Category Archives: poetry

Souvenir


Now that being there; is now always near

And since then where have we’ll been? –

By the fridge near that bridge…

Leaning on the ridge of ‘Decorated Windowsill Hill.’

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Wind Paintings

Some sunlit Sunday when the wind began to paint; swirling lines around windowed tombstones,

Chroming dull, jutting decay and the ironic dancing of litter; saturated with audacities,

Shading the herding commuters with realism and the scattered loiterers in impressionism.

Not forgetting the multi-toning of everything with tornadoes, and the requisite highlighting with hurricanes.

Then for some; the inability will be – to see the bigger picture; with all the unnecassary force

Of incessant rains upon swollen, rolling seas.

This weather has found it’s new career.

Simplicity Tapes

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An old cassette tape, when the light catches it handsomely it looks silvered and bronzed like a monument with little dates of significance.

The time is half-past-something or a quarter too, and the day really doesn’t care for its name.

Then I recall Septembers, that this September; the breeze has been as gentle and warm as breath exchanging from lovers in loose conversation.

Randomly, I feel a surge of discomfort within the thought of the inability to appreciate anything, while I continuously slip comfortably into taking average daily life for granted.

Three army helicopters throb, thunderously overhead. They pass in a mini apocalypse parade; for a moment the suburb is drowned with the sound of their rota-blades, the atmosphere feels as if it’s expanding in its protestation.

The air chooses to relax; dropping its noisy luggage, only to float upon its regular self, I notice from beyond my open window, two female voices; unexplainably but noticeably middle-aged, and motherly, using vocabulary that only just resembles my native tongue. I think perhaps that I’ve momentarily forgotten to understand my language.

 

 

 

Listen to the Music

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I listen to the music

 That attractive noise

I’ll listen to The Fall

 To The Beach Boys

I listen to the music

 So candid

 Therapeutic

A stinging to my ears

 So enjoyably caustic

I listen to the music

For instant nostalgia

Of where I was

Who with

Or when I found ya

I listen to the music

 I love that drone

So finally I can sleep

 Until the notes find home

I listen to the music

It conjures such love

 Into my ears

 Let it roll with a loose shove

I listen to the music

Feeling happy or stressed

I’ll listen when calm

 Intoxicated

Badly dressed

I listen to the music

 On various compilations

Those imperfect and personal

 Golden-oldie stations

I listen to the music

 Like a hit from the hits

I listen to the music

 When the moment fits

I listen to the music

 And here’s the chorus now

I’ll listen

Until the music’s over

… T’Pau!

 

 

 

Beachworld

 

footprints cislandAs you stare; stop looking… for answers on every wave, and under the tiring sun that lowers into its new water bed: forever creased. Each nearing roll of surf perpetually attends to the beach where you wander; reaching out and soaking, smoothing scars of soft land and human hand, from land loving creatures.

The bubbling roar of white noise; rising and dipping in volume; teasing your ears into hearing frequencies from lost radios stations: faulty and alluring. Every time this happens something is taken from you, soon replaced by a specific space to lighten your walk inland.

All this… as you stand, feet sucked by gooey miniature rocks that table gels of dead jelly fish; glistening like little brains of the sea; forced up upon confusion and violence from the mighty froths of wash.

 

 

Superhero versus Average Man

For a while, he was the ‘Invisible man’ because he had to be seen to be believed. 

Suddenly, he rarely spoke, he became the ‘Quiet man’ and then everyone had heard of him.

So, for a laugh he became the ‘Funny man’ and yet everyone thought his idea was the joke. 

He tried to be Superman, Batman, even Bananaman; but their suits never suited him.

Then one day he seemed to blend into the ‘Average Man’ and yet, as bizarre as he continues to feel, being the ‘Average Man’ he hasn’t seen himself since.

For a while he was the ‘Invisible Man’ because–