankets do slip off

and the light on the stairs is not yet fixed

and the landing creaks as the elephant comes home late again

with another story curled up in his trumpet

Walking about in shades of grey

I am a weary pilgrim lugging an overloaded mind
A walking thought bomb ticking time with vacuous questions
Triggering fractions of fact with flints of fiction
Harbouring splintered opinions in an explosive casing of shrapnel

I study the contours of issues on matters divided
Surveying the ridges of truth and the crevices of deceit
Lost in a canyon of persuasion, I see all points of view
Opinions reflected and deflected in shades of truth
Neither right nor wrong, confirming the duality of life
My conclusions explode in a chasm of self doubt

Sometimes I envy the unquestioning, decisive soul
Unfetted and free of cryptic analysis
Concrete opinions as indisputable as a schematic blueprint
Anchored to secure foundations
Constructing a credible argument without doubt

Not like me – churning in an aggregate slurry of vacillation
With no difinitive solution to coagulate into a solid fact
Neither black nor white, just a messy monochrome
Walking about in shades of grey

Stan the man

This is a poem I wrote for my father and read it at his funeral.

In my life I have been a fan
Of many public figures and their deeds
But the one I admired most, was my father - Stan the Man
A man of modest needs

He wasn’t famous in any way
But he impressed me above the rest
For what he chose to say
Was considered, thoughtfull and for the best

Childhood memories flood my mind
Of running to his outstretched arms
A powewrfull man sturdy and kind
Carpenters trade etched on his palms

Hands that circumstances had made rough
Could also create sweat music on a bow
And remember a gentle time before life got tough
With violin he would put on a show

With a passion for singing I recall
As a child moments of song
When Stan the Man gave it his all
That moment when you feel you belong

Or listening to the classics in his car
Familiar sounds of music to his ears
Evoking memories of his youth in a land afar
Gripped with emotion he would shed a tear

Stan the man had a gift, cut short by circumstance
His full potential slipped through his hand
As war interrupted his chance
But he made the most of what he had in a new land

And his artistic instincts followed him here
Where he tackled his new life in a creative way
To support his family he held so dear
He was admired for the honest work he put in each day

Chess was his passion too
A game of tactics he loved to play
Where once again his creative side shone through
And he was hard to beat on his day

This man we’re proud to call dad
Will remain our greatest fan
Because he gave us everything he had
He was one of a kind - Stan the Man