Category Archives: poetry

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.