Monday, 27 July 2009

mr fox and the duck

business be business
said the fox to the duck
sorry to say
but the wind speaks it thus
can you not hear it blow.... ?
quack said the duck
pretending to be
oblivious to her plight
oh how your eyes sparkle
mr fox
and your tail blooms
like springtime
mr fox
so tricky
so slinky
so dazzling to watch

and with each compliment
mr fox's cheeks
grew redder and redder
flushed with success
and panting for more

and your paws
so soft but oh so deadly
master of the night
you are mr fox
as clever as ....
well as clever
as a fox is

and on it went
compliment after compliment
right through the dawning
till sunup and beyond
upon which the fox lay down to sleep
lulled by the praise
ringing in his pointy ears

and once soundly asleep
the smart little duck
waddled away from the fox
to the farmers house
upon which lands he dwelt
and peeked in the back door

whereupon the farmer exclaimed
good morning little duck
what brings you here
a fox mr farmer
a lazy and gullible fox
lays sleeping in the yard
under the shade of the apple tree

damn fox said the farmer
grabbing his rifle
and his last piece of toast
heading out back to sort things out
yes mr farmer
yes said the duck
business be business
can't you hear it on the wind?

Monday, 20 July 2009


the taliban====
the talisman====
the forgotten man
the book you'll write
the something new
the news today
the proper way
the tv prey
the sombre line
the soldiers dead
the vote was rigged
the watershed
the biggie lies
the fireflys
the endless stars
the crowded bars
the bottom feeders
the morning frosts
the poem today
the only way
the taliban====
the talisman====
the life you choose
the lot you've got
the life you choose
the lot you've got

Wednesday, 15 July 2009

the tranny

the transistor crackles
this background noise
commenting on stuff
like a noisy blog
a blind tv
at the ears of racegoers
that's how I remember
or on my windowsill
tuning in to 2SM
before FM was a wave
that blipped through
our ears
and blipped
at our brains
standing still like a mini
on the grass
in the summertime
can't hear it really
not over the lawnmower
or the cicada's
but it's there
blipping away

Thursday, 9 July 2009

who painted this mess?

oh what a temper
billowing and flamed
the doorkeeper holds her back
high heels scraping
pink nails flashing
a crowd gathers by the maccas
like the pie stand
at the footy

the fruit seller
sighs in arabic
as if a friend he knew
long ago .... had
just died
I wonder

when I bustle home
this messy pathway
full of shakespearian tragedies
in peaked caps and mini skirts
leaves me empty
and sometimes
it's a life sized picasso
or if I squint
a turner