Tonight we hear the ocean
she rumbles like a womb
she wraps us in her salty arms
she takes us in her spell
and from these streets
all black and sticky
danced upon and breathing
we know how close you are
although it seems
a million miles away
Friday, 26 November 2010
Friday, 19 November 2010
all scoundrels amongst us
on my sleeve I will display
all misgivings and kept secrets
invisible to me
outrageous
in my heart I will know
what is right and what is wrong
invisible to me
outrageous
what will it take .... ?
the simplest of tomes
a slap or an airy second
the yellow in the eye's
of a beast that once
made me wonder of such things
like a chink ... the changing of keys
when concentrating on lyrics
abated and rested
abled by moments frozen
sweetened
soothed
a sigh of relief
glowing like a whorehouse
a twinkling of the dubious
on the outside
this sloganed t shirt
is the frontline of a generation
all entered and backspaced beyond repair
digress ....
shakespeare was a jaunty fellow
did you know he only wrote in black robes
so as not to colour his arguments
a 15th century emo
whose misgivings and kept secrets
fell from his pages
inking fragilious
opting on out
all misgivings and kept secrets
invisible to me
outrageous
in my heart I will know
what is right and what is wrong
invisible to me
outrageous
what will it take .... ?
the simplest of tomes
a slap or an airy second
the yellow in the eye's
of a beast that once
made me wonder of such things
like a chink ... the changing of keys
when concentrating on lyrics
abated and rested
abled by moments frozen
sweetened
soothed
a sigh of relief
glowing like a whorehouse
a twinkling of the dubious
on the outside
this sloganed t shirt
is the frontline of a generation
all entered and backspaced beyond repair
digress ....
shakespeare was a jaunty fellow
did you know he only wrote in black robes
so as not to colour his arguments
a 15th century emo
whose misgivings and kept secrets
fell from his pages
inking fragilious
opting on out
Sunday, 17 October 2010
oh yes ....lovely she is
and so it goes
this whispering wheel
this flaming circle
this firecracker heart...
I peeked behind the old curtain
the one behind the mystic's shop counter
and saw the potions lined up
rows and rows of them
lit only by candlelight
I'm sure their were frogs
in some of them
and I definatley saw
a puppy dog's tail
in another.
Old greybeard was hunched
at the maker's table
feeding his bats as he did
strange mathematics
...."another child" he billowed ...
"these orders are never ending"
but still ....he plied his magic
as he had done so for ever
conjuring, mixing, believing ...
and with a clang, a puff of smoke
and that old spinning wheel
he did it ....
again
another little girl
and so it goes
this whispering wheel
this flaming circle
this firecracker heart...
this whispering wheel
this flaming circle
this firecracker heart...
I peeked behind the old curtain
the one behind the mystic's shop counter
and saw the potions lined up
rows and rows of them
lit only by candlelight
I'm sure their were frogs
in some of them
and I definatley saw
a puppy dog's tail
in another.
Old greybeard was hunched
at the maker's table
feeding his bats as he did
strange mathematics
...."another child" he billowed ...
"these orders are never ending"
but still ....he plied his magic
as he had done so for ever
conjuring, mixing, believing ...
and with a clang, a puff of smoke
and that old spinning wheel
he did it ....
again
another little girl
and so it goes
this whispering wheel
this flaming circle
this firecracker heart...
Monday, 11 October 2010
a bird calls me onward
A garden dreams at night time.
The whistling leaves are resting.
Naked are the grasses
That slink between the dews.
It's over says the currawong,
His yellow eyes be knowing....
A fever hits the restless
And faves the bravest few.
The whistling leaves are resting.
Naked are the grasses
That slink between the dews.
It's over says the currawong,
His yellow eyes be knowing....
A fever hits the restless
And faves the bravest few.
Monday, 13 September 2010
before the swirl returns ... I stop
Standing still
An eye surrounding
All that waits
For opposites
Now having given half
The other is received
And if the taking is your shadow
Soon the wind will strip you bare
An eye surrounding
All that waits
For opposites
Now having given half
The other is received
And if the taking is your shadow
Soon the wind will strip you bare
Thursday, 9 September 2010
The Strip
You get to know, at least by face,
the locals on the street. The strip
as it's known. Sometimes Inventoria
and I would rather bypass the strip
and whiz down Victoria St or cut
through the park and around by Picollo
to avoid the human bricolage.
Other times we choose to walk the
strip, observing the colour and the faces.
We avoid weekends and walk the strip most weekday
mornings. You are assured a high locals content
at this time of the week.
This is when the characters are
about in all their plumage and all their
distortions. At the Fitzroy garden it will start.
A couple of lazy loudmouths perched on
boxes, rolling cigs and following the sun.
Around the corner and into the strip proper we find
the lads with baggy shorts, no socks,
big sneakers and a collar turned upward
proudly standing their ground like cherry eyed
bower birds, ready to do business with a backpack
full of mischief.
We see the usual crowd outside maccas,
slurring and swaying. The early morning
girls with blistered feet from those
way too spikey shoes. Outside number 66
the pressure is on to wait till opening. The needle
exchange .... thanks to this place users have
a safe place to do what they do, maybe get a helping
hand or sympathetic ear
and remain off the street for a while.
...which could be a good thing today ....
you often see people nodding away, perhaps with a
far away look in their eyes ... but today those same people
are slumped in doorways, asleep at chairs or on the footpath
or standing up asleep outside the station.
We say their must be a strong batch in town this week
and are reminded of why the strip has at times
a dark energy. It sits behind the colour of the
characters and the miasma. I guess
that is and always will be ... Kings Cross
the locals on the street. The strip
as it's known. Sometimes Inventoria
and I would rather bypass the strip
and whiz down Victoria St or cut
through the park and around by Picollo
to avoid the human bricolage.
Other times we choose to walk the
strip, observing the colour and the faces.
We avoid weekends and walk the strip most weekday
mornings. You are assured a high locals content
at this time of the week.
This is when the characters are
about in all their plumage and all their
distortions. At the Fitzroy garden it will start.
A couple of lazy loudmouths perched on
boxes, rolling cigs and following the sun.
Around the corner and into the strip proper we find
the lads with baggy shorts, no socks,
big sneakers and a collar turned upward
proudly standing their ground like cherry eyed
bower birds, ready to do business with a backpack
full of mischief.
We see the usual crowd outside maccas,
slurring and swaying. The early morning
girls with blistered feet from those
way too spikey shoes. Outside number 66
the pressure is on to wait till opening. The needle
exchange .... thanks to this place users have
a safe place to do what they do, maybe get a helping
hand or sympathetic ear
and remain off the street for a while.
...which could be a good thing today ....
you often see people nodding away, perhaps with a
far away look in their eyes ... but today those same people
are slumped in doorways, asleep at chairs or on the footpath
or standing up asleep outside the station.
We say their must be a strong batch in town this week
and are reminded of why the strip has at times
a dark energy. It sits behind the colour of the
characters and the miasma. I guess
that is and always will be ... Kings Cross
Monday, 23 August 2010
this thing I hold
it sings like the whip bird ...
startling passers by
and mesmerising those
who pause to stop and stare.
I have molded it
with my own hands and
my own imagination.
I have caressed it with my
breath and words subtle.
I have watched it grow .....
still excitable, but having
more to glance back, reflect upon
than once it did.
It still shimmers when the
morning sun hits it
and it still shivers
when the winter sets in.
It has seen you even when
you have not and it still talks
of things that are yet to be.
It makes sense of the unknowable
and tears away the stitching
of thousands of years ...
but don't ask it how
and don't ask it why
a spec in the voids
where everything is magic.
startling passers by
and mesmerising those
who pause to stop and stare.
I have molded it
with my own hands and
my own imagination.
I have caressed it with my
breath and words subtle.
I have watched it grow .....
still excitable, but having
more to glance back, reflect upon
than once it did.
It still shimmers when the
morning sun hits it
and it still shivers
when the winter sets in.
It has seen you even when
you have not and it still talks
of things that are yet to be.
It makes sense of the unknowable
and tears away the stitching
of thousands of years ...
but don't ask it how
and don't ask it why
a spec in the voids
where everything is magic.
Tuesday, 17 August 2010
car hits roo
as far as the eye allows
as slow as our turning heads
the scene from this roadside rest
bristling
an eagle above the roadkill
waits for us blow ins to depart
to pick from the fresh remains
glistening
as slow as our turning heads
the scene from this roadside rest
bristling
an eagle above the roadkill
waits for us blow ins to depart
to pick from the fresh remains
glistening
Monday, 12 July 2010
inhale exhale and some things in between
A puff of smoke
rises above the brick wall
and drifts off
with the breezes.
Breathing in .....
I know that smell,
it seems out of place.
You don't see much wood burning about town
these days. It's cold outside
and the south walls are eternally
damp. Lizards go underground and eyes
remain downcast. Places that give refuge
in the summer are out of bounds for now
and the birds are different ... if you notice.
My shoes have holes in the bottom
that I have gaffed over letting me chase
the chinks of sunlight that appear
before they are whisked away like
a magicians tablecloth. The menus are
full of lamb shanks and slow cooked
and the music is all minor and moves
toward me quickly in the cold.
I breathe out ...
A puff of smoke
rises above the brick wall
and drifts off
with the breezes.
rises above the brick wall
and drifts off
with the breezes.
Breathing in .....
I know that smell,
it seems out of place.
You don't see much wood burning about town
these days. It's cold outside
and the south walls are eternally
damp. Lizards go underground and eyes
remain downcast. Places that give refuge
in the summer are out of bounds for now
and the birds are different ... if you notice.
My shoes have holes in the bottom
that I have gaffed over letting me chase
the chinks of sunlight that appear
before they are whisked away like
a magicians tablecloth. The menus are
full of lamb shanks and slow cooked
and the music is all minor and moves
toward me quickly in the cold.
I breathe out ...
A puff of smoke
rises above the brick wall
and drifts off
with the breezes.
Wednesday, 30 June 2010
crazy day with an expletive warning!!
I'm following you -
he said to me
as I sat at Tropicana
eating porridge
under the din of
a world cup replay.
And I'm going to follow you all day ...
I almost spat the prune out.
What on earth for? Well that's what I said
but what I was really thinking was
how creepy is this guy ... the only day
I eat here on my own
because inventoria has headed up the hill
and I get Lurch leaning over my flat white
with bad breath
Excuse me ... your going to follow me I said ...
he stared right through me for a second then said
what did you say
Oh boy ... I thought .... let me just eat my porridge
OK ... can I just eat my breakfast alone please?
Firm but friendly ....isn't that how your supposed to react..
and it worked . Off he trots out the door
to creep out someone else
Mind you, all the way to the Taylor Square I'm
looking over my shoulder ....no sign of him though
thank heavens
Then I get to the art school ... It's the old
Sydney Goal ...high sandstone walls with kids walking about
as if they're gonna be the next Sidney Nolan .... or
Joy Hester. Walking installations many of them.
I wonder which one could be a great artist ...
perhaps it's the one that looks like
a banker or the one with a very unstylish haircut or
the girl who seems as if she spent all morning
making sure she looks like she couldn't care less
what she was wearing
..... I wonder
then I get to the courthouse on the corner ... a truck is
delivering the prisoners for the day. Fate in the
hands of the jury i suppose ...or the judge.
The truck backs up to the dock
armed guardians opening a big iron gate ....
ahead on the footpath outside
sits a group of people
who look like they have slept the night
out in the cold, surrounded by empty bottles
drunk as they can be .... and it's 9am.
Anyway, they see the truck pull in
and one of the fellas shouts out
..."let the cunts go ya cunts" ...
well I can't help but start to laugh
just a little ...the whole episode is
very funny although blanketed in several layers
of sadness
I keep my eyes straight ahead
what are you laughin at mate ... slurs the group antagonist as
I quicken my pace a little
yep, I'm thinking to myself ... it's already a day to remember and I
haven't even got to where I'm going
he said to me
as I sat at Tropicana
eating porridge
under the din of
a world cup replay.
And I'm going to follow you all day ...
I almost spat the prune out.
What on earth for? Well that's what I said
but what I was really thinking was
how creepy is this guy ... the only day
I eat here on my own
because inventoria has headed up the hill
and I get Lurch leaning over my flat white
with bad breath
Excuse me ... your going to follow me I said ...
he stared right through me for a second then said
what did you say
Oh boy ... I thought .... let me just eat my porridge
OK ... can I just eat my breakfast alone please?
Firm but friendly ....isn't that how your supposed to react..
and it worked . Off he trots out the door
to creep out someone else
Mind you, all the way to the Taylor Square I'm
looking over my shoulder ....no sign of him though
thank heavens
Then I get to the art school ... It's the old
Sydney Goal ...high sandstone walls with kids walking about
as if they're gonna be the next Sidney Nolan .... or
Joy Hester. Walking installations many of them.
I wonder which one could be a great artist ...
perhaps it's the one that looks like
a banker or the one with a very unstylish haircut or
the girl who seems as if she spent all morning
making sure she looks like she couldn't care less
what she was wearing
..... I wonder
then I get to the courthouse on the corner ... a truck is
delivering the prisoners for the day. Fate in the
hands of the jury i suppose ...or the judge.
The truck backs up to the dock
armed guardians opening a big iron gate ....
ahead on the footpath outside
sits a group of people
who look like they have slept the night
out in the cold, surrounded by empty bottles
drunk as they can be .... and it's 9am.
Anyway, they see the truck pull in
and one of the fellas shouts out
..."let the cunts go ya cunts" ...
well I can't help but start to laugh
just a little ...the whole episode is
very funny although blanketed in several layers
of sadness
I keep my eyes straight ahead
what are you laughin at mate ... slurs the group antagonist as
I quicken my pace a little
yep, I'm thinking to myself ... it's already a day to remember and I
haven't even got to where I'm going
Wednesday, 16 June 2010
let me just say ....
our languid thoughts aren't
real enough for action or nation
saving deeds - only little
flames, triggers,corner stones
to build upon. I envy do ers,
types you see at
amnesty international
seminars - except the ones who
are there just to pick up - mostly though,
behind the floral skirts, underneath the flaxen
shoulder bags and behind the greying
new found convictions there's someone
bloody inspirational
oh.... I do my bit, I think
I do. To quietly fight with words
is a bearing of arms that poets
bring to battle, to swathe through
meaning to fire at rigidity
to softly bend the unbendable
But still these types ...these
do ers with worn shoes,unseen
and at the front line I find
bloody inspirational
real enough for action or nation
saving deeds - only little
flames, triggers,corner stones
to build upon. I envy do ers,
types you see at
amnesty international
seminars - except the ones who
are there just to pick up - mostly though,
behind the floral skirts, underneath the flaxen
shoulder bags and behind the greying
new found convictions there's someone
bloody inspirational
oh.... I do my bit, I think
I do. To quietly fight with words
is a bearing of arms that poets
bring to battle, to swathe through
meaning to fire at rigidity
to softly bend the unbendable
But still these types ...these
do ers with worn shoes,unseen
and at the front line I find
bloody inspirational
Saturday, 22 May 2010
mark my words
I gave a dollar to a bloke
who looked like he needed it
and he said
do you have another one?
I went to the supermarket
to buy some food
but there was none there.
I looked in the record shop window
for something exciting ...
and left bored.
I said to myself
how about an afternoon coffee
in the struggling sun
to cheer myself up...
it arrived luke warm (the coffee and the sun)
and when I complained the barista said
that's how they serve them in Paris
and I said well this is Darlinghurst Rd
not the bloody avenue des Champs-Elysees ....
he grunted ..... so
I walked home
to read my book
which is dark and depressing
and on the way a bird
shat on my shoulder
and when I got to the door
of my apartment
I realised I'd left my bag
at the coffee shop.
Alright .... I'm gonna turn around
and start again
get my bag, smiling
to the barista
as i go
walk straight past the poor
chap on the footpath, flick him two dollars
then disappear into some movie house
to watch a film
about someone else'e life
and escape this sodden,though
quite remarkable day
who looked like he needed it
and he said
do you have another one?
I went to the supermarket
to buy some food
but there was none there.
I looked in the record shop window
for something exciting ...
and left bored.
I said to myself
how about an afternoon coffee
in the struggling sun
to cheer myself up...
it arrived luke warm (the coffee and the sun)
and when I complained the barista said
that's how they serve them in Paris
and I said well this is Darlinghurst Rd
not the bloody avenue des Champs-Elysees ....
he grunted ..... so
I walked home
to read my book
which is dark and depressing
and on the way a bird
shat on my shoulder
and when I got to the door
of my apartment
I realised I'd left my bag
at the coffee shop.
Alright .... I'm gonna turn around
and start again
get my bag, smiling
to the barista
as i go
walk straight past the poor
chap on the footpath, flick him two dollars
then disappear into some movie house
to watch a film
about someone else'e life
and escape this sodden,though
quite remarkable day
Thursday, 22 April 2010
kings cross ahoy!
Morning whistles up the laneway
coffee and sunshine strips
sparkling off windows. Somewhere
lovers caress, white sheets
slung to the breezes
as if today, Kings Cross
could sail away.
Sail out through the heads
detatched and uncaring
a glittering boat with bright
neon mastings, short skirted
deck hands hoist
business boy rigs.
And I'd be the captain
the muse and the poet. Steering
a course out and beyond
billowing orders
to those who would listen
sail on an island
break into song.......
.... my daydream is brittle
splintered and earthen
by buskers lament
a wondering song
of high sea adventures
white sheet fantastic
Kings Cross ahoy
break into song
coffee and sunshine strips
sparkling off windows. Somewhere
lovers caress, white sheets
slung to the breezes
as if today, Kings Cross
could sail away.
Sail out through the heads
detatched and uncaring
a glittering boat with bright
neon mastings, short skirted
deck hands hoist
business boy rigs.
And I'd be the captain
the muse and the poet. Steering
a course out and beyond
billowing orders
to those who would listen
sail on an island
break into song.......
.... my daydream is brittle
splintered and earthen
by buskers lament
a wondering song
of high sea adventures
white sheet fantastic
Kings Cross ahoy
break into song
Monday, 5 April 2010
in good hands
mists cuddle the house
gently falling, stopping
to peek through the windows
sometimes resting as a droplet
sometimes curling and billowing
with each zephyr
languidly fighting the sunrays
that turn all to dust
inside the radio crackles
daydreamless stuff really
I wonder if i should make
another cup of tea
or start something new
awakening the embers
with a puff of oxygen
and some new found enthusiasm
but the mists return
with a vengeance
of their own
hypnotizing through the leadlight
cracks meandering as if the voids
were a rivulet
taking all my ambitions
downstream
gently falling, stopping
to peek through the windows
sometimes resting as a droplet
sometimes curling and billowing
with each zephyr
languidly fighting the sunrays
that turn all to dust
inside the radio crackles
daydreamless stuff really
I wonder if i should make
another cup of tea
or start something new
awakening the embers
with a puff of oxygen
and some new found enthusiasm
but the mists return
with a vengeance
of their own
hypnotizing through the leadlight
cracks meandering as if the voids
were a rivulet
taking all my ambitions
downstream
Monday, 22 March 2010
at the kings cross roads
the curving apartments
roll down macleay st
coffee aromas
blanketed eyes
this monday morning
unlike the others
spangles replaced
by business boy ties
then the rhyming stops .....
as if a pungent garbage truck
pulls up in front of you
in the middle of a daydream ...
as if the shake of a herald
twigs you into conformity
for ever and ever...
and for a moment
you glance back
over your shoulder
and see yourself running
in the opposite direction
kicking up red leaves
from the gutter
like an old movie
your body fluid and joyous
your hair unattended
and your clothing
nothing but comfortable
so the waiting is over
the beckoning giant
has slapped you from slumber
complacent, compliant
with a take away latte
and a spit polish shine
head down regardless
and on with this rhyme
roll down macleay st
coffee aromas
blanketed eyes
this monday morning
unlike the others
spangles replaced
by business boy ties
then the rhyming stops .....
as if a pungent garbage truck
pulls up in front of you
in the middle of a daydream ...
as if the shake of a herald
twigs you into conformity
for ever and ever...
and for a moment
you glance back
over your shoulder
and see yourself running
in the opposite direction
kicking up red leaves
from the gutter
like an old movie
your body fluid and joyous
your hair unattended
and your clothing
nothing but comfortable
so the waiting is over
the beckoning giant
has slapped you from slumber
complacent, compliant
with a take away latte
and a spit polish shine
head down regardless
and on with this rhyme
Monday, 8 March 2010
The Laneway that Starts with two L's
xxxxxxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxxxxxx
marks the spot
where you stood
1000 days ago
in that laneway
that starts with 2 L's
where the sex shop
has become a wine bar
and the wax museum
a harris farm
where old man alter
and his rituals
in the black arts
are soon to be replaced by
something much whiter
and fancier
.... oh it's all good
progress be progress
and even though the airs
and magics will keep their distance
that spot
the x one
near the mini red door
where the cobblestones tremble
and the cockatoo soars above
in circles upwards
until all you see
is a falling feather
... will always be
1000 days ago
today
xxxxxxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxxxxxx
marks the spot
where you stood
1000 days ago
in that laneway
that starts with 2 L's
where the sex shop
has become a wine bar
and the wax museum
a harris farm
where old man alter
and his rituals
in the black arts
are soon to be replaced by
something much whiter
and fancier
.... oh it's all good
progress be progress
and even though the airs
and magics will keep their distance
that spot
the x one
near the mini red door
where the cobblestones tremble
and the cockatoo soars above
in circles upwards
until all you see
is a falling feather
... will always be
1000 days ago
today
Sunday, 28 February 2010
a twist in the story
petit little petit
underheard overshout
crowd pleaser
brain teaser
bless you
my little darling
our secret kept
will soon be out
underheard overshout
crowd pleaser
brain teaser
bless you
my little darling
our secret kept
will soon be out
Saturday, 13 February 2010
wet wig dreaming
I hear the floorboards creaking
stuttering beneath my shoes
with candles flickering
lovers bickering
I am the kings cross muse
Another night of dancing
inside, away from rains
suburban boys
get cheap shot joys
that slowly melt their brains
My wig is sweat soaked dripping
my voice the morning blues
I've earned my shilling
now sleep god willing
I am the kings cross muse
stuttering beneath my shoes
with candles flickering
lovers bickering
I am the kings cross muse
Another night of dancing
inside, away from rains
suburban boys
get cheap shot joys
that slowly melt their brains
My wig is sweat soaked dripping
my voice the morning blues
I've earned my shilling
now sleep god willing
I am the kings cross muse
Sunday, 31 January 2010
With a reference to Mr Patrick White
Awake now.
Wandering beneath
a bat's escape ...
art decopauge
cardboard cutouts
herald my arrival.
Each one of them
buttoned up like my lips,
curtains drawn like my eyes.
No daring the intruder ...
rich or poor or over or under
indulged
and hardly a native tree in sight.
No way in ...
for hardly the light
is given the passswords.
Then through the glass door
but in reflection ....
so I turn,
a young man points
his outstretched finger
quivering
and from across Macleay St
says to me ....
"see the girl over there
with the cigarette holder...
she's taking me out
tonight" ...
Wandering beneath
a bat's escape ...
art decopauge
cardboard cutouts
herald my arrival.
Each one of them
buttoned up like my lips,
curtains drawn like my eyes.
No daring the intruder ...
rich or poor or over or under
indulged
and hardly a native tree in sight.
No way in ...
for hardly the light
is given the passswords.
Then through the glass door
but in reflection ....
so I turn,
a young man points
his outstretched finger
quivering
and from across Macleay St
says to me ....
"see the girl over there
with the cigarette holder...
she's taking me out
tonight" ...
Monday, 11 January 2010
oh summertime
a small scratch on the pavement
a can of coke in the sun
a double taking tourist
a walker on the run
no dripping towels at sunset
no afternoon soaked rain
this kings cross concrete summer
melts slowly down the drain
a can of coke in the sun
a double taking tourist
a walker on the run
no dripping towels at sunset
no afternoon soaked rain
this kings cross concrete summer
melts slowly down the drain
Wednesday, 30 December 2009
the old stone house
stepping out through the trees
eluding us as if
the night were a hoodie
though the morning
has risen for hours
a rickety stone house
barely standing
ages as testimony to
the crafters
beckons me
and my horse
dismounted we walk
eyes transfixed
spelled
magnetised
the years scream and laugh
cry and talk to us
of passes by and
those who stayed for longer
of those born
and those who passed
inside the stone
they wait or at least
part of them does
we listen for a time
then drink from the eaves
refreshed and remounted
we amble back through the trees
where the day
which blazes noon
is lost to us
for now
eluding us as if
the night were a hoodie
though the morning
has risen for hours
a rickety stone house
barely standing
ages as testimony to
the crafters
beckons me
and my horse
dismounted we walk
eyes transfixed
spelled
magnetised
the years scream and laugh
cry and talk to us
of passes by and
those who stayed for longer
of those born
and those who passed
inside the stone
they wait or at least
part of them does
we listen for a time
then drink from the eaves
refreshed and remounted
we amble back through the trees
where the day
which blazes noon
is lost to us
for now
Saturday, 12 December 2009
drinking the stars
at the time of the great battle
a time when demons strayed
deep into our world
the trees quivered
and the frogs knew
what was to begin
from the forest
deep inside
a drum hummed
so low
as to wake even the
sleepiest of beings
raising his cup
the strongest and most feared demon
was about to drink
the elixer of life ....
the sun and the moon
would not stand for this
and alerted the great gods
who decapitatede the head of the demon
before he could swallow the elixer
his head of course became immortal
and out of anger
he would
swallow the sun
and the moon
only for them to shortly reappear
in our mortal skies
this is ...
apart from a wonderous story
the true and correct
explanation of the eclipses
a time when demons strayed
deep into our world
the trees quivered
and the frogs knew
what was to begin
from the forest
deep inside
a drum hummed
so low
as to wake even the
sleepiest of beings
raising his cup
the strongest and most feared demon
was about to drink
the elixer of life ....
the sun and the moon
would not stand for this
and alerted the great gods
who decapitatede the head of the demon
before he could swallow the elixer
his head of course became immortal
and out of anger
he would
swallow the sun
and the moon
only for them to shortly reappear
in our mortal skies
this is ...
apart from a wonderous story
the true and correct
explanation of the eclipses
Wednesday, 2 December 2009
baloney
L Ron Hubbard
went to the cupboard
to fetch him poorself
a religion
When he arrived
he found workers who thrived
on the leftovers
of his next million
went to the cupboard
to fetch him poorself
a religion
When he arrived
he found workers who thrived
on the leftovers
of his next million
Thursday, 26 November 2009
Wednesday, 18 November 2009
brimming with dreams at my feet
I got a box of cd's
from a record company
to give away
to my msuic students
disks they didn't want
disks sent in hope
all that passion
all those late late nights
squashed down to flat plastic
and ending up
in a box under my desk
hundreds of albums
thousands of songs
I can feel the weight
of the artists
sighing
looking up longingly
treading water
over here .... no over here
pick me .... pick me ...
there's a real nice looking
bunch of chaps
with shoulder length shampooed hair
and fantastic stances
and expensive guitars
wedged up against
the doppleganger of Britney
with ruby red lipstick
and a ridiculous pout
lying against
the next lryical hip hop
master of the mouth
takin over the streets
rewriting the genre
or so he says .... p-lease
anyway
there they lie
profoundly hidden
and rather lonely
my students snap up a handful
but the box
is still brimming
brimming with dreams
which somehow makes me think
about the art v technology debate
ah ... that old chestnut
but that's another blog
so for now ...
dream on!
from a record company
to give away
to my msuic students
disks they didn't want
disks sent in hope
all that passion
all those late late nights
squashed down to flat plastic
and ending up
in a box under my desk
hundreds of albums
thousands of songs
I can feel the weight
of the artists
sighing
looking up longingly
treading water
over here .... no over here
pick me .... pick me ...
there's a real nice looking
bunch of chaps
with shoulder length shampooed hair
and fantastic stances
and expensive guitars
wedged up against
the doppleganger of Britney
with ruby red lipstick
and a ridiculous pout
lying against
the next lryical hip hop
master of the mouth
takin over the streets
rewriting the genre
or so he says .... p-lease
anyway
there they lie
profoundly hidden
and rather lonely
my students snap up a handful
but the box
is still brimming
brimming with dreams
which somehow makes me think
about the art v technology debate
ah ... that old chestnut
but that's another blog
so for now ...
dream on!
Monday, 9 November 2009
little darlin'
sometimes, as the waves break
and the cockatoo sings to me
I remember you
and
sometimes, as the mists clear
and the horizon beckons
I remember you too.
and the cockatoo sings to me
I remember you
and
sometimes, as the mists clear
and the horizon beckons
I remember you too.
Monday, 2 November 2009
the impossible hat stand of regrets
Apart from the odd visit
or market day
I've been away for a while
.... but now I'm back.
Inventoria and I have returned
from the radiated lands
pens firmly in hand
eyes firmly on the circus.
Now the first thing I do
is visit Estelle ...
if you don't know her
I humbly suggest that you read
this very blog's entry from
feb 07 ... "your own personal jesus"
.... anyway, she's quite the lady.
Estelle gives me a hug that says
... "gosh it's good to see you
but I ain't gonna say it"
Estelle darts mesmerisingly about her flat,
the park below reminds me of
something I left years ago.
There is something different about her.
The look in her eyes flickers between
frustration, sadness
and that of an unknowing child.
Her steadfast glint, her unwaivering precision
is waivering. I wonder what getting old ....
and I mean really old is like.
She interupts my self absorbtion in her
state of mind by asking me a question...
If you were about to die ... old boy
she says to me ... today, right now
what one thing would you regret?
I fumble slightly and smile at her ..
well it's nice to be back I say.
she doesn't return my sense of flippancy
but calmy says .... well you don't have to answer it now
The afternoon ambles onward
the two of us wrapped in it's spell ...
Estelle tells me much of Kings Cross
the Clunes and their gallery cohorts
Olsen, Hughs, Klippel
she talked of evenings at the California
on Darlinghurst rd
or just opposite at the Arabian ...
two cafes that would look sadly out of place in the cross today.
I hear about her friend, the courageous and beautiful
Juanita Nielson who paid a high price
for us to enjoy the trees on Victoria Street.
I remember her name on the telly
as a kid ...
and on we discuss ...
i tell her of the saturday night scum
the cars, the plasma screens
the distinct lack of bohemia
but it's not all bad I say
I paint you the worst of it
I know she says ...
looking tired, I decide to leave
She gives me another hug
a warmer one it feels
and says visit again ....
won't you?
and answer me that question
As I turn and head down her
oppulent hallway
my shoulder brushing her impossible
hat stand
I'd regret I say to myself ...
I'd regret
hhmmm ...
or market day
I've been away for a while
.... but now I'm back.
Inventoria and I have returned
from the radiated lands
pens firmly in hand
eyes firmly on the circus.
Now the first thing I do
is visit Estelle ...
if you don't know her
I humbly suggest that you read
this very blog's entry from
feb 07 ... "your own personal jesus"
.... anyway, she's quite the lady.
Estelle gives me a hug that says
... "gosh it's good to see you
but I ain't gonna say it"
Estelle darts mesmerisingly about her flat,
the park below reminds me of
something I left years ago.
There is something different about her.
The look in her eyes flickers between
frustration, sadness
and that of an unknowing child.
Her steadfast glint, her unwaivering precision
is waivering. I wonder what getting old ....
and I mean really old is like.
She interupts my self absorbtion in her
state of mind by asking me a question...
If you were about to die ... old boy
she says to me ... today, right now
what one thing would you regret?
I fumble slightly and smile at her ..
well it's nice to be back I say.
she doesn't return my sense of flippancy
but calmy says .... well you don't have to answer it now
The afternoon ambles onward
the two of us wrapped in it's spell ...
Estelle tells me much of Kings Cross
the Clunes and their gallery cohorts
Olsen, Hughs, Klippel
she talked of evenings at the California
on Darlinghurst rd
or just opposite at the Arabian ...
two cafes that would look sadly out of place in the cross today.
I hear about her friend, the courageous and beautiful
Juanita Nielson who paid a high price
for us to enjoy the trees on Victoria Street.
I remember her name on the telly
as a kid ...
and on we discuss ...
i tell her of the saturday night scum
the cars, the plasma screens
the distinct lack of bohemia
but it's not all bad I say
I paint you the worst of it
I know she says ...
looking tired, I decide to leave
She gives me another hug
a warmer one it feels
and says visit again ....
won't you?
and answer me that question
As I turn and head down her
oppulent hallway
my shoulder brushing her impossible
hat stand
I'd regret I say to myself ...
I'd regret
hhmmm ...
Monday, 12 October 2009
Kings Cross has gone Soft!
Early Sunday morning
Kings Cross ...
after a good sleep.
I dare not head around the corner
up past the slowly fading bourbon,
but set my boundaries
firmly about the Fitzroy Park.
Have you seen the knitting?
It surrounds the limbs
and posturing branches
like a good old fashioned
hippy jumper.
The trees have little coats,
knitted with care,
stitch by stitch
by a troupe of artisitc ...
...umm ... knitters
Even the non organic structures
get a gurnsey ...
Street poles, bike racks
bus stop benches
and the police station too.
All soft and woollen
in constabulary blue.
I've noticed the odd knit
about the streets lately,
here and there.
I touch them as i pass.
It's kinda cosy
like wearing a beanie ...
but boy have they gone
to town in the Cross.
Especially here in the park.
Head on out and have a look
and a feel...
It's good to see needles
being put to good use
arond here ..... for a change.
Kings Cross ...
after a good sleep.
I dare not head around the corner
up past the slowly fading bourbon,
but set my boundaries
firmly about the Fitzroy Park.
Have you seen the knitting?
It surrounds the limbs
and posturing branches
like a good old fashioned
hippy jumper.
The trees have little coats,
knitted with care,
stitch by stitch
by a troupe of artisitc ...
...umm ... knitters
Even the non organic structures
get a gurnsey ...
Street poles, bike racks
bus stop benches
and the police station too.
All soft and woollen
in constabulary blue.
I've noticed the odd knit
about the streets lately,
here and there.
I touch them as i pass.
It's kinda cosy
like wearing a beanie ...
but boy have they gone
to town in the Cross.
Especially here in the park.
Head on out and have a look
and a feel...
It's good to see needles
being put to good use
arond here ..... for a change.
Friday, 9 October 2009
mcpath
smoke filled tavern
northern scotland
15 men drink warm brown ale
share their thoughts
and hopes
and rations
stoke their minds
a fiery haze
then walks in the inn man's daughter
with a bright blue dress
and a phantoms gaze
that would kill a thousand monsters
from the lochs of nessies salad days
he turned around
walked on down
to shoot this whole world
upside down
to die die die die with you
to die die die die by your side
to die die die die with you
to die die die die by your side
next night high society
he has to hit it with the best
and a champagne haze
that all melts into insignificance
even if he's panned wide
or out of phase
then walks in the inn man's daughter
with the same blue dress
and that phantoms gaze
that would kill a thousand monsters
from the locks of nessies salad days
northern scotland
15 men drink warm brown ale
share their thoughts
and hopes
and rations
stoke their minds
a fiery haze
then walks in the inn man's daughter
with a bright blue dress
and a phantoms gaze
that would kill a thousand monsters
from the lochs of nessies salad days
he turned around
walked on down
to shoot this whole world
upside down
to die die die die with you
to die die die die by your side
to die die die die with you
to die die die die by your side
next night high society
he has to hit it with the best
and a champagne haze
that all melts into insignificance
even if he's panned wide
or out of phase
then walks in the inn man's daughter
with the same blue dress
and that phantoms gaze
that would kill a thousand monsters
from the locks of nessies salad days
Tuesday, 29 September 2009
as the shadow comes, it goes
A shadow passes near I feel
and tips me with it's wing
as eager as a ring worm
formless, faceless, fearless
A breathe or two ... or three or four
a walk amongst the old worlds
all grecian urn and statuette
will set things straight
like stone
A half diversion
painted thickly
creaks and clinks unoiled
my armour of rice paper
blows away ontop the breezes
blows away far out to sea
leaves me standing here half naked
leaves me standing here ...
this passing shadow passes
and tips me with it's wing
as eager as a ring worm
formless, faceless, fearless
A breathe or two ... or three or four
a walk amongst the old worlds
all grecian urn and statuette
will set things straight
like stone
A half diversion
painted thickly
creaks and clinks unoiled
my armour of rice paper
blows away ontop the breezes
blows away far out to sea
leaves me standing here half naked
leaves me standing here ...
this passing shadow passes
Monday, 21 September 2009
a poem for the equinox
brush stroke stanzas
eloquently told
sparring old witches
spells sevenfold
the market square is buzzing
yellow magic fills the street
the magpie saw it coming
like the owl and lorikeet
eloquently told
sparring old witches
spells sevenfold
the market square is buzzing
yellow magic fills the street
the magpie saw it coming
like the owl and lorikeet
Saturday, 5 September 2009
memory in a box
I overheard an old fella
talk about his memories
the ones he brought out
each springtime blooming ....
he kept 'em in a box
safe from the frosts of bitterness
away from the petulant story tellers
and when he scented the daffies
that blew in from the hill
be they earlier each year
with earnest he said
It's time to bring 'em out
dust the old boys down
and give them a damn good airing
where was I when ....
remember the time ...
those were the days ...
oh how I felt ....
good,bad, sad and exhaltant
thoughtful, dreamy or whimsical
there they were
hung out to dry
living a bit ...
all over again
the problem he said
as I stretched out an ear
is that the box gets bigger
and bigger each year
what a strange fella
I remember I said
I'd rather keep mine
wrapped up in my head
talk about his memories
the ones he brought out
each springtime blooming ....
he kept 'em in a box
safe from the frosts of bitterness
away from the petulant story tellers
and when he scented the daffies
that blew in from the hill
be they earlier each year
with earnest he said
It's time to bring 'em out
dust the old boys down
and give them a damn good airing
where was I when ....
remember the time ...
those were the days ...
oh how I felt ....
good,bad, sad and exhaltant
thoughtful, dreamy or whimsical
there they were
hung out to dry
living a bit ...
all over again
the problem he said
as I stretched out an ear
is that the box gets bigger
and bigger each year
what a strange fella
I remember I said
I'd rather keep mine
wrapped up in my head
Tuesday, 4 August 2009
at the gold coast with gwen and jeanie
went to leave the gold coast
in the queue
behind me
gwen and jeanie
missed the flight
had to wait back in the lounge
with double g and tees
probably happy
except can't smoke the styvies
without goin outside
so annoying really
true ... yeah true
but it's all good
.....yeah
it's sunday evenin
cry tv
if the news
won't bring ya to tears
then
random moments of kindness will
it will .... I tell ya
like that nice woman
so deserved it actually
yeah she did ....,. yeah
actually .....
yeah
I hate flying
me too
yeah i know yes
it's so bizzare that many miles in the air
yeah i know
yeah
i hate taking off
i know it's so bizzare
mmmm
yeah i know
it's so bizzare
moments whistle past
my cheeks alive with breezes
god love gwen and jeanie
but i'm off
back to the cross
kings bloomin' cross
in the queue
behind me
gwen and jeanie
missed the flight
had to wait back in the lounge
with double g and tees
probably happy
except can't smoke the styvies
without goin outside
so annoying really
true ... yeah true
but it's all good
.....yeah
it's sunday evenin
cry tv
if the news
won't bring ya to tears
then
random moments of kindness will
it will .... I tell ya
like that nice woman
so deserved it actually
yeah she did ....,. yeah
actually .....
yeah
I hate flying
me too
yeah i know yes
it's so bizzare that many miles in the air
yeah i know
yeah
i hate taking off
i know it's so bizzare
mmmm
yeah i know
it's so bizzare
moments whistle past
my cheeks alive with breezes
god love gwen and jeanie
but i'm off
back to the cross
kings bloomin' cross
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?
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
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
beeping
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
skyscraper
on the grass
in the summertime
can't hear it really
not over the lawnmower
or the cicada's
but it's there
somewhere
crackling
beeping
blipping away
beeping
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
skyscraper
on the grass
in the summertime
can't hear it really
not over the lawnmower
or the cicada's
but it's there
somewhere
crackling
beeping
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
sometimes
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
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
sometimes
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
Monday, 29 June 2009
fleeting past before I knew it
in an ambient moment
a feathery glow
that hangs above me
twisiting about my body
as a warm wind does
grabs hold
and won't let go ...
i try hard to compose myself
look unruffled
but her grace
overwhelms me
and i fall
unprepared
a feathery glow
that hangs above me
twisiting about my body
as a warm wind does
grabs hold
and won't let go ...
i try hard to compose myself
look unruffled
but her grace
overwhelms me
and i fall
unprepared
Monday, 22 June 2009
my last thing
If I only had one thing left
I'd share it with you
Under the drizzling sky
....or the blankets of blue
Between stormwater corpses
.... and a peddling crew
Ousted by sanctuary beckonings
.... what else would I do
If I only had one thing left
I'd share it with you
I'd share it with you
Under the drizzling sky
....or the blankets of blue
Between stormwater corpses
.... and a peddling crew
Ousted by sanctuary beckonings
.... what else would I do
If I only had one thing left
I'd share it with you
Monday, 15 June 2009
the idea of south
from the blue blue south
that chilly skin corner
the maverick and the captain
steer a course north ....
toward the midday sun
that peeps it's dusty eye
for never long enough
rickety wooden jalopy barge
bolts that loosen
with each bow crashing wave
slaps hard on the icy water
skews their bones like
tangled pipes
takes their breath away
like the morning
underdeck the bounty flaps
and waits for death
while not one soul will wonder
why or where they came from
the captain billows
watch your stern
there's islands out here ..
between the swells
that'll rip your joyous butt
apart before you see em even
blow this ship away
like sand
and send us all to hell
the maverick jeers and flirts with fate
throwing his rustled beard to the breezes
tempting the grand old ocean
with a rum stained glare
lead us home you beasts
you watery mountains
you churning anger
lead us home
and having heard this
the idea of south
came to an end ....
the dusty sun grew longer
and the bitter days soon
were passed
that chilly skin corner
the maverick and the captain
steer a course north ....
toward the midday sun
that peeps it's dusty eye
for never long enough
rickety wooden jalopy barge
bolts that loosen
with each bow crashing wave
slaps hard on the icy water
skews their bones like
tangled pipes
takes their breath away
like the morning
underdeck the bounty flaps
and waits for death
while not one soul will wonder
why or where they came from
the captain billows
watch your stern
there's islands out here ..
between the swells
that'll rip your joyous butt
apart before you see em even
blow this ship away
like sand
and send us all to hell
the maverick jeers and flirts with fate
throwing his rustled beard to the breezes
tempting the grand old ocean
with a rum stained glare
lead us home you beasts
you watery mountains
you churning anger
lead us home
and having heard this
the idea of south
came to an end ....
the dusty sun grew longer
and the bitter days soon
were passed
Monday, 25 May 2009
fa'afafine from roslyn street
in samoan culture
when a family lacks girls
a boy will often be
brought up as a girl
to be treated as a woman
not homosexual but
a third gender
the fa'afafine
household duties are gender specific
and heavier domestic tasks
are delegated to the fa'afafine
whether they like it or not
now this throws up
a conundrum or two ......
is gender a social construct?
is this the role of parents to decide?
should we respect the cultural norms?
what about the feelings of the boy?
how about girls who want to swap gender?
isn't life interesting?
my respect for the fa'afafine
is a personal one ...
and it goes like this
back in the 'good old' days
when roslyn street
had a european ambience
there was a community aura
people lived there
just didn't blow in on
friday and saturday nights
to get plastered and puke everywhere
there was the amsterdam ...
that notorious cafe
that sold the odd joint to travellers
was loved by daily telegraph
and a current affairs reporters
as the great expose
anna had a great place next door
good tea and rolls
and a grumpy but wonderful nature
barons was there
the late night leather clad
backgammon bar that
was right out of prauge
and jason's guitar shop was there
grotty and wonderful things
adorned the walls
and every inch of that
little shop
the only thing that still remains the same
in this now neon and tacky corner of town
is the piccollo
..... go there if you haven't
before it too ends up
in the cultural graveyard of regrets
anyway .....
i'm tending to business
at jasons guitar shop
and it's a little quiet
on the customer front
because an amiable drunk
has spent what seems like
a day or two
camped very close to the
front door
scattered cans and bottles
ciggies and torn blankets
he has a penchant for song
and he knows a lot of 'em
after an hour or so
i decide to play a gibson sg61
really loud through a boogie
... bad call
he wants to join in
and almost crawls through the door
billowing still
ok that's it i say
no you'll have to stay outside
whatya mean young fella
lets have a sing song
c'mon don't be like that .. . he groans
i manage to keep him out of the shop
... still no customers
as you can imagine
but he continues to billow away
out front
now all these goings on
were being observed
i was soon to discover
from across the road
upstairs from the amsterdam
from an apartment window
i was rewiring something
when i heard a big burly
bottom end voice say ...
ok that's enough
we've all had enough
go away and leave the young man
in peace ... go on shut up get up
and move .... and you can't sing for shit ...
i turned to see the amiable drunk
gathering his things quietly
a large samoan man
in a dress with lipstick
and a hairdo weilding a cricket bat
was standing over him
what a sight
a 6 ft plus samoan man
in a floral dress
and pearl bangles
and a cowering drunk that
looked like he'd just seen
a pink elephant
right outside the guitar shop
the fa'afafine gave me a smile
ok sweety
he won't be bothering us
anymore
yeah thanks i say
as he ....
or is it she
spins about and marches
back across roslyn street
with long locks flowing
and a cricket bat over a shoulder
when a family lacks girls
a boy will often be
brought up as a girl
to be treated as a woman
not homosexual but
a third gender
the fa'afafine
household duties are gender specific
and heavier domestic tasks
are delegated to the fa'afafine
whether they like it or not
now this throws up
a conundrum or two ......
is gender a social construct?
is this the role of parents to decide?
should we respect the cultural norms?
what about the feelings of the boy?
how about girls who want to swap gender?
isn't life interesting?
my respect for the fa'afafine
is a personal one ...
and it goes like this
back in the 'good old' days
when roslyn street
had a european ambience
there was a community aura
people lived there
just didn't blow in on
friday and saturday nights
to get plastered and puke everywhere
there was the amsterdam ...
that notorious cafe
that sold the odd joint to travellers
was loved by daily telegraph
and a current affairs reporters
as the great expose
anna had a great place next door
good tea and rolls
and a grumpy but wonderful nature
barons was there
the late night leather clad
backgammon bar that
was right out of prauge
and jason's guitar shop was there
grotty and wonderful things
adorned the walls
and every inch of that
little shop
the only thing that still remains the same
in this now neon and tacky corner of town
is the piccollo
..... go there if you haven't
before it too ends up
in the cultural graveyard of regrets
anyway .....
i'm tending to business
at jasons guitar shop
and it's a little quiet
on the customer front
because an amiable drunk
has spent what seems like
a day or two
camped very close to the
front door
scattered cans and bottles
ciggies and torn blankets
he has a penchant for song
and he knows a lot of 'em
after an hour or so
i decide to play a gibson sg61
really loud through a boogie
... bad call
he wants to join in
and almost crawls through the door
billowing still
ok that's it i say
no you'll have to stay outside
whatya mean young fella
lets have a sing song
c'mon don't be like that .. . he groans
i manage to keep him out of the shop
... still no customers
as you can imagine
but he continues to billow away
out front
now all these goings on
were being observed
i was soon to discover
from across the road
upstairs from the amsterdam
from an apartment window
i was rewiring something
when i heard a big burly
bottom end voice say ...
ok that's enough
we've all had enough
go away and leave the young man
in peace ... go on shut up get up
and move .... and you can't sing for shit ...
i turned to see the amiable drunk
gathering his things quietly
a large samoan man
in a dress with lipstick
and a hairdo weilding a cricket bat
was standing over him
what a sight
a 6 ft plus samoan man
in a floral dress
and pearl bangles
and a cowering drunk that
looked like he'd just seen
a pink elephant
right outside the guitar shop
the fa'afafine gave me a smile
ok sweety
he won't be bothering us
anymore
yeah thanks i say
as he ....
or is it she
spins about and marches
back across roslyn street
with long locks flowing
and a cricket bat over a shoulder
Monday, 11 May 2009
unuploaded?
neglecting a duty
to myself
writing poems
on scrap paper
unuploaded
throwaway dribblings
some bits stick
together and become
a river or an ocean
or starters for the fire
amongst lists and lyrics
somebody's number and
the great new idea
hurry up wind
bluster away
clear this pedestal
of all these ink serpents
knock me out cold
this volume is closing
the tea house draws nearer
cloaked crier is calling
hurry up wind
to myself
writing poems
on scrap paper
unuploaded
throwaway dribblings
some bits stick
together and become
a river or an ocean
or starters for the fire
amongst lists and lyrics
somebody's number and
the great new idea
hurry up wind
bluster away
clear this pedestal
of all these ink serpents
knock me out cold
this volume is closing
the tea house draws nearer
cloaked crier is calling
hurry up wind
Monday, 13 April 2009
never mind his bollocks
she cracked
half a smile
and stretched
her withered finger
out in front of her face
leaned through the window
of the taxi
and deliberately said
fuck you
her red hessian
shopping bag
was dragged along
behind her
like a see through
ball and chain
he blew smoke upward
leaning half in
and half out
of the two dollar shop
leering at the girls
parading the walk
like tired flamingos
his half undone buttons
revealing a faded
johnny rotten t shirt
customers give him the shits
which i guess is why
he sells drugs on the side
she twisted the red
hessian bag over her shoulder
and marched on
she was in a mood
a lit cigareete was thrown
at her feet
she stopped
stared at it
then lifted her gaze
past the sex pistols
to his grinning
crimson eyed face
....... "and as for you
you sleaze bag..."
she swung the bag
square into his bollocks
knocking him to his knees
a tear rolled down
his puffing cheek
she straightened herself
and then fixed her hair
with her bony hand
.... " and as for you ...
you can fuck off too"
half a smile
and stretched
her withered finger
out in front of her face
leaned through the window
of the taxi
and deliberately said
fuck you
her red hessian
shopping bag
was dragged along
behind her
like a see through
ball and chain
he blew smoke upward
leaning half in
and half out
of the two dollar shop
leering at the girls
parading the walk
like tired flamingos
his half undone buttons
revealing a faded
johnny rotten t shirt
customers give him the shits
which i guess is why
he sells drugs on the side
she twisted the red
hessian bag over her shoulder
and marched on
she was in a mood
a lit cigareete was thrown
at her feet
she stopped
stared at it
then lifted her gaze
past the sex pistols
to his grinning
crimson eyed face
....... "and as for you
you sleaze bag..."
she swung the bag
square into his bollocks
knocking him to his knees
a tear rolled down
his puffing cheek
she straightened herself
and then fixed her hair
with her bony hand
.... " and as for you ...
you can fuck off too"
Thursday, 26 March 2009
c'mon boy ....sign that there paper
lester ambled through kings cross
the gaudy greek taverna
and the sky
were the same colour
which is probably why
he didn't see it
actually he walked straight
into it .....
a card table on the footpath
not too odd for kings cross
could be a jewel maker
a seller of watches
could be old paulie moulds
and his band of ratlesnakes
or a reader of the wisdoms
....yes it could have been
but no
and so there it was
on the corner of
darlinghurst road
and llankelly place
the actual card table
of the gods
and as has happened
since time bespeckled
when you see it
nobody else can
only you and you
alone
lester moved his gaze
about the table ...
sitting at 3 of the 4 chairs
was an elderly man in a scout uniform
an old woman in white that he could see right through
and that cartoon guy with the gun who tried to shoot bugs bunny
the ghostly woman nodded to lester
and spoke to him
without speaking .....
lester sat down
darlinghurst road carried on
as if he wasn't even there
as if none of them were there
which is kinda the way it was ...
the scout in his ridiculous
brimmed hat and badges
officially slipped a piece of paper
toward lester
across the table
cartoon guy jumped on the table top
sign it there son ...
don't bother taking your time
there's nothing to read
just sign
on the paper was nothing but a large X
the scout slapped a silver pen
in front of lester
cartoon guy aimed his cartoon shotgun
square at lesters head
c'mon boy sign that there piece of paper
ghost lady frowned
and he reluctantly retreated
lester leaned forward to grab the pen
it rolled away
his hand felt heavy
lester noticed the sunshine
and the bikes
from across the road
some kid leaned in his ear
smoko
all the while the pen
was just out of reach
the card table dipped
and swallowed itself
the trio
splattered like an out of tune tv
with an almighty breath
and a focus as deep as a mountain
lester grabbed the pen and
with his other hand
held the paper tight
scribbled his signature next to the X
as the world turned
in on itself
and as the sky became orange
lester seemed alone
the air was strange
but beautiful
then rosebud appeared ...
as she has done before
on her bike
with a basket in front
calling to lester
from across the road
well done
you did it
it's about time somebody
recognised that lot
and had the guts to sign
you know if you'd asked them a question
or hesitated
you would have slapped your arse
hard on the pavement
fallen down like all the others
grazed and confused
nothing would have changed
but you didn't
you broke the curse
and from today
and until we decide
this be the way
it is
the gaudy greek taverna
and the sky
were the same colour
which is probably why
he didn't see it
actually he walked straight
into it .....
a card table on the footpath
not too odd for kings cross
could be a jewel maker
a seller of watches
could be old paulie moulds
and his band of ratlesnakes
or a reader of the wisdoms
....yes it could have been
but no
and so there it was
on the corner of
darlinghurst road
and llankelly place
the actual card table
of the gods
and as has happened
since time bespeckled
when you see it
nobody else can
only you and you
alone
lester moved his gaze
about the table ...
sitting at 3 of the 4 chairs
was an elderly man in a scout uniform
an old woman in white that he could see right through
and that cartoon guy with the gun who tried to shoot bugs bunny
the ghostly woman nodded to lester
and spoke to him
without speaking .....
lester sat down
darlinghurst road carried on
as if he wasn't even there
as if none of them were there
which is kinda the way it was ...
the scout in his ridiculous
brimmed hat and badges
officially slipped a piece of paper
toward lester
across the table
cartoon guy jumped on the table top
sign it there son ...
don't bother taking your time
there's nothing to read
just sign
on the paper was nothing but a large X
the scout slapped a silver pen
in front of lester
cartoon guy aimed his cartoon shotgun
square at lesters head
c'mon boy sign that there piece of paper
ghost lady frowned
and he reluctantly retreated
lester leaned forward to grab the pen
it rolled away
his hand felt heavy
lester noticed the sunshine
and the bikes
from across the road
some kid leaned in his ear
smoko
all the while the pen
was just out of reach
the card table dipped
and swallowed itself
the trio
splattered like an out of tune tv
with an almighty breath
and a focus as deep as a mountain
lester grabbed the pen and
with his other hand
held the paper tight
scribbled his signature next to the X
as the world turned
in on itself
and as the sky became orange
lester seemed alone
the air was strange
but beautiful
then rosebud appeared ...
as she has done before
on her bike
with a basket in front
calling to lester
from across the road
well done
you did it
it's about time somebody
recognised that lot
and had the guts to sign
you know if you'd asked them a question
or hesitated
you would have slapped your arse
hard on the pavement
fallen down like all the others
grazed and confused
nothing would have changed
but you didn't
you broke the curse
and from today
and until we decide
this be the way
it is
Wednesday, 4 March 2009
undevelopment proposal
under section 181
of the impossibility act
this zone will be
undeveloped.
there will be no construction
no change to the building facades
all existing structures
will be left untouched
preserving a history
and a culture
no precincts will be erected
of the retail or
residential variety ....
or any precinct whatsoever
for that matter
there will be zero
carparking spaces made available
thereby encouraging
public transport usage
bicycle riding
or the use of one's feet
it is also proposed
that due to this undevelopment
there shall be no inconvenience
for nearby residents ....
no 7am jackhammers
no wolf whistling plasterers
no dust coated windows
no truckin convoys
and no bloody diggers
section 181 of the impossibilty act
also states ....
and states emphatically
that this undevelopment
may lead to
a sense of community
amongst reidents ...
buildings that compliment
their surroundings ...
a trend away from the cheap
"lunchbox" designer dwelling ...
and an old world charm
in fact
we here at muse constructions
will be hanging up our shovels
building nothing
knocking nothing down
leaving all as is
bricks unscathed
walls and their stories
left in tact
to sing and remind us
that things can be built
with beauty
and care
ornately and crafted
to stand the true test
of time
as an art
and a place to be
this undevelopment proposal
will be on display
at the kings cross muse offices
for comment and discussion
for a very long time
of the impossibility act
this zone will be
undeveloped.
there will be no construction
no change to the building facades
all existing structures
will be left untouched
preserving a history
and a culture
no precincts will be erected
of the retail or
residential variety ....
or any precinct whatsoever
for that matter
there will be zero
carparking spaces made available
thereby encouraging
public transport usage
bicycle riding
or the use of one's feet
it is also proposed
that due to this undevelopment
there shall be no inconvenience
for nearby residents ....
no 7am jackhammers
no wolf whistling plasterers
no dust coated windows
no truckin convoys
and no bloody diggers
section 181 of the impossibilty act
also states ....
and states emphatically
that this undevelopment
may lead to
a sense of community
amongst reidents ...
buildings that compliment
their surroundings ...
a trend away from the cheap
"lunchbox" designer dwelling ...
and an old world charm
in fact
we here at muse constructions
will be hanging up our shovels
building nothing
knocking nothing down
leaving all as is
bricks unscathed
walls and their stories
left in tact
to sing and remind us
that things can be built
with beauty
and care
ornately and crafted
to stand the true test
of time
as an art
and a place to be
this undevelopment proposal
will be on display
at the kings cross muse offices
for comment and discussion
for a very long time
Monday, 23 February 2009
270 left to go
this road stretches out
white sun beat down
and a heart marked
by love
like nothing else could mark
beats an extra restless second
I get a redneck goodbye
at the filling station
cause that's what they call'em
in dusty road poems
but it's kinda
unromantic
cause you gotta fill yourself
and somewhere in that farmhouse is
a life unremarked on
a cotton and straw life
a ute and gate life
a slip into town life
I imagine what it's like
and the sunday markets
have a quilted grace
a chance to stare at jars
and take a pee
I don't talk to anyone
except g'day
and nobody talks to me
back to the grind
the constant grind of steel
this road stretches out
white sun beat down
and a heart marked
by love
like nothing else could mark
beats an extra restless second
white sun beat down
and a heart marked
by love
like nothing else could mark
beats an extra restless second
I get a redneck goodbye
at the filling station
cause that's what they call'em
in dusty road poems
but it's kinda
unromantic
cause you gotta fill yourself
and somewhere in that farmhouse is
a life unremarked on
a cotton and straw life
a ute and gate life
a slip into town life
I imagine what it's like
and the sunday markets
have a quilted grace
a chance to stare at jars
and take a pee
I don't talk to anyone
except g'day
and nobody talks to me
back to the grind
the constant grind of steel
this road stretches out
white sun beat down
and a heart marked
by love
like nothing else could mark
beats an extra restless second
Monday, 9 February 2009
me and my ducks
i have two ducks
that follow me
most places
along orwell st
and up to the fountain
they love a swim
and to scatter the pigeons
then on to the dreaded
darlinghust rd
we waddle each morning
to sunny cafe
where they stand on chairs
sipping water and crunching
on toast or snails
snails are a treat
and so is the grass
it bothers me more
than it seems to them
and so without complaint
or sarcastic quack
we go to the greeniest
place we can find
just over the hill
and along a bit now
i'll sit under the tree
while they roam about
duck like ....
oh what a wonderful day
that follow me
most places
along orwell st
and up to the fountain
they love a swim
and to scatter the pigeons
then on to the dreaded
darlinghust rd
we waddle each morning
to sunny cafe
where they stand on chairs
sipping water and crunching
on toast or snails
snails are a treat
and so is the grass
it bothers me more
than it seems to them
and so without complaint
or sarcastic quack
we go to the greeniest
place we can find
just over the hill
and along a bit now
i'll sit under the tree
while they roam about
duck like ....
oh what a wonderful day
Sunday, 18 January 2009
a distinct lack of bohemia
gosh
another fancy pants
night clubbin ....
apparently one bloke
owns 17 of them
all here in the cross
didn't even know
that many existed
we've all heard the stories
you shoulda been here yesterday
but i'll tell you something
for free
there's a distinct lack
of bohemia about this place
the pockets are thinning
the onslaught oncoming
I can hear it from here
an apathy well trodden
stand your ground
you saucy old bohos
do it not for yourselves alone
but for a future aesthetic
where all words and thoughts
stand on an edge
tipping
directionless
gather your shields
your ink and your spears
slow them at the gates
the coca cola gates
another fancy pants
night clubbin ....
apparently one bloke
owns 17 of them
all here in the cross
didn't even know
that many existed
we've all heard the stories
you shoulda been here yesterday
but i'll tell you something
for free
there's a distinct lack
of bohemia about this place
the pockets are thinning
the onslaught oncoming
I can hear it from here
an apathy well trodden
stand your ground
you saucy old bohos
do it not for yourselves alone
but for a future aesthetic
where all words and thoughts
stand on an edge
tipping
directionless
gather your shields
your ink and your spears
slow them at the gates
the coca cola gates
Thursday, 1 January 2009
a year for china shops
tomorrow morning
i will make sense of this
all this loose makeup
and throwaway lines
the forced mirth of a bull
whose horns are but
peep shows
carrion seeds
in need of some living
I can't turn a corner
without my horns
bumping
into the new furniture
a seasoned dictator
a horny minatour
tapered and practical
useless to most
but that be the numbers
a starry starry night
don mclean style
baby its another year
i will make sense of this
all this loose makeup
and throwaway lines
the forced mirth of a bull
whose horns are but
peep shows
carrion seeds
in need of some living
I can't turn a corner
without my horns
bumping
into the new furniture
a seasoned dictator
a horny minatour
tapered and practical
useless to most
but that be the numbers
a starry starry night
don mclean style
baby its another year
Monday, 8 December 2008
revisiting ....would you like greens with that sir?
It's an inviting shopfront.
Swirling and indifferent.
I push the door.
It opens effortlessly.
Strange and oblique objects
adorn the walls.
Gliitering things that rob
my attention.
Things as tiny as quavers.
Things as large as families.
Things I know i can afford.
Sitting behind the bejeweled counter
is Salmacis ....
The Teardrop Collector.
A hermaphrodite mother
that looks right through me
but speaks at me directly ......
Hello ... welcome.
Lester said you were in town.
Choose what you wish.
I smile politely.
I'm drawn to the silver bullet
piercing a blue sky.
An artwork and a responsibility.
It hangs in time and out.
A portent or maybe a dear john.
I've owned it forever ....
and it me.
This ..... I'll take this,I say.
mmm,,you'd better be sure
says the Teardrop Collector.
I've sold a heart for less.....
but none as rich or as rare
as this planet earth.
I'm outside again ....
The shopfront swirls at me still.
My pockets are full,
full of riches and promises...
and responsibilities.
Swirling and indifferent.
I push the door.
It opens effortlessly.
Strange and oblique objects
adorn the walls.
Gliitering things that rob
my attention.
Things as tiny as quavers.
Things as large as families.
Things I know i can afford.
Sitting behind the bejeweled counter
is Salmacis ....
The Teardrop Collector.
A hermaphrodite mother
that looks right through me
but speaks at me directly ......
Hello ... welcome.
Lester said you were in town.
Choose what you wish.
I smile politely.
I'm drawn to the silver bullet
piercing a blue sky.
An artwork and a responsibility.
It hangs in time and out.
A portent or maybe a dear john.
I've owned it forever ....
and it me.
This ..... I'll take this,I say.
mmm,,you'd better be sure
says the Teardrop Collector.
I've sold a heart for less.....
but none as rich or as rare
as this planet earth.
I'm outside again ....
The shopfront swirls at me still.
My pockets are full,
full of riches and promises...
and responsibilities.
Sunday, 30 November 2008
the old painters daughter
the chesterfield
and the lamplit room
that round dark table
and a leather book cover
settle in for a decade
...... or two
standalone museums
they are
like nora
who plays solitaire
with her vodka
she has the sharpest wit
and an ironic twinkle
and then she has the hats
draped across the octopus
i call it ...
hats hats hats
a hat stand that brims with life
like a waterfall
in the hallway
she doesn't see me
so I make myself some tea
and sprinkle what sugar
is left from the rim of a jar
and settle on black
cause she likes my whims
she wants to paint me
i would like that ...
she thinks my beanie
is the colour of blood
and she likes that
she has paintings
in the art gallery
and her father
was a great landscape
artist
a print was on my wall
as a child
but she doesn't paint me
she just wants to talk
about the harbour
and how kings cross
used to be
and how kings cross
always is
she says
leave your beanie on
please
i know its a little warm
but it glows
right on top of your head
i say
does it make me look
like a matchstick
she laughs and says
put that nasty looking tea away
and have a bloody vodka
and the lamplit room
that round dark table
and a leather book cover
settle in for a decade
...... or two
standalone museums
they are
like nora
who plays solitaire
with her vodka
she has the sharpest wit
and an ironic twinkle
and then she has the hats
draped across the octopus
i call it ...
hats hats hats
a hat stand that brims with life
like a waterfall
in the hallway
she doesn't see me
so I make myself some tea
and sprinkle what sugar
is left from the rim of a jar
and settle on black
cause she likes my whims
she wants to paint me
i would like that ...
she thinks my beanie
is the colour of blood
and she likes that
she has paintings
in the art gallery
and her father
was a great landscape
artist
a print was on my wall
as a child
but she doesn't paint me
she just wants to talk
about the harbour
and how kings cross
used to be
and how kings cross
always is
she says
leave your beanie on
please
i know its a little warm
but it glows
right on top of your head
i say
does it make me look
like a matchstick
she laughs and says
put that nasty looking tea away
and have a bloody vodka
Monday, 17 November 2008
the swap
one day i'm gonna swap
this neon for something greener
one day i'm gonna take
this makin it up stuff seriously
one day i'm gonna angle
for a year in the desert
one day i'm gonna buy
full cream bloody everything
one day i'm gonna write
a story on my back fence
one day i'm gonna do
all the things i'm gonna
because one day i'm gonna
swap this neon for something greener
this neon for something greener
one day i'm gonna take
this makin it up stuff seriously
one day i'm gonna angle
for a year in the desert
one day i'm gonna buy
full cream bloody everything
one day i'm gonna write
a story on my back fence
one day i'm gonna do
all the things i'm gonna
because one day i'm gonna
swap this neon for something greener
Sunday, 9 November 2008
puff the magic dragon
she cried
when i sang
puff the magic dragon
not because my voice
lilted in spots...
not because my hands
cradled the guitar
with ease ...
nor because these things
together
made a harmony
not for any of these reasons
but because the boy
had grown up
and life was not of dragons
and such adventures ....
no time for high sea
imaginations
or playful autumn mists
and so alone puff
retreated into his cave
she cried for this
and said ....
with all the fire it brings
and upturned boats
with all the strings
and ceiling wax
and all the fancy other stuff
along the way
our puff the magic dragon
shall have a place to stay
when i sang
puff the magic dragon
not because my voice
lilted in spots...
not because my hands
cradled the guitar
with ease ...
nor because these things
together
made a harmony
not for any of these reasons
but because the boy
had grown up
and life was not of dragons
and such adventures ....
no time for high sea
imaginations
or playful autumn mists
and so alone puff
retreated into his cave
she cried for this
and said ....
with all the fire it brings
and upturned boats
with all the strings
and ceiling wax
and all the fancy other stuff
along the way
our puff the magic dragon
shall have a place to stay
Sunday, 26 October 2008
from the teabird cafe
wrapped up in the morning
salmacis fills his pockets
with last nights refuse
and a solitary wish
pretends his friends
are gathered
bustling feverlike
tell me more salmacis
tell me more
from the teabird cafe
without a bird insight
he glazes out
over orwell street .... see how
the morning dew
disappears quickly
round here
'cause there's
no where to linger
..... touching the leaf
in his pocket
and the golden coin
he found
on the pavement
he turns to nobody
makes up his wish
closes his eyelids
then lingers
..... like dew
salmacis fills his pockets
with last nights refuse
and a solitary wish
pretends his friends
are gathered
bustling feverlike
tell me more salmacis
tell me more
from the teabird cafe
without a bird insight
he glazes out
over orwell street .... see how
the morning dew
disappears quickly
round here
'cause there's
no where to linger
..... touching the leaf
in his pocket
and the golden coin
he found
on the pavement
he turns to nobody
makes up his wish
closes his eyelids
then lingers
..... like dew
Monday, 13 October 2008
i'm all at sea
underneath my stairs
there's a crocodile
careful of those teeth
that is not a smile
underneath my bed
there's a manta ray
living in the sea
living in the sun
guess this kind of life's
not for everyone
got two flipper hands
and my skin is scale
you got what you want
for the moment at least
microwave meals
and a truckload of peas
I don't read the headlines
out under the waves
I'm all at
I'm all at sea
want to shed your skin
come and live with me
go adventuring
to infinity
underneath the sea
underneath the sun
there's a crocodile
careful of those teeth
that is not a smile
underneath my bed
there's a manta ray
living in the sea
living in the sun
guess this kind of life's
not for everyone
got two flipper hands
and my skin is scale
you got what you want
for the moment at least
microwave meals
and a truckload of peas
I don't read the headlines
out under the waves
I'm all at
I'm all at sea
want to shed your skin
come and live with me
go adventuring
to infinity
underneath the sea
underneath the sun
Thursday, 18 September 2008
my new pot plant has a history
cyclamen petals turn
the world in on itself
hurling colours
magic dots as airwaves
my microwave eyelids are
free to see
whatever they want to .....
a circus parade
castaway
pinky greener
arguable gender ..... tick
short on stature
long on longing ..... tick
starts a scene
with a sideways glance
testing the resolve
of the morning ratters
holding court at
kings cross station
then science does the god thing
or is it god that does the science?
and I'm free no more to see such things
this cyclamen pastiche
is all I view
and 6 bucks is a bargain
tripped out plant
sings take me home
the world in on itself
hurling colours
magic dots as airwaves
my microwave eyelids are
free to see
whatever they want to .....
a circus parade
castaway
pinky greener
arguable gender ..... tick
short on stature
long on longing ..... tick
starts a scene
with a sideways glance
testing the resolve
of the morning ratters
holding court at
kings cross station
then science does the god thing
or is it god that does the science?
and I'm free no more to see such things
this cyclamen pastiche
is all I view
and 6 bucks is a bargain
tripped out plant
sings take me home
Sunday, 7 September 2008
the flu, literally
doctor of words
my well is emptying
the bucket drips
adjectives pronouns
spilling and useless
all the great phrases
and painted descriptions
thousands of words
left in the dirt
take two of these
they may make you dizzy
rest on your lauriet
or else you'll be braindead
nurse .... see the patient
does what I tell him
scripto fantasticus
stare out to sea.
my well is emptying
the bucket drips
adjectives pronouns
spilling and useless
all the great phrases
and painted descriptions
thousands of words
left in the dirt
take two of these
they may make you dizzy
rest on your lauriet
or else you'll be braindead
nurse .... see the patient
does what I tell him
scripto fantasticus
stare out to sea.
Sunday, 24 August 2008
a little mending
on the windowsill
a ruby grapefruit
sits out of place
next to Yeats
my musty brown stamp album
that new Helen Garner novel
and an aussie guide to herbs
they look so lazy
unopened
a little sun bleached
perched and teasing
I start to sing a song
from my childhood
..... one of these things
just doesn't belong ......
I grab my hessian bag
walk all the way
through Darlinghurst
without noticing ....
then
over the hills
to the beach
the sun hits my back
inventoria smiles at me
we buy two coffees
in throwaway mugs
eat grapefruit at the icebergs
and put some things
back into place
a ruby grapefruit
sits out of place
next to Yeats
my musty brown stamp album
that new Helen Garner novel
and an aussie guide to herbs
they look so lazy
unopened
a little sun bleached
perched and teasing
I start to sing a song
from my childhood
..... one of these things
just doesn't belong ......
I grab my hessian bag
walk all the way
through Darlinghurst
without noticing ....
then
over the hills
to the beach
the sun hits my back
inventoria smiles at me
we buy two coffees
in throwaway mugs
eat grapefruit at the icebergs
and put some things
back into place
Monday, 11 August 2008
the moon has a cat in it
a beach and a full moon
cold cliffs and mildew
grey ghosts bend
so close they almost
touch the sand
a rickety jetty
points into blackness
a lonely green street light
shards over splinters
spreads a skirty shaped glow
on the ferry timetable
8.08
still 8 minutes left
I can hear it somewhere
out there in the bay
it's me and this lady in green
small purple flowers
rings through her hair
our two little children
dance about wildly
twisting
lost in a trance
cause the ferry is close
to take us away
away from this dream
reverse ....
all crew reverse
the captain billows
and sailors in black and white stripes
start slowing things down
with ropes over shoulders
the rollicks are clanging
the sirens are singing
a thick fog surrounds us ....
it's gonna be close
my head hits the lamp post
bubbles and muffled sounds
around me
surround me
a trembling lip
not cold anymore
I'm a dropped anchor....
I stare at a rippling light
that floats on the surface
I know her face
and I gasp recognition
its the full bloody moon
swim for the light
back on deck
or the jetty at least
the captain smells
of irish whiskey
and old blankets
he billows new instructions
to his dreamy crew
as I stare at the moon
with my child on my
soaking wet knee
the moons got a cat in it
you know don't you daddy
his face creeping over
just in the corner
if you look you can see it
there
there he is
if you look you can see it
and see it I did
cold cliffs and mildew
grey ghosts bend
so close they almost
touch the sand
a rickety jetty
points into blackness
a lonely green street light
shards over splinters
spreads a skirty shaped glow
on the ferry timetable
8.08
still 8 minutes left
I can hear it somewhere
out there in the bay
it's me and this lady in green
small purple flowers
rings through her hair
our two little children
dance about wildly
twisting
lost in a trance
cause the ferry is close
to take us away
away from this dream
reverse ....
all crew reverse
the captain billows
and sailors in black and white stripes
start slowing things down
with ropes over shoulders
the rollicks are clanging
the sirens are singing
a thick fog surrounds us ....
it's gonna be close
my head hits the lamp post
bubbles and muffled sounds
around me
surround me
a trembling lip
not cold anymore
I'm a dropped anchor....
I stare at a rippling light
that floats on the surface
I know her face
and I gasp recognition
its the full bloody moon
swim for the light
back on deck
or the jetty at least
the captain smells
of irish whiskey
and old blankets
he billows new instructions
to his dreamy crew
as I stare at the moon
with my child on my
soaking wet knee
the moons got a cat in it
you know don't you daddy
his face creeping over
just in the corner
if you look you can see it
there
there he is
if you look you can see it
and see it I did
Saturday, 26 July 2008
winter reminds me of this
I used to live in Katoomba
a strange place
where all clocks tick slowly
my living room
had little french doors
that opened onto an icy balcony
right opposite the Carrington
a grand and wonderous building
on the street of a thousand hellos
or so I used to call it
cause
you know everyone
and they know you .....
I used to like that
and sometimes I didn't.
I would work at the Paragon
another beautious place
that I've mused on before ....
one day I'm told
that the very flat I live in
the one with the icy balcony
was owned by a regal gent
an old owner of the Paragon ...
now there's a symmetry
I thought
Now this regal gent
wore a long red coat
boots and a stately air
I've seen his photo hanging
in the old bakery.
One evening at home
I was telling a bedtime story
to a young lad
that I used to know
he looked over my shoulder
toward the doorway and said
who is that man standing there?
what man ... I say
the one with the red coat on
right there looking at us
I turned and saw nothing
is he still there?
yes .... and now he's gone
I walked about the house
and thankfully it was just us ....
good old fashioned earthly types
as far as I could tell
The perception
of an unclouded youth
or an imagination to envy
I don't know
Thinking back I'm amazed
at how calm the lad was
and how calm I was too
a truly serene episode
like a spell had been cast
And let me go on .......
A commotion at the Paragon
tourists all a fluster
this dimly lit day
I'm in the kitchen
pondering a cauliflower soup
and it's all yelps and oh my gods out front
mmm ... let me investigate!
A woman was panting to Joanna
the owner at the time...
I just saw a ghost
in the ladies toilet
a man with a long red coat
oh my god ...
Joanna calmly
and in a stately tone
all of her own says
Oh don't worry about him
he's just an old perv
Well there you go
the red coat
makes another appearance ....
out of the blue
just like that
now ... ....
back to that cauliflower soup
a strange place
where all clocks tick slowly
my living room
had little french doors
that opened onto an icy balcony
right opposite the Carrington
a grand and wonderous building
on the street of a thousand hellos
or so I used to call it
cause
you know everyone
and they know you .....
I used to like that
and sometimes I didn't.
I would work at the Paragon
another beautious place
that I've mused on before ....
one day I'm told
that the very flat I live in
the one with the icy balcony
was owned by a regal gent
an old owner of the Paragon ...
now there's a symmetry
I thought
Now this regal gent
wore a long red coat
boots and a stately air
I've seen his photo hanging
in the old bakery.
One evening at home
I was telling a bedtime story
to a young lad
that I used to know
he looked over my shoulder
toward the doorway and said
who is that man standing there?
what man ... I say
the one with the red coat on
right there looking at us
I turned and saw nothing
is he still there?
yes .... and now he's gone
I walked about the house
and thankfully it was just us ....
good old fashioned earthly types
as far as I could tell
The perception
of an unclouded youth
or an imagination to envy
I don't know
Thinking back I'm amazed
at how calm the lad was
and how calm I was too
a truly serene episode
like a spell had been cast
And let me go on .......
A commotion at the Paragon
tourists all a fluster
this dimly lit day
I'm in the kitchen
pondering a cauliflower soup
and it's all yelps and oh my gods out front
mmm ... let me investigate!
A woman was panting to Joanna
the owner at the time...
I just saw a ghost
in the ladies toilet
a man with a long red coat
oh my god ...
Joanna calmly
and in a stately tone
all of her own says
Oh don't worry about him
he's just an old perv
Well there you go
the red coat
makes another appearance ....
out of the blue
just like that
now ... ....
back to that cauliflower soup
Thursday, 17 July 2008
a new song to sing like johhny cash
Feels like my heart
Is harder than my brain sometimes
Wasting precious moments
Walking the wrong way
I can feel the wind
Tellin me there’s troube
Like a smoking signal
Showing me the way
I got lazy
I got tired and
I got bored
I put everything on the table
Face up aces
Face up swords
Faced up to it
I'm no angel
But you ain’t seen nothing yet
I promise you
I promise you
I can see a dancer
Letting loose on the moors
Pipers out of breath now
Won’t hear those baggers anymore
Thank Christ for that
Silence is a golden colour
You are my latest weakness
You are the break of day
I got lazy
I got tired and
I got bored
I put everything on the table
Face up aces
Face up swords
Faced up to it
I’m no angel
But you ain’t seen nothing yet
I promise you
I promise you
Is harder than my brain sometimes
Wasting precious moments
Walking the wrong way
I can feel the wind
Tellin me there’s troube
Like a smoking signal
Showing me the way
I got lazy
I got tired and
I got bored
I put everything on the table
Face up aces
Face up swords
Faced up to it
I'm no angel
But you ain’t seen nothing yet
I promise you
I promise you
I can see a dancer
Letting loose on the moors
Pipers out of breath now
Won’t hear those baggers anymore
Thank Christ for that
Silence is a golden colour
You are my latest weakness
You are the break of day
I got lazy
I got tired and
I got bored
I put everything on the table
Face up aces
Face up swords
Faced up to it
I’m no angel
But you ain’t seen nothing yet
I promise you
I promise you
Wednesday, 9 July 2008
one two three four
suckerfish amnesia
carpetbagger steak suit
crayon viola girl
pardon my grammatication
words that spill like rhyming games
making sense to nobody
like better frank the navigator
abbot has the key
its a beat box bantering
that lands upon the one sometimes
or skips a second quavertone
to make it finish thus
but if it doesn't work for you
no fret if tears though tumbling
just sing it out don't read next time
go dancing in your head
carpetbagger steak suit
crayon viola girl
pardon my grammatication
words that spill like rhyming games
making sense to nobody
like better frank the navigator
abbot has the key
its a beat box bantering
that lands upon the one sometimes
or skips a second quavertone
to make it finish thus
but if it doesn't work for you
no fret if tears though tumbling
just sing it out don't read next time
go dancing in your head
Wednesday, 11 June 2008
the infinity tattoo and monster of a clue
infinity tattoo ....
now that's a secret
are you sure you want one?....
prepared for the consequences
prepared for the aftermath
prepared for it all
...... the sideways 8
there's a place in kings cross ....
not a parlour
more like a church
if you say the right words
tell salmacis a poem
about numbers or love
but mostly about love
she'll take you backstage
sit you down on a cloth
hold a hand to your heart
point at your skin
ancient nails and ruby robes
i tell you it's true ...
and here's a hint
follow the lankey cobbles
north for a bit
past lesters old curves
a bit of a mission
set down a dime
and tell em a rhyme
..... i dare ya
oops i've said too much
better hold my breath its starting to tick
better hold my head i'm feeling sick ....
infinity
your brand new sun
now that's a secret
are you sure you want one?....
prepared for the consequences
prepared for the aftermath
prepared for it all
...... the sideways 8
there's a place in kings cross ....
not a parlour
more like a church
if you say the right words
tell salmacis a poem
about numbers or love
but mostly about love
she'll take you backstage
sit you down on a cloth
hold a hand to your heart
point at your skin
ancient nails and ruby robes
i tell you it's true ...
and here's a hint
follow the lankey cobbles
north for a bit
past lesters old curves
a bit of a mission
set down a dime
and tell em a rhyme
..... i dare ya
oops i've said too much
better hold my breath its starting to tick
better hold my head i'm feeling sick ....
infinity
your brand new sun
Wednesday, 28 May 2008
vernacularity
i like the word envelope
could be e
could be o
i like the word copper
could be trouble
could be metal
i like the word lands
could be spacious
could be touchdown .....
i just like the way things go
and other ways they go
the other ways they go
i really do
could be e
could be o
i like the word copper
could be trouble
could be metal
i like the word lands
could be spacious
could be touchdown .....
i just like the way things go
and other ways they go
the other ways they go
i really do
Tuesday, 13 May 2008
notes on scrap paper
naked
red eye trimmigs
victory is near
a bitter sou wester
a retreating autumn ensemble
listen carefully
and you'll hear
miss winter warming up
backstage
around the card table
of the gods
seasons are dealt
like ideas at andys factory
another poem about the weather?
another versa descripto on nature?
another fifteen minutes of sunshine?
so what!
maybe its meant to be
none of these
or just to be
contrary .....
all of them
then I remember
what I wrote yesterday .....
make hay
break your back
making it
let the nature
determine all things
and the dreaming
our directions
red eye trimmigs
victory is near
a bitter sou wester
a retreating autumn ensemble
listen carefully
and you'll hear
miss winter warming up
backstage
around the card table
of the gods
seasons are dealt
like ideas at andys factory
another poem about the weather?
another versa descripto on nature?
another fifteen minutes of sunshine?
so what!
maybe its meant to be
none of these
or just to be
contrary .....
all of them
then I remember
what I wrote yesterday .....
make hay
break your back
making it
let the nature
determine all things
and the dreaming
our directions
Tuesday, 29 April 2008
refinery town
kurnell bay
black soot drips from the leaves
grasses like shadows
steeper and steeper
wondering if i'll ever
stand up
or just watch
the goings on
menacing machine world
tin plate iron clad
run by the lonely
hoodwinked
spaceless
bakerlite dreamers
promise of water
lungs ripped to shreds
at the autumn sun party
but everyones happy ....
cause caltex
sponsors the children
tanker tanker dripper of life
blood on your bow
the captains a drunkard
blood on your bow
the crews a computer
blood on your bow
the puddles are purple
and black cockatoos
fly north in the morning
splash teardroplet eyes
on refinery town
black soot drips from the leaves
grasses like shadows
steeper and steeper
wondering if i'll ever
stand up
or just watch
the goings on
menacing machine world
tin plate iron clad
run by the lonely
hoodwinked
spaceless
bakerlite dreamers
promise of water
lungs ripped to shreds
at the autumn sun party
but everyones happy ....
cause caltex
sponsors the children
tanker tanker dripper of life
blood on your bow
the captains a drunkard
blood on your bow
the crews a computer
blood on your bow
the puddles are purple
and black cockatoos
fly north in the morning
splash teardroplet eyes
on refinery town
Sunday, 13 April 2008
in the blink of a blue blue eye
downpour ....
a crack of lightning
systems failure
meditate on anything
anything at all
picture book lands
an overlay with pop ups
a childhood fable
further back
much further back .......
a flat wooden carriage
shots rings out
my coat is bloodied
and the air stinks
the man lying
next to me
has half a face
under a bandage
further back .....
too quick to see
slow this down
something about a candle
I'm lighting 100 candles
on a table before dinner
a mischevious grin I'm wearing
strange to watch yourself
back futher ......
I'm sitting under a tree
a dog or is it a wolf
rests on my lap
I'm singing in the strangest tongue
I remember it now ....
the wolf turns to me
not the me under the tree
but looks at me
the one looking on
and howls
out over a valley
beyond me
ringing on and on
the animal gets up and walks toward me
his eyes are so blue
so very blue
I hear thunder
and fall away
my arms flailing through
this cinema ....
I am lying on the road
looking up at the giant
coke sign
rain pierces my lips
I smell burnt hair
lightning continues
I feel good
but people tell me not to move
a lady with a dog lifts my head
the dog whimpers
his blue eyes I remember
from somewhere ....
that was some boom
I try to say
as I fall asleep again
a crack of lightning
systems failure
meditate on anything
anything at all
picture book lands
an overlay with pop ups
a childhood fable
further back
much further back .......
a flat wooden carriage
shots rings out
my coat is bloodied
and the air stinks
the man lying
next to me
has half a face
under a bandage
further back .....
too quick to see
slow this down
something about a candle
I'm lighting 100 candles
on a table before dinner
a mischevious grin I'm wearing
strange to watch yourself
back futher ......
I'm sitting under a tree
a dog or is it a wolf
rests on my lap
I'm singing in the strangest tongue
I remember it now ....
the wolf turns to me
not the me under the tree
but looks at me
the one looking on
and howls
out over a valley
beyond me
ringing on and on
the animal gets up and walks toward me
his eyes are so blue
so very blue
I hear thunder
and fall away
my arms flailing through
this cinema ....
I am lying on the road
looking up at the giant
coke sign
rain pierces my lips
I smell burnt hair
lightning continues
I feel good
but people tell me not to move
a lady with a dog lifts my head
the dog whimpers
his blue eyes I remember
from somewhere ....
that was some boom
I try to say
as I fall asleep again
Friday, 4 April 2008
kids have thinner skulls than us knuckleheads
cells talk
each one jumping
up and down
around the may pole
under our skin
before our eyes
defying belief
turning in on themselves
to resurface again
to realign again
as it always has
only each time
ever so differently....
and then along comes
the big bad wolf
a cellular fuckup
of monstrous proportions
in our very pockets
in our very ears
the brains of our kids
will never be the same
i dreamt the worst of it
still to come .....
your mobile phone
is killing you ....
throw it away
each one jumping
up and down
around the may pole
under our skin
before our eyes
defying belief
turning in on themselves
to resurface again
to realign again
as it always has
only each time
ever so differently....
and then along comes
the big bad wolf
a cellular fuckup
of monstrous proportions
in our very pockets
in our very ears
the brains of our kids
will never be the same
i dreamt the worst of it
still to come .....
your mobile phone
is killing you ....
throw it away
Saturday, 29 March 2008
as it is in art part 2
what is it you see
that i don't ?
these colours
and fine lines
scratches and blocks
still before our eyes
wrapped up in a sleeper
don't try to explian
it confuses me
more
especially I like
this surry hills light
bounces off your pinot
turns your eyes devil red ...
firestorm glow worm
lets hang you on the wall
that i don't ?
these colours
and fine lines
scratches and blocks
still before our eyes
wrapped up in a sleeper
don't try to explian
it confuses me
more
especially I like
this surry hills light
bounces off your pinot
turns your eyes devil red ...
firestorm glow worm
lets hang you on the wall
Friday, 28 March 2008
as it is in art part 1
moments whistle past
my cheeks alive with breezes
scars across my face
are spread out like antennas
nothing new to them
the painter and the angel
pose for one another
out of artful duty
in which this leaves them speechless
nothing new to them
a drip a drop an eyelet hole
remember me she says
fleeting past before i knew it ....
muse go through me
like the wind
my cheeks alive with breezes
scars across my face
are spread out like antennas
nothing new to them
the painter and the angel
pose for one another
out of artful duty
in which this leaves them speechless
nothing new to them
a drip a drop an eyelet hole
remember me she says
fleeting past before i knew it ....
muse go through me
like the wind
Monday, 17 March 2008
hijack on the 380
It was the seventh
moonlit night in a row
I was ambling through
the grasslands
the great monolith of pictures
was my keeper
cat burglers muggled
amonst the trees
bats shuffled overhead
I was tingling with foreboding
somewhere in my head
a portent
I met my sweetheart
inventoria
at the taylor square
a late night bus trip
to bondi
the infamous 380
Just before the bus takes off
a giant of a man stromps on
well to do
and not too scruffy
he takes a seat
across the aisle from us.
"hey mate .... gonna pay up"
says the driver
Goliath just sits there
hands as big as countries
muscles like planets
just sits there and stares
straight ahead
with a Jack Nicholson look
in his eyes
except goliath ain't acting
(not sure if Jack was either ...
but that's another blog)
"hey mate pay up
or we ain't going anywhere."
The driver switches off the bus
and sits calmy
waiting
waiting ... both of them
like boxers before the bell
sitting calmly in their corners
Inventoria is wide eyed
and rightly so
looking a bit freaked ...
Our fellow cashed up commuters
start calling out .... "c'mon mate pay up"
"yeah ... we did", "get off and walk man."
"don't be a jerk" ..... etc
I say something innocuos and
hardly threatening but
I can see the look in his eyes
I can see his bulging neck
Seconds tick by
but are stretched
to their agonising extreme
The driver calls the cops
and opens the back door
so people can get off
A lady offers to pay for gigantour
so we can just get going.
He says "you aint payin for me lady ..... sit down"
Goliath walks to the driver and stares at him
says something in a slow deliberate tone
about not having to pay
The driver remains calm
and Goliath sits down again
We decide its time ...
we jump out the back door
so does everyone else
The 380 to bondi
stopped at the taylor Square
with a determined and brave driver
and a determined and crazed passenger
both sitting patiently
under the neon light ......
of the toolshed
alarming, impossible, scary, bizzare
a darlinghurst standoff
and then, just as he stromped on
he stromped off
marching past us passengers
all lined up outside an empty bus
he couldn't resist one last threat
"get back on .... all of you"
with fingers shaped like a pistol
so we all get back on
and congratulate the driver
Then the cops arrive
and so we have to wait .... some more
Inventoria and I look at each other
with a " I knew tonight was gonna be strange"
kind of look
And then it gets just a little stranger....
Gigantour decides to turn up again
whilst driver and policelady are
running over the finer points
of the standoff
someone points and says
"him ... there he is. It's him"
Goliath sits quietly
at the bus stop seat
and does what the cops ask
without question
he doesn't look angry or regretful
he just looks tired
maybe he just wanted somewhere
to sleep .... I don't know ....
pity replaces fear
A new bus pulls in quickly
to take us all to bondi
proceedings continue outside
like a press conference
after a fight .....
without one punch thrown
moonlit night in a row
I was ambling through
the grasslands
the great monolith of pictures
was my keeper
cat burglers muggled
amonst the trees
bats shuffled overhead
I was tingling with foreboding
somewhere in my head
a portent
I met my sweetheart
inventoria
at the taylor square
a late night bus trip
to bondi
the infamous 380
Just before the bus takes off
a giant of a man stromps on
well to do
and not too scruffy
he takes a seat
across the aisle from us.
"hey mate .... gonna pay up"
says the driver
Goliath just sits there
hands as big as countries
muscles like planets
just sits there and stares
straight ahead
with a Jack Nicholson look
in his eyes
except goliath ain't acting
(not sure if Jack was either ...
but that's another blog)
"hey mate pay up
or we ain't going anywhere."
The driver switches off the bus
and sits calmy
waiting
waiting ... both of them
like boxers before the bell
sitting calmly in their corners
Inventoria is wide eyed
and rightly so
looking a bit freaked ...
Our fellow cashed up commuters
start calling out .... "c'mon mate pay up"
"yeah ... we did", "get off and walk man."
"don't be a jerk" ..... etc
I say something innocuos and
hardly threatening but
I can see the look in his eyes
I can see his bulging neck
Seconds tick by
but are stretched
to their agonising extreme
The driver calls the cops
and opens the back door
so people can get off
A lady offers to pay for gigantour
so we can just get going.
He says "you aint payin for me lady ..... sit down"
Goliath walks to the driver and stares at him
says something in a slow deliberate tone
about not having to pay
The driver remains calm
and Goliath sits down again
We decide its time ...
we jump out the back door
so does everyone else
The 380 to bondi
stopped at the taylor Square
with a determined and brave driver
and a determined and crazed passenger
both sitting patiently
under the neon light ......
of the toolshed
alarming, impossible, scary, bizzare
a darlinghurst standoff
and then, just as he stromped on
he stromped off
marching past us passengers
all lined up outside an empty bus
he couldn't resist one last threat
"get back on .... all of you"
with fingers shaped like a pistol
so we all get back on
and congratulate the driver
Then the cops arrive
and so we have to wait .... some more
Inventoria and I look at each other
with a " I knew tonight was gonna be strange"
kind of look
And then it gets just a little stranger....
Gigantour decides to turn up again
whilst driver and policelady are
running over the finer points
of the standoff
someone points and says
"him ... there he is. It's him"
Goliath sits quietly
at the bus stop seat
and does what the cops ask
without question
he doesn't look angry or regretful
he just looks tired
maybe he just wanted somewhere
to sleep .... I don't know ....
pity replaces fear
A new bus pulls in quickly
to take us all to bondi
proceedings continue outside
like a press conference
after a fight .....
without one punch thrown
Wednesday, 27 February 2008
icepet icepet
Ashphelt undergrowth is softer after the rainstorms
Keeps me concentrating over puuddles and stuff
Instead of alladdin lamplights madly swinging
No time for sleep or perhaps a little chitchat
Guardians of the unkempt, The old game
Smart aleck kid with smart aleck shoes
Crosses me once crosses me twice
R is for no ones owned up yet
On this day no one ever will
Say much about anything
Save for smoko smoko
Mate want smoko
Up for anything
Something ...
E
Keeps me concentrating over puuddles and stuff
Instead of alladdin lamplights madly swinging
No time for sleep or perhaps a little chitchat
Guardians of the unkempt, The old game
Smart aleck kid with smart aleck shoes
Crosses me once crosses me twice
R is for no ones owned up yet
On this day no one ever will
Say much about anything
Save for smoko smoko
Mate want smoko
Up for anything
Something ...
E
Friday, 15 February 2008
stuck inside with ambientia
ambientia lolls about
rocking her head
back and forth
letting it slump
taking her time
cat eyes half
concentrating
on the blue x
of the sex shop
muddling footpath
circling strangers
midnight muster
prodded at with black gloves
she can smell their
stinky breath
raised up like levitation
and placed inside
an ice cream truck
except its locked
and only her
ambientia remembers
for a second
saturday bells singing
greensleaves
running up the hill
how free she was back then
this ain't no
ice cream truck
this blue flashing bubble
it's kings cross
and there is no freedom
not tonight
for ambientia
as she lolls about
rocking her head
back and forth
letting it slump
taking her time
rocking her head
back and forth
letting it slump
taking her time
cat eyes half
concentrating
on the blue x
of the sex shop
muddling footpath
circling strangers
midnight muster
prodded at with black gloves
she can smell their
stinky breath
raised up like levitation
and placed inside
an ice cream truck
except its locked
and only her
ambientia remembers
for a second
saturday bells singing
greensleaves
running up the hill
how free she was back then
this ain't no
ice cream truck
this blue flashing bubble
it's kings cross
and there is no freedom
not tonight
for ambientia
as she lolls about
rocking her head
back and forth
letting it slump
taking her time
Wednesday, 6 February 2008
captain goodvibes
88 notes of dopamine
under my window
a curved 1970 something
morning shimmies in .....
my friends
are outside
tracks magazines limping
from their back pockets
quivers
of mccoy
and hot buttered
transistor radios
ego is not
a dirty word
next to them
on the grass
A dilema saturday
mums orders
piano lessons or surfclub?
well i can't wear
red sluggoes...
god forbid
not on captain goodvibes life
would I ....
Piano it will be
The lesser of two evils
remains a full blown
embarressment
I'll cross the road
2 streets up...
the old salvos land
i'll run it...
bypass wicks
up to miss thompsons
for a 10am scale sesh
think I only went twice
the thought of being caught out
busting the ivories
instead of the waves
was unbearable.
I'll give this scale shit up
Thankfully
I never did
Still don't know my major third bellisimos
from this or that
but I write a fuckin great surf tune.
under my window
a curved 1970 something
morning shimmies in .....
my friends
are outside
tracks magazines limping
from their back pockets
quivers
of mccoy
and hot buttered
transistor radios
ego is not
a dirty word
next to them
on the grass
A dilema saturday
mums orders
piano lessons or surfclub?
well i can't wear
red sluggoes...
god forbid
not on captain goodvibes life
would I ....
Piano it will be
The lesser of two evils
remains a full blown
embarressment
I'll cross the road
2 streets up...
the old salvos land
i'll run it...
bypass wicks
up to miss thompsons
for a 10am scale sesh
think I only went twice
the thought of being caught out
busting the ivories
instead of the waves
was unbearable.
I'll give this scale shit up
Thankfully
I never did
Still don't know my major third bellisimos
from this or that
but I write a fuckin great surf tune.
Friday, 25 January 2008
cobargo
scented
the sunflowers
over your head.
call it mystery,
rain in the country
instead
on the porch it would light
like a firefly night
with a sense that we're all
back at home
the sunflowers
over your head.
call it mystery,
rain in the country
instead
on the porch it would light
like a firefly night
with a sense that we're all
back at home
Sunday, 13 January 2008
sunrise over kellett street
the gypsy woman's name is Suji
an old forest word meaning sunrise.
her home is in Kellett Street
and she is thousands of years old.
you can't see her
unless she dances
you can't hear her
unless she sings
you can't feel her
unless she wants you to.
once she lived with the trees.
her arms were swaying branches
her skin like paperbark
her toes were snakes and earthworms
beautiful and beguiling
twisting
tracing
trickling
home to feed.
her eyes were gaps between the leaves
that shone the light through
millions of times.
anyway .... she moved on
she had to.
that's ok with me she'd say.
so here she is....
in Kellet Street walls
inside these very walls.
you'd know the ones
when you open the door
instantly eased
and fully alive.
she would sing to us all
old forest songs
yesterday Suji told me
she'd be moving again.
they're knocking this place down.
an ugly DA out front on the gate
portents destruction.
I can't grace that gyprock stuff
she'd keenly protest.
there'll be no pressed metal
to stare at ....
and anyway
those plasmas burn my eyes out.
another monstrous, apathetic construct.
I've cursed for less ... she grins.
where will you go?
back to the trees? ....
oh I'd never do that ...
there always here with me.
She sings these words to me
over and over.
no.
I'll find another place
where new things are old
and the art that my ancestors played with
hangs in the hallway.
somewhere a single tree shades you
and pots full of growth
remind us of things.
Where promises sprout out of ideas and talk
where dust dirt turns into gold.
because it always will.
like the sunrise ....
over Kellet Street.
and maybe
around the corner I'll be ... she dances and spins
you'll know the one
when you open the door
or if you ask me to sing.
an old forest word meaning sunrise.
her home is in Kellett Street
and she is thousands of years old.
you can't see her
unless she dances
you can't hear her
unless she sings
you can't feel her
unless she wants you to.
once she lived with the trees.
her arms were swaying branches
her skin like paperbark
her toes were snakes and earthworms
beautiful and beguiling
twisting
tracing
trickling
home to feed.
her eyes were gaps between the leaves
that shone the light through
millions of times.
anyway .... she moved on
she had to.
that's ok with me she'd say.
so here she is....
in Kellet Street walls
inside these very walls.
you'd know the ones
when you open the door
instantly eased
and fully alive.
she would sing to us all
old forest songs
yesterday Suji told me
she'd be moving again.
they're knocking this place down.
an ugly DA out front on the gate
portents destruction.
I can't grace that gyprock stuff
she'd keenly protest.
there'll be no pressed metal
to stare at ....
and anyway
those plasmas burn my eyes out.
another monstrous, apathetic construct.
I've cursed for less ... she grins.
where will you go?
back to the trees? ....
oh I'd never do that ...
there always here with me.
She sings these words to me
over and over.
no.
I'll find another place
where new things are old
and the art that my ancestors played with
hangs in the hallway.
somewhere a single tree shades you
and pots full of growth
remind us of things.
Where promises sprout out of ideas and talk
where dust dirt turns into gold.
because it always will.
like the sunrise ....
over Kellet Street.
and maybe
around the corner I'll be ... she dances and spins
you'll know the one
when you open the door
or if you ask me to sing.
Saturday, 15 December 2007
estelle sitting on her morning chair
She rescued a moth
She stayed awake all night
She watched from her window
The orange creep
over Elizabeth Bay
waits one lonely hour
maybe two
turns whitely blue
has Rose Bay molluscs
running for holes
in the sand
She rescued a moth
She stayed awake all night
She watched from her window
The grasscutters glare
from Mcelhone Park
shines upward then falls
in quick repitition
the blade like precision
has codfish swimming in circles
waiting for something to eat
She rescued a moth
She stayed awake all night
She watched from her window
She stayed awake all night
She watched from her window
The orange creep
over Elizabeth Bay
waits one lonely hour
maybe two
turns whitely blue
has Rose Bay molluscs
running for holes
in the sand
She rescued a moth
She stayed awake all night
She watched from her window
The grasscutters glare
from Mcelhone Park
shines upward then falls
in quick repitition
the blade like precision
has codfish swimming in circles
waiting for something to eat
She rescued a moth
She stayed awake all night
She watched from her window
Thursday, 22 November 2007
Number 51
I'm just a muse
just a kings cross muse
blanketed between worlds
stretching through eons
riding the tidals
tripping over myself
throwing in the towel
and taking up
a real fight
skinny light surrounds me
cornerstones come
and go
text messages rain from my mouth
perennial as they are
instant
clouds gather curiously
as I hum an airy tune
a sequence
a break
a crack
bits of stars
that I once held in my pocket
fall helplessly home
its apathy well trodden
a patterned existence
a courtroom drama
a moment to reflect
cause
I'm just a muse
just a kings cross muse.
just a kings cross muse
blanketed between worlds
stretching through eons
riding the tidals
tripping over myself
throwing in the towel
and taking up
a real fight
skinny light surrounds me
cornerstones come
and go
text messages rain from my mouth
perennial as they are
instant
clouds gather curiously
as I hum an airy tune
a sequence
a break
a crack
bits of stars
that I once held in my pocket
fall helplessly home
its apathy well trodden
a patterned existence
a courtroom drama
a moment to reflect
cause
I'm just a muse
just a kings cross muse.
Friday, 16 November 2007
buffalo brains don't see it comin'
The real estate guy
with his accurate watch
and an eye for an angle
paces the laneway
in his infinite wisdom.
Drinking it all in.
Like a buffalo on kakadu bank.
but what's underneath
the ripple concentric.....
a masked opportunity?
a new fallen leaf?
There's a swampy miasma
hangs over this town.
Two hundred a barrel
black slimy shock
creeps up from behind
like an old giant croc.
with his accurate watch
and an eye for an angle
paces the laneway
in his infinite wisdom.
Drinking it all in.
Like a buffalo on kakadu bank.
but what's underneath
the ripple concentric.....
a masked opportunity?
a new fallen leaf?
There's a swampy miasma
hangs over this town.
Two hundred a barrel
black slimy shock
creeps up from behind
like an old giant croc.
Friday, 9 November 2007
Whirling Ghost of the Cross
Your pendant reflects a ghost
that flirts about this room
my half moon gaze
has long become routine....
And look!
This steady hand can prove it.
Whispy haleys' comet lace
in tarantella dance
she bounds
from bites upon her neck.
Her spectral beauty
spins and spins for me.
I know it's true.
I've seen it done.
Her dervishesque excitement
leaves me panting.
And yes .....
The cutlery and the switches
are unmoved.
And curtains steady in their drop
except for harbour breezes,
keeps bristles on our necks
as languid
as the night.
and still ....
you look upon me strangely
as if I'm cursed
or worse ....
a stinging tongue
that fails to rest
unfettered.
Then turn your reddened eyes this way
she dances near us now
and trust my heart
won't fall for such a spirit.
For earth be earth's
and moon be moon's.
And look!
This steady hand can prove it.
that flirts about this room
my half moon gaze
has long become routine....
And look!
This steady hand can prove it.
Whispy haleys' comet lace
in tarantella dance
she bounds
from bites upon her neck.
Her spectral beauty
spins and spins for me.
I know it's true.
I've seen it done.
Her dervishesque excitement
leaves me panting.
And yes .....
The cutlery and the switches
are unmoved.
And curtains steady in their drop
except for harbour breezes,
keeps bristles on our necks
as languid
as the night.
and still ....
you look upon me strangely
as if I'm cursed
or worse ....
a stinging tongue
that fails to rest
unfettered.
Then turn your reddened eyes this way
she dances near us now
and trust my heart
won't fall for such a spirit.
For earth be earth's
and moon be moon's.
And look!
This steady hand can prove it.
Tuesday, 30 October 2007
the shout of an ordinary man
Like nothing on this earth
I'm again breathless,
float above your means.
No time can silence us
yet I'm again speechless .....
drift above yourself
love me love me
love me till i die
A cordial arrangement
it's the blessed two
I was once lonely.
Fear not the wind
but the seething sun.....
never mind never mind
love me love me
love me till i die
I'm again breathless,
float above your means.
No time can silence us
yet I'm again speechless .....
drift above yourself
love me love me
love me till i die
A cordial arrangement
it's the blessed two
I was once lonely.
Fear not the wind
but the seething sun.....
never mind never mind
love me love me
love me till i die
Monday, 22 October 2007
Fellini Friends and Flikes
He is tall, flamboyent
with a storytellers' tongue.
He has a dozen habits on full display.
There is a von Trapp tilt
to his hat
and just underneath he wears
a mesmerising glint.
Always curious
Always irreverent
and charming to the bone ..... Paul.
He runs the old shop
(and I love old shops you know)
that houses 16mm classics
and dusty tins
of Fellini firsts
and things like that.
Paul screens them once a month
in a small room
above a resteraunt
in Kings Cross.
A few of us go.
Estelle is there
the grande old dame
and so is Lester
the saucy old boho.
Look ... there's Salmacis and Alter.
Dr Death and Denise.
The Butcher, Inventoria,
the mandarin couple from Sorrento,
the Czech boys and Robert.
Greetings whip about the room
like the spring breeze
that whistles up the back stairway.
I hear glasses clink above monthly goings on.
A makeshift screen,
some crabby old chairs
and a couple of speakers
defying gravity on the windowsill.
Outside on the street ....
it's worlds away.
Paul finishes preparing
reels and cannisters
then flails into action
at the front of the room
announcing proudly ....
arms and all ....
"ladies and gentleman ......
if you would be so kind"
He regally nods at the chairs.
And we sit.
What will it be?
It's always a classic.
I bet a black and white beauty.
The lights are dimmed
and a 16mm beam shoots
above our heads
scattering the dancing dust.
The whir of the projector....
that dying art buzz.
6....5....4....
This is how a film should be seen
says Inventoria in my ear.
I nod agreement.
3....2....1....
Aahh I know this one.
I love it.
"Umberto D"
Di Sicas' greatest film,
some would say,
on the human condition.
An old and dignified man struggles to cope
in post war Rome.... with his best friend ...
a dog terrier ..... Flike.
As with all Italian cinema
of this era
each frame is breathtaking,
lovingly shot
with an artists eye.
A masterpiece.
We all dissappear for 90 minutes...
taken away by lights on a screen
away ..... far away.
And then the lights are back up
the room erupts in applause
as proud Paul takes a bow.
There's some cake and mutterings.
Salmacis and I talk about shadows
and how they aint in
movies much these days.
Paul remains tight lipped
about next months surprise
as the Czech boys recommend
to him a Slovak tragedy.
Inventoria catches my eye
and it's time to go home.
We slip down the stairway
and onto our bikes ....
lets call them "flikes"
We see Paul
as he leans out the window
to wave us farewell
or maybe .....
to just grab some air.
with a storytellers' tongue.
He has a dozen habits on full display.
There is a von Trapp tilt
to his hat
and just underneath he wears
a mesmerising glint.
Always curious
Always irreverent
and charming to the bone ..... Paul.
He runs the old shop
(and I love old shops you know)
that houses 16mm classics
and dusty tins
of Fellini firsts
and things like that.
Paul screens them once a month
in a small room
above a resteraunt
in Kings Cross.
A few of us go.
Estelle is there
the grande old dame
and so is Lester
the saucy old boho.
Look ... there's Salmacis and Alter.
Dr Death and Denise.
The Butcher, Inventoria,
the mandarin couple from Sorrento,
the Czech boys and Robert.
Greetings whip about the room
like the spring breeze
that whistles up the back stairway.
I hear glasses clink above monthly goings on.
A makeshift screen,
some crabby old chairs
and a couple of speakers
defying gravity on the windowsill.
Outside on the street ....
it's worlds away.
Paul finishes preparing
reels and cannisters
then flails into action
at the front of the room
announcing proudly ....
arms and all ....
"ladies and gentleman ......
if you would be so kind"
He regally nods at the chairs.
And we sit.
What will it be?
It's always a classic.
I bet a black and white beauty.
The lights are dimmed
and a 16mm beam shoots
above our heads
scattering the dancing dust.
The whir of the projector....
that dying art buzz.
6....5....4....
This is how a film should be seen
says Inventoria in my ear.
I nod agreement.
3....2....1....
Aahh I know this one.
I love it.
"Umberto D"
Di Sicas' greatest film,
some would say,
on the human condition.
An old and dignified man struggles to cope
in post war Rome.... with his best friend ...
a dog terrier ..... Flike.
As with all Italian cinema
of this era
each frame is breathtaking,
lovingly shot
with an artists eye.
A masterpiece.
We all dissappear for 90 minutes...
taken away by lights on a screen
away ..... far away.
And then the lights are back up
the room erupts in applause
as proud Paul takes a bow.
There's some cake and mutterings.
Salmacis and I talk about shadows
and how they aint in
movies much these days.
Paul remains tight lipped
about next months surprise
as the Czech boys recommend
to him a Slovak tragedy.
Inventoria catches my eye
and it's time to go home.
We slip down the stairway
and onto our bikes ....
lets call them "flikes"
We see Paul
as he leans out the window
to wave us farewell
or maybe .....
to just grab some air.
Tuesday, 16 October 2007
an essay on a fruitful life
Another day in the sun
Another neon overload
Another sacred second passes
Another day to get it right this time
Another neon overload
Another sacred second passes
Another day to get it right this time
Tuesday, 25 September 2007
The 5 dollar stakes
There's an old curious brown port
in the corner of the junkyard shop
that I've had my eye on
for several days.
It's got a T.A.A. sticker
and some travelling scars
and a glass minaret
for a lock.
Legend has it ... and legend it is...
when the lock is broken
to see what's inside ....
a sticky blue gas
wraps you up like a boa.
Turns your eyelids to stone.
Leaves your heart black as peat.
A menacing thought
but I pay my 5 bucks
to the grey smiling woman
and take the port home
lay it down on the table.
It feels like there's papers
and readable stuff
maybe some photos
maybe black and white.
I'll tap it with a hammer
the glass minaret
the legend I'll push it
to the back of my mind
and tense my hand round the small wooden handle
closing my eyes
counting to three
taking a shortened breath.......
When the most amazing thing happened.
..... my firealarm went off
right there and then
almost above my head.
I must have jumped
four feet in the air.
Hammer hit the ground with a thud.
I stood back and glanced
at the old brown port
my red heart beating
like a fat bass drum.
Next day I take it ...
without much sleep
up to the junkyard shop
unopened and get my 5 bucks back.
The grey lady grabs it
throws back her shawl
places it down near the huge mirrorball
and for a moment she seems so ferociously tall
as she waves me a witchy goodbye.
in the corner of the junkyard shop
that I've had my eye on
for several days.
It's got a T.A.A. sticker
and some travelling scars
and a glass minaret
for a lock.
Legend has it ... and legend it is...
when the lock is broken
to see what's inside ....
a sticky blue gas
wraps you up like a boa.
Turns your eyelids to stone.
Leaves your heart black as peat.
A menacing thought
but I pay my 5 bucks
to the grey smiling woman
and take the port home
lay it down on the table.
It feels like there's papers
and readable stuff
maybe some photos
maybe black and white.
I'll tap it with a hammer
the glass minaret
the legend I'll push it
to the back of my mind
and tense my hand round the small wooden handle
closing my eyes
counting to three
taking a shortened breath.......
When the most amazing thing happened.
..... my firealarm went off
right there and then
almost above my head.
I must have jumped
four feet in the air.
Hammer hit the ground with a thud.
I stood back and glanced
at the old brown port
my red heart beating
like a fat bass drum.
Next day I take it ...
without much sleep
up to the junkyard shop
unopened and get my 5 bucks back.
The grey lady grabs it
throws back her shawl
places it down near the huge mirrorball
and for a moment she seems so ferociously tall
as she waves me a witchy goodbye.
Friday, 14 September 2007
this and that
my ear was pricked by a breath this morning
and when I turned
was no one there
the seat of idris called my name
again I turned
was all alone
so a thousand goblins dance beneath
this ether at my nose
drinking honey mead and fig
and other spells
slipping in the splittest of seconds
you see.......
they can't be touched by hands that flow
with blood and warmth
and a small latte takeaway
no sugar thanks mate
and then it's back
as quick as that
this overwhelming
cinematic
blanket tucked in
righteous .... kind of
non relenting
loudly spoken
fact reminding
wordalicious
oft pretending
market driven
shackle breaking
must admit I ain't complaining
piano playing day!
and when I turned
was no one there
the seat of idris called my name
again I turned
was all alone
so a thousand goblins dance beneath
this ether at my nose
drinking honey mead and fig
and other spells
slipping in the splittest of seconds
you see.......
they can't be touched by hands that flow
with blood and warmth
and a small latte takeaway
no sugar thanks mate
and then it's back
as quick as that
this overwhelming
cinematic
blanket tucked in
righteous .... kind of
non relenting
loudly spoken
fact reminding
wordalicious
oft pretending
market driven
shackle breaking
must admit I ain't complaining
piano playing day!
Monday, 3 September 2007
cyclone stanley and all that jazz
Stan whisks up to the fountain.
Around him Kings Cross has a distinct spring in its step.
A bee bop kind of swing.
He wears grey creased trousers
and his hair is short with a hint of a quiff.
His white shirt is unbuttoned and relaxed.
Stanley must be close to 80.
I say something innocuous about the day
and he eyes me off with a lion like glint...
part curious, part predatory.
It doesn't last long though.
He smiles a bit ......Do you like jazz?
Sure, I say. I like the way it's improvised.
He snorts half an approval
making a sound like a giant purr.
I used to play jazz in this park he continues.
1957. After the war and before the beatles.
Music ..... and he stares at me with that jazz players intensity ....
was no better than then m'boy.
Now I would never dismiss the good gents appraisal
but I just had to counter that one ....
when he got all enthusiastic on me
Saturday nights. Couldn't beat em ...
you woulda loved it.
He points toward the fruit shop and
paints me a picture ........
We used to set up over there.
They'd put a stage up for us and the other groups.
Alex was playing the upright piano.
Bill played the flute and the sax.
Max his double bass.
I was on the drums. A silver ludwig.
I've still got the snare
We would make it all up .....
well at least until some standard
came floating in,
then we'd run with that for a while.
Then maybe I'd hit the shuffle pedal
.... and off we'd go again.
The beatnik crew wore black suits
and crazy thin ties.
Kerouac beards and all....
always talking jazz nonsense.
Stan had a flush in his cheeks ....
stared at something in his past,
pointed and continued ....
An old speaker hung from that tree,
so the singers could be heard
way up here near the fountain ...
and to announce the next group
mmm and the sharpies would hang at the front.
Dark glasses all of em.
Right through the night.
The girls had brazen scarves
tied around their heads ....
all of em had matching thin cardies.
Everyone smoked.
Then back to Roosavelts
or maybe the Amsterdam cafe
dependin on how I felt,
with the others ... you know
Amazingly he pauses
long enough for me to
maybe say something,
..... say anything when
his friend arrives
calling his name...
STANLEY.
Snapped back to now ...
he continues
Ok gotta go ... nice talkin
yeah .... ok... seeya I say.
What a whirlwind!
I watch him as he taps his fingers
against his thighs
scuttling the pigeons that dance now
where beatnikers would swing
and Stan used to play jazz
50 years ago
this Saturday night.
Around him Kings Cross has a distinct spring in its step.
A bee bop kind of swing.
He wears grey creased trousers
and his hair is short with a hint of a quiff.
His white shirt is unbuttoned and relaxed.
Stanley must be close to 80.
I say something innocuous about the day
and he eyes me off with a lion like glint...
part curious, part predatory.
It doesn't last long though.
He smiles a bit ......Do you like jazz?
Sure, I say. I like the way it's improvised.
He snorts half an approval
making a sound like a giant purr.
I used to play jazz in this park he continues.
1957. After the war and before the beatles.
Music ..... and he stares at me with that jazz players intensity ....
was no better than then m'boy.
Now I would never dismiss the good gents appraisal
but I just had to counter that one ....
when he got all enthusiastic on me
Saturday nights. Couldn't beat em ...
you woulda loved it.
He points toward the fruit shop and
paints me a picture ........
We used to set up over there.
They'd put a stage up for us and the other groups.
Alex was playing the upright piano.
Bill played the flute and the sax.
Max his double bass.
I was on the drums. A silver ludwig.
I've still got the snare
We would make it all up .....
well at least until some standard
came floating in,
then we'd run with that for a while.
Then maybe I'd hit the shuffle pedal
.... and off we'd go again.
The beatnik crew wore black suits
and crazy thin ties.
Kerouac beards and all....
always talking jazz nonsense.
Stan had a flush in his cheeks ....
stared at something in his past,
pointed and continued ....
An old speaker hung from that tree,
so the singers could be heard
way up here near the fountain ...
and to announce the next group
mmm and the sharpies would hang at the front.
Dark glasses all of em.
Right through the night.
The girls had brazen scarves
tied around their heads ....
all of em had matching thin cardies.
Everyone smoked.
Then back to Roosavelts
or maybe the Amsterdam cafe
dependin on how I felt,
with the others ... you know
Amazingly he pauses
long enough for me to
maybe say something,
..... say anything when
his friend arrives
calling his name...
STANLEY.
Snapped back to now ...
he continues
Ok gotta go ... nice talkin
yeah .... ok... seeya I say.
What a whirlwind!
I watch him as he taps his fingers
against his thighs
scuttling the pigeons that dance now
where beatnikers would swing
and Stan used to play jazz
50 years ago
this Saturday night.
Tuesday, 21 August 2007
Serpentine Day
A princess went riding
on the back of a dragon
a komodo he was
lickety firefly tongue.
Past three lava hills
glowing and belching
under a skylight orange
that showed them the way.
And in one of his talons
he held up a palm tree
fanned back the heat
and the sand fly storms.
And when the moonshine lay resting
they drank from the river
and swam there in secret
on serpentine day.
on the back of a dragon
a komodo he was
lickety firefly tongue.
Past three lava hills
glowing and belching
under a skylight orange
that showed them the way.
And in one of his talons
he held up a palm tree
fanned back the heat
and the sand fly storms.
And when the moonshine lay resting
they drank from the river
and swam there in secret
on serpentine day.
Wednesday, 15 August 2007
dust + time = life
This branch we lay
is young like plastic
a straight up fuckin baby.
Not tested
or yet sunned to wood,
as killjoys
who misunderstood
will pass the time of day like this
so see through
and so fickle.
tick ..... wait
tock .... wait
wait some more and longer
tick ..... wait
tock .... wait
wait some more and longer
See natures' watch
it moves so slow
like Judith Wrights old cycad
not plastic now
not cleanskin wine
a fiery brew
old frankenstein
makes crisp fresh air from musty slime
and culture
out of jihad
is young like plastic
a straight up fuckin baby.
Not tested
or yet sunned to wood,
as killjoys
who misunderstood
will pass the time of day like this
so see through
and so fickle.
tick ..... wait
tock .... wait
wait some more and longer
tick ..... wait
tock .... wait
wait some more and longer
See natures' watch
it moves so slow
like Judith Wrights old cycad
not plastic now
not cleanskin wine
a fiery brew
old frankenstein
makes crisp fresh air from musty slime
and culture
out of jihad
Wednesday, 8 August 2007
Back with a huff and a puff
wake up
wake me up
from this slumber I keep
my eyes are blunted
the city billows blow
the billows blow
shake me
shake me up
from this autumn I keep
my heart confronted
the city billows blow
the billows blow
face me
face up to me
I know that you're singing
but my ears are drowned out
the city billows blow
the billows blow
.......... and then
the magnolia trees in Orwell Street
spring into life again.
The air seems more see through
and the sandman himself
goes to sleep.
Birds find holy trees and X
still marks the spot
of last nights' pinpoint
crucifiction.
the city billows blow
the billows blow
wake me up
from this slumber I keep
my eyes are blunted
the city billows blow
the billows blow
shake me
shake me up
from this autumn I keep
my heart confronted
the city billows blow
the billows blow
face me
face up to me
I know that you're singing
but my ears are drowned out
the city billows blow
the billows blow
.......... and then
the magnolia trees in Orwell Street
spring into life again.
The air seems more see through
and the sandman himself
goes to sleep.
Birds find holy trees and X
still marks the spot
of last nights' pinpoint
crucifiction.
the city billows blow
the billows blow
Sunday, 22 July 2007
my grande neighbours
Who would wish to sleep like this.
It rattles, feigns a rooftop
and stinks like despots grave
whose gilded mansions,
for the moment,
hide the drizzle.
Still all the same
we sleep it off
still all the same
we die.
It rattles, feigns a rooftop
and stinks like despots grave
whose gilded mansions,
for the moment,
hide the drizzle.
Still all the same
we sleep it off
still all the same
we die.
Monday, 16 July 2007
protea poet
an old man stands by a grave
reading poetry to his dead sister
the ice on the ground doesn't bother him
nor my glances ....
I stretch my eyes to read his lips .......
tree ferns ripple at the steeple
green ghosts whistle by the cross
marble stone scratches
and protea leaves
lost in a personal loss.
and seedlings remind me
of springtime in roma
and roma reminds me of you.
so I'll plant for tomorrow
in basalt black ridges
elvira my sister for you.
the old man lifts his head
from the leather bound book.
a whip bird breaks the silence.
the old green wooden church
sheds a tear it seeems ....
and I leave.
reading poetry to his dead sister
the ice on the ground doesn't bother him
nor my glances ....
I stretch my eyes to read his lips .......
tree ferns ripple at the steeple
green ghosts whistle by the cross
marble stone scratches
and protea leaves
lost in a personal loss.
and seedlings remind me
of springtime in roma
and roma reminds me of you.
so I'll plant for tomorrow
in basalt black ridges
elvira my sister for you.
the old man lifts his head
from the leather bound book.
a whip bird breaks the silence.
the old green wooden church
sheds a tear it seeems ....
and I leave.
Friday, 6 July 2007
A kings cross morning
It's busier than usual
and the sunshine looks cold.
Lots of men about with short hair
and short haired dogs with coats.
Some with fluffy hoodies.
I mean ....... really!
An old lady taps her fingers
in time to something
only she can hear.
The wind starts then stops
then starts again.
A seabird hitches a ride.
I think about my lover
and that I should write a new poem.
There's a big ship in town.
and red white and blue balloons
hang from the shopfronts.
A red one frees itself
and I watch it's upward escape.
I remember an old book I once had
called the red balloon.
Some kid spent his day chasing
this balloon about the streets.
I loved that book and I have an idea...
Now .... where'd that balloon go?
and the sunshine looks cold.
Lots of men about with short hair
and short haired dogs with coats.
Some with fluffy hoodies.
I mean ....... really!
An old lady taps her fingers
in time to something
only she can hear.
The wind starts then stops
then starts again.
A seabird hitches a ride.
I think about my lover
and that I should write a new poem.
There's a big ship in town.
and red white and blue balloons
hang from the shopfronts.
A red one frees itself
and I watch it's upward escape.
I remember an old book I once had
called the red balloon.
Some kid spent his day chasing
this balloon about the streets.
I loved that book and I have an idea...
Now .... where'd that balloon go?
Monday, 25 June 2007
a day at the flicks
Lester is a Kings Cross character
who has featured on these pages before.
In 1958 he was a celebrity of sorts
and on this day was to give an interview..
at the Minerva ... now the Metro in Orwell Street.
Lets peek back at his day ...........
Apple schnapps, cherry wine
and the misfortune of another interview.
This limo has no guts...
Lester stared out the window
to Macleay Street people.
Beatniks in bleachers with the hint of a suntan.
New lovers, old lovers, reinvented lovers
patchwork lovers and lovers to be.
The door opens at the top of Orwell Street
and the flashlights dance around his face.
Lester spills schnapps on his greatcoat
as he crashes for the door of the theatre.
The hiss and screech of film,
flashes of warmth on his face.
"Lester will you ..... and the new movie,... can you"
a woman yells something important in his ear.
Lester sees a face he recognises
but it gets lost in the throng.
The carpet has a blood stained hue.
"This way ..... please...."
and up the snaily stairway he goes.
Lester stood at the top
and turned back to the waving crowd
in the foyer below.
All eyes stared him down.
How strange, he thought, to be so desired.
My back hurts, my teeth are yellow
and the whole things a fuckin mess.
A door behind him opens sharply
as a clumpy man swings into view..
"This way, quickly, she's waiting".
Lester walks through the doorway
and follows the rather gruff and pompous fellow
along a thin veneered hallway
into a large leatherclad office.
The light was dim and the roaring open fire
bounced from the cheeks
of the old lady sitting in an armchair.
She wore a long tartan skirt
and a bright green skivvy with the words
"now or never" emblazoned across the front.
"Welcome Lester. Nice to meet you..... "
pausing for some kind of introduction.
Please sit here .... next to me
I have something to ask of you ..........
........At this point we lose transmission
so back to akkm and regular bloggin .....
We'll catch up with Lester another day.
who has featured on these pages before.
In 1958 he was a celebrity of sorts
and on this day was to give an interview..
at the Minerva ... now the Metro in Orwell Street.
Lets peek back at his day ...........
Apple schnapps, cherry wine
and the misfortune of another interview.
This limo has no guts...
Lester stared out the window
to Macleay Street people.
Beatniks in bleachers with the hint of a suntan.
New lovers, old lovers, reinvented lovers
patchwork lovers and lovers to be.
The door opens at the top of Orwell Street
and the flashlights dance around his face.
Lester spills schnapps on his greatcoat
as he crashes for the door of the theatre.
The hiss and screech of film,
flashes of warmth on his face.
"Lester will you ..... and the new movie,... can you"
a woman yells something important in his ear.
Lester sees a face he recognises
but it gets lost in the throng.
The carpet has a blood stained hue.
"This way ..... please...."
and up the snaily stairway he goes.
Lester stood at the top
and turned back to the waving crowd
in the foyer below.
All eyes stared him down.
How strange, he thought, to be so desired.
My back hurts, my teeth are yellow
and the whole things a fuckin mess.
A door behind him opens sharply
as a clumpy man swings into view..
"This way, quickly, she's waiting".
Lester walks through the doorway
and follows the rather gruff and pompous fellow
along a thin veneered hallway
into a large leatherclad office.
The light was dim and the roaring open fire
bounced from the cheeks
of the old lady sitting in an armchair.
She wore a long tartan skirt
and a bright green skivvy with the words
"now or never" emblazoned across the front.
"Welcome Lester. Nice to meet you..... "
pausing for some kind of introduction.
Please sit here .... next to me
I have something to ask of you ..........
........At this point we lose transmission
so back to akkm and regular bloggin .....
We'll catch up with Lester another day.
Wednesday, 13 June 2007
bonnie and clyde river
The old river is graced by pelicans
for most of the time.
Except when it rains at lake eyre...
2000 miles away.
Only happens once in ten years.
But they know somehow.
Fly away to eat
and do what pelicans do .....
a wise man told me so.
But why do they do it?
How do they know?
Good fuckin question.
Guess they just know
more than we do.
Webs on the earth
for eons and eons....
stepping in god
that they call the ground.
Don't need to make stuff up
to get themselves through....
the old souls just fly west
cause they know they have to.
for most of the time.
Except when it rains at lake eyre...
2000 miles away.
Only happens once in ten years.
But they know somehow.
Fly away to eat
and do what pelicans do .....
a wise man told me so.
But why do they do it?
How do they know?
Good fuckin question.
Guess they just know
more than we do.
Webs on the earth
for eons and eons....
stepping in god
that they call the ground.
Don't need to make stuff up
to get themselves through....
the old souls just fly west
cause they know they have to.
Tuesday, 5 June 2007
run for the hills
The Paragon is a ghostly place
It creaks and shivers
like deco should.
Fills my head with 78's
and dusty tunes.
Windows bluffed by snow machines
and tasty treats.
I churn back time.
Behind the shopfront
there is a grandeur.
A chocolate factory and a bakery.
Boxes of photos and old invoice books.
Parasoul girls give me black and white looks.
And wise green machinery,
rust filled and murky
once whirred for the noblest
from Old Sydney Town.
Now I haven't been there for years
But I used to go every day......
Poured the coffee and cooked the eggs.
And out the back
there's an old school ballroom
with a mirrored bar that'll take
your breath away.
In the 1920's they danced till dawn.
Some of the old boho's still visit the ballroom,
even though they've been dead for decades.
Never fully believed that stuff
till I saw it myself.
Standing there in his red buttoned coat
Like some lord of the realm ......
But there he was....
as I ate my lunch.
Plain as day.
The Paragon is a ghostly place.
It creaks and shivers
like deco should.
Fills my head with 78's
and dusty tunes.
Windows bluffed by snow machines
and tasty treats.
I churn back time.
Behind the shopfront
there is a grandeur.
A chocolate factory and a bakery.
Boxes of photos and old invoice books.
Parasoul girls give me black and white looks.
And wise green machinery,
rust filled and murky
once whirred for the noblest
from Old Sydney Town.
Now I haven't been there for years
But I used to go every day......
Poured the coffee and cooked the eggs.
And out the back
there's an old school ballroom
with a mirrored bar that'll take
your breath away.
In the 1920's they danced till dawn.
Some of the old boho's still visit the ballroom,
even though they've been dead for decades.
Never fully believed that stuff
till I saw it myself.
Standing there in his red buttoned coat
Like some lord of the realm ......
But there he was....
as I ate my lunch.
Plain as day.
The Paragon is a ghostly place.
Saturday, 26 May 2007
a successful conversation with a teenager
m= muse t= teenager
m... what would you do if there was no electricity?
t... well that wouldn't happen. Would it?
m... one day, I think it will. Imagine.
t... sigh, ummm
(I interupt like a know it all)
m... no itunes, no westfield, no tv, no myspace
t... well I'd have to kill myself then.
( I detect a healthy sarcasm)
m... you know what?
t... no
m... I'm going to take you camping
t... OK
m... OK
m... what would you do if there was no electricity?
t... well that wouldn't happen. Would it?
m... one day, I think it will. Imagine.
t... sigh, ummm
(I interupt like a know it all)
m... no itunes, no westfield, no tv, no myspace
t... well I'd have to kill myself then.
( I detect a healthy sarcasm)
m... you know what?
t... no
m... I'm going to take you camping
t... OK
m... OK
Friday, 25 May 2007
you left some feathers behind
Above my head
there are cloud lips.
Below my feet
there are cobble green eyes.
And Llankelly Place
is a stretched out arm
with the touch of a black cockatoo.
there are cloud lips.
Below my feet
there are cobble green eyes.
And Llankelly Place
is a stretched out arm
with the touch of a black cockatoo.
Monday, 21 May 2007
scribbled on a ticket december 03
Don't define love
show love
a definition is a substitute
for the real thing.
It's like being stranded
half out of life.
And the language,
it's beauty, imprisons us,
holds us servant to words
To sneer and crack
and crack again..........
and still never get the meaning.
show love
a definition is a substitute
for the real thing.
It's like being stranded
half out of life.
And the language,
it's beauty, imprisons us,
holds us servant to words
To sneer and crack
and crack again..........
and still never get the meaning.
Tuesday, 15 May 2007
Old World Charm
Picture this.....
7pm mid May 2007
Kings Cross Sydney.
3 plastic tables cluster about a struggling fern or two
in an open courtyard.
The sign on the double glass sliding door says
"dine in the elegant dining room
or perhaps outside in the beautiful
tropical garden setting" .....
I turn to look at the plastic tables.
Through the doors a bar is dimly lit
and splashed by a blue cristmas decoration
lazing on the benchtop.
It sparkles off the Cointreau.
12 empty tables spread out perfectly to the right
bordered by a deep violet curtain.
I'm glad I've worn my velvet jacket.
Chandeliers hang overhead
like a crystal jigsaw puzzle.
Statuettes sprout lights and trumpets.
My sweetheart (the master inventor .... Inventoria) and I
decide to partake of a cocktail before dinner ....
Two margueritas please.
They are promptly made without fuss or flare.
No tricks or twirling bottles.
No plates for change.
With salty lips we wonder where the world went.
The chef steps out of the kitchen,
wanders past us and says hello.
Dean Martin and Ole Blue Eyes
swan about the room as we order another one each please.
The world outside is distinctly remote.....
What magic is this m'dear?
We escort ourselves to our table and menus arrive
What! ....check it out .... no, it can't be true ....
But yes ....there it is .....$3 entrees
Mussells on the half shell ..... Eggplant and relish
Angel hair pasta.....and of course prawn cocktails.
Inventoria orders three because they are such good value.
I stick to one. I'm saving up for the $9 mains.
Now ....I'm a muse who knows a bit about a Dianne sauce
and I've not had quite such a pleasure since .... well ....
since "Hair" played at the Old Minerva.
Tables fill up slowly.
A nervous first date, a cockney family,
a seasoned old gay couple.
Mutterings melt into the curtains
and there is a soft edge to the evening.
We leave reluctantly.
Outside the years come flooding back.
Sharp shiny edges with a neon overload.
A cacophony of stuff.
A Nissan Pathfinder blasts on down the road.
Back here .... Back now...
Where have we been for the last two hours? I ask
Inventoria shrugs ponderingly.
We turn to face the resteraunt.
There's nothing there.
It's gone......that old world charm
But if you look real hard ...........
7pm mid May 2007
Kings Cross Sydney.
3 plastic tables cluster about a struggling fern or two
in an open courtyard.
The sign on the double glass sliding door says
"dine in the elegant dining room
or perhaps outside in the beautiful
tropical garden setting" .....
I turn to look at the plastic tables.
Through the doors a bar is dimly lit
and splashed by a blue cristmas decoration
lazing on the benchtop.
It sparkles off the Cointreau.
12 empty tables spread out perfectly to the right
bordered by a deep violet curtain.
I'm glad I've worn my velvet jacket.
Chandeliers hang overhead
like a crystal jigsaw puzzle.
Statuettes sprout lights and trumpets.
My sweetheart (the master inventor .... Inventoria) and I
decide to partake of a cocktail before dinner ....
Two margueritas please.
They are promptly made without fuss or flare.
No tricks or twirling bottles.
No plates for change.
With salty lips we wonder where the world went.
The chef steps out of the kitchen,
wanders past us and says hello.
Dean Martin and Ole Blue Eyes
swan about the room as we order another one each please.
The world outside is distinctly remote.....
What magic is this m'dear?
We escort ourselves to our table and menus arrive
What! ....check it out .... no, it can't be true ....
But yes ....there it is .....$3 entrees
Mussells on the half shell ..... Eggplant and relish
Angel hair pasta.....and of course prawn cocktails.
Inventoria orders three because they are such good value.
I stick to one. I'm saving up for the $9 mains.
Now ....I'm a muse who knows a bit about a Dianne sauce
and I've not had quite such a pleasure since .... well ....
since "Hair" played at the Old Minerva.
Tables fill up slowly.
A nervous first date, a cockney family,
a seasoned old gay couple.
Mutterings melt into the curtains
and there is a soft edge to the evening.
We leave reluctantly.
Outside the years come flooding back.
Sharp shiny edges with a neon overload.
A cacophony of stuff.
A Nissan Pathfinder blasts on down the road.
Back here .... Back now...
Where have we been for the last two hours? I ask
Inventoria shrugs ponderingly.
We turn to face the resteraunt.
There's nothing there.
It's gone......that old world charm
But if you look real hard ...........
Wednesday, 9 May 2007
Do you remember a guy thats been?
A large stone mansion appeared on the hillside.
Maids and waiters ushered plates
to the people lying on the lawn outside .......
What am I doing here? wondered Lester.
The afternoon sun relaxed.
Strangers laughed and the breezes
circled their voices.
Lester rested his moppy head
and stared at the bluest sky he had ever seen.
He had been here before ...
thousands of times
but not once could Lester remember.
Not even the faintest feeling of it.
A trick of the light
A trick
of
the light
A television set appeared on the lawn.
Lester watched the screen
flicker to life.
Everyone was falling asleep.
The sunshine too became weary
A video clip .... What is that song?
muffled .... flickering scenes
with cotton wool melodies,
asking gently to be noticed.
Lester leaned forward
and fell headlong into the image on the screen
He stood on a brown desert plain,
A clown marched past....
also a diva with 1983 makeup.
There was a colourless menacing sky
and a wave rolled onto the shore....
It's that ashes to ashes one!
The one about an early song,
What am I doing here? wondered Lester.
A trick of the light
A trick
of
the light
Maids and waiters ushered plates
to the people lying on the lawn outside .......
What am I doing here? wondered Lester.
The afternoon sun relaxed.
Strangers laughed and the breezes
circled their voices.
Lester rested his moppy head
and stared at the bluest sky he had ever seen.
He had been here before ...
thousands of times
but not once could Lester remember.
Not even the faintest feeling of it.
A trick of the light
A trick
of
the light
A television set appeared on the lawn.
Lester watched the screen
flicker to life.
Everyone was falling asleep.
The sunshine too became weary
A video clip .... What is that song?
muffled .... flickering scenes
with cotton wool melodies,
asking gently to be noticed.
Lester leaned forward
and fell headlong into the image on the screen
He stood on a brown desert plain,
A clown marched past....
also a diva with 1983 makeup.
There was a colourless menacing sky
and a wave rolled onto the shore....
It's that ashes to ashes one!
The one about an early song,
What am I doing here? wondered Lester.
A trick of the light
A trick
of
the light
Monday, 7 May 2007
My Days
This is how I spend my days
This is how I break my back
This is how I live my dreams
This is how I write a tune
This is how I ring my daughter
This is how I sometimes feel like shit
This is how I buy the milk
This is how I show fucking respect
This is how I call my friends
This is how I hold my head up high
This is how I fall in love
This is how I spend my days
This is how I break my back
This is how I live my dreams
This is how I write a tune
This is how I ring my daughter
This is how I sometimes feel like shit
This is how I buy the milk
This is how I show fucking respect
This is how I call my friends
This is how I hold my head up high
This is how I fall in love
This is how I spend my days
Tuesday, 1 May 2007
Another day at Jasons guitar shop
Jason was a man that accumulated mess
and he seemed to very quickly.
Dust on the shelving
wood shavings on the till
paint splattered carpet
superglue on his hands.
The counter was a pile of guitar parts
scribbled down notes
last nights dinner
last weeks breakfast ....
my phone was down there somewhere.
Leads and batteries
half a distortion pedal
at least three coffee cups
Jasons tablets
the chords to a new song idea .....
This was the counter mess.
The mess though,
was much larger than the counter
and would spill outward
to become general shop mess
or behind the counter mess
or window display mess.
Shop proirity was not cleaning.
Suited me just fine.
I've kinda spent my life surrounded by
guitars and bits and bobs....
tripping over leads and instruments
with scant regard for domestics ..... therefore
at Jasons you wouldn't here me complaining
Well maybe only one day ......
It was an early morning customer
about 11 am.
I was in the shop standing behind the counter
pondering the mess.
Jason hadn't turned up yet.
But I had a distinct feeling
he had been in the shop till the early hours.
Do you have 2 sets of bronze wound lights
12 gauge preferably.
Sure mate I said ...
scrambling through the counter top
I found one set easily.
The second set would be a liitle harder to find.
I tipped books and bills onto the floor.
I pushed coffe cups around like that magic trick...
careful not to tip any over the good customers wallet
that he had placed delicately
on the only counter space remaining.
I lifted an opaque tuppaware container
three quarters filled with some yellowy liquid.
I moved it quickly to the floor behind the counter.
The lid was not secure and a good splash landed on the wallet.
Luckily the customer was distracted
by the Midnight Blue Fender Jaguar
hanging on the wall.
"Great neck on that one" I enthused
as I smudged the wallet almost dry.....
I found the second set of strings and the customer paid up ......
like nothing had happened
He popped his dampish wallet back in his pocket
smiled and left.
Normally I would just apoligise and be upfront
about a spillage like this ...... but you see
the shop had no toilet
and with Jason working late most nights
or the coffee shop toilet in use
one had to come up with solutions.
Jason even labelled the tuppaware containers
with our names .....
When Jason arrived
I told him about wallet man.
It made his day.
He thought it was hilarious...... and it was.
I also took the opportunity to say to Jason
that the counter mess was ok with me....
but could we draw the line with human waste.
Sure said Jason.... agreeing with that impish look of his
He rattled his keys, pointed to the door and said ...
c'mon ..... lets go to the Piccollo for a coffee.
and he seemed to very quickly.
Dust on the shelving
wood shavings on the till
paint splattered carpet
superglue on his hands.
The counter was a pile of guitar parts
scribbled down notes
last nights dinner
last weeks breakfast ....
my phone was down there somewhere.
Leads and batteries
half a distortion pedal
at least three coffee cups
Jasons tablets
the chords to a new song idea .....
This was the counter mess.
The mess though,
was much larger than the counter
and would spill outward
to become general shop mess
or behind the counter mess
or window display mess.
Shop proirity was not cleaning.
Suited me just fine.
I've kinda spent my life surrounded by
guitars and bits and bobs....
tripping over leads and instruments
with scant regard for domestics ..... therefore
at Jasons you wouldn't here me complaining
Well maybe only one day ......
It was an early morning customer
about 11 am.
I was in the shop standing behind the counter
pondering the mess.
Jason hadn't turned up yet.
But I had a distinct feeling
he had been in the shop till the early hours.
Do you have 2 sets of bronze wound lights
12 gauge preferably.
Sure mate I said ...
scrambling through the counter top
I found one set easily.
The second set would be a liitle harder to find.
I tipped books and bills onto the floor.
I pushed coffe cups around like that magic trick...
careful not to tip any over the good customers wallet
that he had placed delicately
on the only counter space remaining.
I lifted an opaque tuppaware container
three quarters filled with some yellowy liquid.
I moved it quickly to the floor behind the counter.
The lid was not secure and a good splash landed on the wallet.
Luckily the customer was distracted
by the Midnight Blue Fender Jaguar
hanging on the wall.
"Great neck on that one" I enthused
as I smudged the wallet almost dry.....
I found the second set of strings and the customer paid up ......
like nothing had happened
He popped his dampish wallet back in his pocket
smiled and left.
Normally I would just apoligise and be upfront
about a spillage like this ...... but you see
the shop had no toilet
and with Jason working late most nights
or the coffee shop toilet in use
one had to come up with solutions.
Jason even labelled the tuppaware containers
with our names .....
When Jason arrived
I told him about wallet man.
It made his day.
He thought it was hilarious...... and it was.
I also took the opportunity to say to Jason
that the counter mess was ok with me....
but could we draw the line with human waste.
Sure said Jason.... agreeing with that impish look of his
He rattled his keys, pointed to the door and said ...
c'mon ..... lets go to the Piccollo for a coffee.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
