Saturday, 27 January 2007

don't mess with electricity

Another jolt to the chest
and I seemed to be coming around.
I'd forgotten what I was actually doing.
Something to do with the powerbox
out the front of my apartment
and an old ceramic fuse.
But here now, I felt like somebody else.
Somebody I knew.

The doctor looking person
paid particular attention to my chest.
" ok I'm here now" I thought.
" you can put you're machines
and furrowed brows away .... or say hi .....
oh no ... don't do it again .... I'm perfectly fine,
I'd like to get out of here now".

But no..... he paraded into action
with a prospero like tempest,
swinging like a willow tree, cables and all.
A sight to behold from where I lay....
I guess.

The room otherwise felt oddly relaxing.
Then everything changed.

The colours and sounds moved outward
and started competing for my attention.
Objects stopped floating and clumped
like hollywood robots.
Noises that had been wrapped in felt
fell to the floor with a harsh and sparkling reality.
I was back ...... well at least I knew I was.
Captain heartrate wasn't so sure it seemed.
He kept on coming .... that green capped,
cable swinging goliath.

I then did what anyone in my situation would have done.
Anyone who was about to receive an unwarranted jolt
of biblical proprtions to the chest would have done.
I vomitted.

The doctor stopped shy of bellowing ..."clear"
to all and sundry, looked me in the eye and smiled.
" oh I see you've decided to join us" he said.
"You are kidding aren't you" ... I think I mumbled.
This time he heard me.

Friday, 26 January 2007

on this day

The captains name was Arthur.
Leading his ragged fleet along the steamy waterway
was hard going.
As he approached the cove
and elderly native man was waving.
Was he suggesting where best to come ashore?

Arthur was the first to step onto the beach.
The native man seemed excited,
dancing in circles.
Arthur watched and his men laughed.

They were led to up a hill to a large cave
where a fire was burning.
It started to rain.
Everyone sheltered in the cave.
Arthur looked outward toward his fleet
anchored in the distance.

The native man pointed to the cave floor
and spoke in a tounge
no one but he had heard before.
Was he offering the cave as shelter?
It was certainly large enough
and they could at least be dry.
Arthur sensed a trap
and went back to the fleet.
The night aboard was wet and uncomfortable.

Next day the native man
was standing on the beach.
Slithers of smoke sliced the sky
from the trees behind him.
This time he had brought others.
They were all carrying spears.
Arthur took the rowboats ashore.
His men were armed.

The natives began chanting and dancing.
Was it welcoming or warlike?

A failure to connect.
The one thing in common
they all stood on.
More Australian than a pie
or a holden or a blue piece of cloth.

Sunday, 21 January 2007

summer sunday morning

red carnation is electric on blue tiles.
the street sweepers name is rex.
kid dealers must still be asleep.
markets sprayed by that icon.
I remember that grotty guitar shop (rip).
latte lovers creep forever southward.
no one stops to cross the road.
a look in the eyes reveals a tragic night.
you can smell the harbour from here.
sunlight dapples down.
lazy tabloid starers pick a seat ....
on this summer sunday morning.

Friday, 19 January 2007


I haven't heard that bell
Since this time began
A note for the eons
A heralding for the magi

I heard it last night
As I crossed the road
Some kid,lying useless
had the shit kicked from him
Infinity sighed
and the bell was struck

The ancient trees welcome
Kanyini and Zeus
Parvati and the Astikas
Old greybeard himself
will shuffle in line
to the VIP seats at creation

Wednesday, 17 January 2007

department of dreams

The complaints desk
at the department of dreams
was somewhat busy.
Last week , the lads in the warehouse
got a whole bunch of orders for recurrings
mixed up with b/w fantasies
and a crate of lucids.

"What do you mean I can't expect my
movie star recurring this month" ........
"I can't use these lucids..
and there all last seasons stock anyway" ....
the phone was going ballistic.

Jasper grabbed another call.
"department of dreams can I .... yes maam
yes I understand... well 3-5 working nights at least
and yes maam .... no I can't guarantee colour and" .....
so it went on all week.

It wasn't quite as bad as back in 2011,
the year dreams were regulated.
Jasper remebered the time
a container load of nightmares were mislabled.
the whole lot were sent out by mistake.
many pallets ending up
in kindergartens throughout the land.

Quivering 4 year olds,
screaming uncontrollably at afternoon nap time.
The laundry bill itself
became a national dilema.
the inquiry went on for a month,
the minister forced to resign.

Jasper sat back in his adjustable office chair,
stretched his arms above his head
and smiled to himself.
again he leaned forward to grab the ringing phone
"department of dreams can .... yes maam ... oh sorry sir..
yes I'm sure it has ... no... no recurrings in stock ...
no sir you have a transaction number for that order" ...
and so it went on all week.

Tuesday, 16 January 2007

lesters not tiffanys

A killer instinct and a whiplash wit,
a mask and a plastic bag of prose
is no armoury for breakfast with Lester

For breakfast with Lester requires
sure footed sanctity with ruffled charisma
and a hip flask of vodka for the O.J

His doorman stares me down
but I stare harder.
shall I salute or blow him a kiss...neither.
you leave that kind of behaviour
along with all form of tawdry remark
on the gargoyled hat stand in the foyer.
"morning" I say.
I curtsy anyway.

Lester lives in Springfield Avenue.
A mansion of sorts,
beguiling in every way.

The breakfast party usually consists of
Lester and his doorman,myself
and a couple of worldly noteables,
hands in the air inverted commas.

Last time it was Vladimir Putin and Bjorn Borg.
Vladimir couldn't keep his hands off my vodka.
Mr Borg told me what he really got up to
with Johm Mcenroe's girlfriend
after the 81 wimbledom final.
Fascinating stuff.

The doors to Lesters sunroom
are carved with angels.
I brace myself, grip the halo handle,
and push the doors torward another
breakfast with Lester.

Sunday, 14 January 2007

well they got the sign right

Don't expect any sunshine here...
says the sign outside the shop.
it got my attention. I had to peek inside.
of course it was dimly lit,
full of stuffed green frog heads
and sinewy entrails
in larger than life fish tanks.
no need for a filter..... nothing alive.

The man behind the counter
at the far end of the room
was wrapped in a black plastic bag
and hung from the ceiling by his feet.
his hands swung in time
to the flickering street light
that blinked my vision.

No sunshine in here,
No sunshine at all

Saturday, 13 January 2007

Great Southern Line

Imagine this.
fourteen blocks from home.
another week at the boutique over.
hair in a mess.
dumped by partner on Tuesday for a cross dressing showoff.
left car at home for enviromental slash health reasons.
no invitations.
friday 6.30.

The red man flashes and beeps in sequence.
across the road a train station looms like a used up Scottish castle,
exept it's bang in the middle of Sydney.
the air is always thick at central station.
central station.
i've always thought it was an ugly place.
i'll tell you one thing though ...
it stands on what was an old graveyard
for the early white marauders.
no disrespect to those resting bones may I add

I'll catch the train from the 2425 platform.
where have all the punks gone?
remember how they used to line the elevators
in all their red and green and pins
I do a terrific mohawk if I do say so myself,
a menacing mohwie is the best mowhie.
but I suppose it depends on whose head its on.
i stare at some girls beanie.

The green man lights my way across the road.
leads me right up to the castle gates.
past the crappy pie shop
perhaps i'll just go home.
I scour my purse for my ticket.
fuck it I'd rather walk

Thursday, 11 January 2007

rosebud and the orange sky

Rosebud knew her shit
and she spoke like she did.
honesty instead of routine.
an activist and an early morning woman.

Thismorning the world turned orange and misty.
the day hid behind a swirling blanket
of iridescent cloud
that hovered above
and then swallowed the earth.
the air moved with the ferocity of a samuri
cutting a frightening swathe
from hilltop to ocean shore.
a trillion heartbeats raced and the sun sighed.
it's radiant defiance no match
for the moment.

Rosebud threw her arms in the air
surrendering to the might of nature.
she looked up at the deepening mist
and yelled a cleansing yell.
such a shrill and true tone.
she felt her feet lift from the ground
and she was free.

Then there was an almighty clap of thunder
and the earth stopped breathing.
nobody wept.
the winds turned in on themselves.
the seas gave way to space.
the mountains dropped away with the colours.

nothing ..... nothing except a shrill and true tone.
just like at the start of it all.

Wednesday, 10 January 2007

the candle the old man and the girl

my friend plato has a ghost in his house.
one morning as plato was preparing his notes for a day of oration
his morning candle flickered
then extinguished.
calmy he reached over his notes to relight the flame.
he flicked his cigarette lighter and moved his hand torward the wick
but the flame relit itself with a menacing precision.
a sense of urgency overcame plato that almost brought him to his knees.
half standing, his papers enguled by the morning candlelight,
he wrote without pause ..

"don't mess with me, don't you know what you're in for,
hear my call for there is nought to fear
I stand with the old man who shouts
you down... I only want to play you know"

later that afternoon plato spoke of politics
and his vision for a just society.
the gathering ears lapped up his words like a cat does cream.
a ragged old pawn broker cut the silence by
leaping to his feet (with a menacing precision) shouting
"speak of the morning candle"
plato was almost brought to his knees for a second time that day.
he attempted to continue his oration
but was burdened by reality
so he shed his notes and began to speak from experience.
he spoke of the candle, automatic writing and serendipity.
he fumbled at times through interpretation.
the ears jeered, turned and left.
as plato picked up his notes
he caught the eye of the old ragged pawnbroker,
who apart from a young girl by his side were the only people remaining.
"why did you want me to speak of the morning candle"
plato asked the ragged old pawn broker.
the little girl smiled and said
well you were being boring again
and anyway ..... I just wanted to play.