eFfeCT

waste wants

a short

sharp retort

breaks stillness

and necks

blood seeps

weeps, gushes

from the wound

neat bullet-hole

head smashed apart

a good day’s hunt

yet

the meat goes to waste

and genetic pool

gets

fractionally

smaller

16.3.96

O.K.

we are animals, you and I

remember how you used to

sleep on the ground?

one eye open

ever restful, wakeful

– although sleep is common

to us all

so is the wariness

preservation comes first –

or else, Death

with the leaden hand

(that is us)

or the monstrous foot

(of aligned forces)

sniffing each other’s politics

we circle

making up our minds

that it may be O.K., to mesh

4.96

Some of us even try religion on for size

And Science and Art,

Hoping that the Truth

Will Out.

Vainly, we escape the

day-to-today

to concentrate on

imagining what the

future could bring –

ascendant problems

(cracks in the ceiling,

rips in the sky).

So we try to ‘model’ the behaviour,

to factor and categorise

and it eludes us.

Sometimes (maybe?)

we hit the nail on the head

manage to drive a wedge into

that great Crack of Unknowing

1994

wa-hoo

I’m a grinning idiot

look at me now

while the tide is turning

the Earth burning

and divided in a hundred ways

factoring in any bliss

is a fundamentally

difficult thing to do

4.94

this here, was poetry

that thing, was not

all things come to pass

as they must and will and shall

being unto themselves

of themselves and in it

so who said that word

rhymed and that one

didn’t?

poet’s dilemma

to write or not to write

whose version was correct?

the poet wrote

and laid down her own laws

making them up

on the spot.

some things lead somewhere

others don’t.

like broken thoughts

Sep95

like broken thoughts

the heart tears away

from the inside

pulling free of

restraining walls

of muscle

and ambivalence

and treachery

Sep95

this poem

wrote itself

that’s why it’s so short

Sep95

I want to write you a lullaby

to help you fly

remember the children

they have hope in their breasts

they don’t know of a hard time

about to beset

remember the flowers

they grow in the cold ground

there’s always some beauty

above or below

remember the blue sky

refracted light, hey

a rainbow so perfect

just like your way

remember the beauty

of a truth golden light

something you can’t fight

cos it’ll always be right

you know that I love you

I’ve written it so

I sing so I tell you

what is deep in my heart

9.97

9. Untitled (also yellow Wallpaper series)

things diving from the night sky

trying to scare me

come flittering and fluttering

into my eye

I turn my head quickly

just as quickly they’re gone

I think I just saw it

but, no, I am wrong

I wait and I watch

I stay very still

I’m sure if I’m patient

some day I’ll know

just what it is

that haunts me so

I imagine it’s my

imagination

– but, you never know

13.9.97

10. DSS

the flotsam and jetsam

of our oceanic humanity

washed upon the perspiring shore

of the government’s brow

we wait patiently, in a neat line

the last wave of dole payments

stranding us here

open wounds fester, like

barnacles on a ship’s arse

the mentally dead, defeated

stare as bream caught,

hokk, line, sinker, splashed.

June 96

11.

Jane Austen

‘she wrote to be read’

as my words fall like

dumb marbles onto

the uncaring glass table

so too, do I hope,

dare to, sometimes.

June 96

12. Suicide After Life

when the beauty has leaked from your life

when the tragedy is modern Australian, not

Ancient Greece

when the turbulence of foreign countries

in debt, to monolithic America

or neighbouring banana republics

and there is no end to apparent

arguments and attempted collections

when the coups and armed forces

and junkyard dogs searching for scraps

when the Pinochets, Marcos’ and Maos

of this world, stand in your way

when the mines are all empty, wells dry

and the earth threatens to

rupture from within

when the homeless, the drugless

are craving their need

when the very sky is

tormenting you

when the voices and catcalls

and terrorism of the heart begins

try to stand back, to relieve

yourself of your burden of worry

– and remember we share

the same conceits.

29 Nov 95

13. lovely and fun

and here I sit

twiddling a few thumbs

wonderin’ what comes next

ina land

full of little surprises

the smile, the look passed

the moment transpiring

a little laughter

a trickle, a flow,

a tickle, snort

collapsing with the weight

of you astride

each moment becoming

quite precious

to me, I cannot believe

the events, eventing today

lovely

1.6.96

14.

quiet, like a cat

you stealthily

make your way

creeping softly

ears are back

whiskers flat out

all consciousness in

the twitching nose

with a mind to hunt

is that how you see me?

the cat / hunter?

I thought I was more doggy than that

4.9.97 to Tracy n.

15.

cobweb

caught

struggling

loosening

free

19.11.97

16.

di and dodi

die

together

drunk driver

drives ’em to death

together

di and dodi

too many dis?

creates many deaths

should have been good

and we all looked forward

to new pictures of new love

we paid for those photos

dearly

every magazine bought

in the past

every one you’ll buy in the future

the hands of commerce

pay for fresh pictures of death

2.9.97

17. Quiet Riot

old granny’s gonna rise up

and wave her stick

she wants a fire

an’ she wants it quick

her knees are cold

her blood is thick

old grannies gonna rise up

tired of the complacency

among youth, amongst you

old granny, shake your stick

this is your last chance

to make it big

rise up, rise up

old quiet riot

rise up grannies

strike us to the quick

1.9.97

18. Like Trees

Once upon a time you might have loved me

but as the trees lose their leaves

so you shed me

and now I’m just a ghost gum

whose memory is a faint glow in the light

I don’t believe that you can cry anymore

I think your tears long-ago dried

like the butter that melted in your mouth

and the sweat that dried on my brow

just like the pyramids of Ancient Egypt

we swore we could never forget

but mists of time and shifting sands

conspire to cover and erode those emotions

and like the swaggie who camped by the ‘bong

we swill this drink

and say fare-thee-long

for time has moved

our spaces curved away

and we no longer know each other

for who we were 1995

19. Yellow Wallpaper series #1

echoes of my mind

echoes of a thousand

disparaging voices

in my imagination

I thought it the neighbour

is it my own guilty conscience?

echoing nasty thoughts

thoughts unworthy

where to turn?

not inward

that is already betraying me

oh a human imagination

is a terrible / wonderful thing

allowing / preventing so much

followed by the voice

it sounds like the neighbour’s!

I’d rather have the birds

talking to me,

like Big Pete

– at least they can’t say ‘bitch!’,

– can they Pete?

sep 95

dedicated to Karen N and BP

20.

I think

it’s wrong to say

that racism

has not

come / gone a long

way

this country

I think

there is now

more affection for

rather than

disaffection from.

April 96

pre – Pauline Hanson

21. Yellow Wallpaper series #2

I’m not one of you

I’m one of them

the unspeakable other

the intransigent ones

the unnameable, untrappable

Other.

The Otherness may be baffling

or scintillating

or wearing

either question it or accept it.

Don’t just mull it over

with your unimaginative friends.

I can hear you speak

you can hear me think

do you think this has come

about easily?

it is an artform, taking

patience, time, energy

to the reader:

telepathically we converse

thought transfer via page

my offerings a pale reflection

of what we are capable of.

The mind knows no bounds.

1994

22.

what will come out

will come out

as the truth

arrives

the theatre

opens her curtains

a dawning age

in the field of dreams

5 May 1996

23.

sometimes

it feels impossible

to tell whether

the poem

has endeth

of own accord

– or its’

5 May 1996

24.

on the shrine of envy

lays planted a seed

the seed of greed

grows into a tree

of ficus proportions

(le grand cathedral)

it’s suckers reaching

for you, for me, for us all

chop the tree

dig up the seed

smash the shrine

lay on the bare earth

happy with the dirt

embroiled only in soil

and feel the grass

of happiness grow

from underneath your prostrate form

24.4.96 Tully

25.

manageable nightmare

my legs are leaden weights

in this dream I can’t run

my legs feel made of besser-blocks

as by a Mafiosa-Frankenstein type father

my arms are held by two

strong pulleys, straining

in different directions

my back won’t bend

it is as strong as any mother’s

will to protect her babies

I don’t know what I’m running

from

The force has no name,

is unnameable, except for

‘The Great Unnamed Fear’

it pursues relentlessly, slowly

and ambitiously, but

even with my clodding gait

I am able to keep ahead

24.4.96 Tully, Rigatos

26.

pen/page

the beauty of the page

leaks effortlessly

from one dimension,

sliding into another

the pen knows what she

wants to write

must agree to confide

and join with the intention

the empty letter speaks

of a love lost, ended

embittered in the fragments

of time torn

the wounded song sings

of a tragic beauty

spent and wasted

on useless joys

together the pen and the page

united in story and song

they weep together, sending

laughter as they also must

sep 95

27.

p/p II

and for the first time

in a long time

she is able to free

her mind of binding

shackles that prevent

the freedom from flowing

long ago, in a merry land

the people were easy

knew each other

their foibles, talents

and forgave and worshipped

some of the gods fell

others were erected

still the people moved on

in little lives, in a

time long ago

a time that led

to this point

still a hint of

mediaeval glamour /

squalor in this most

recent age

sep 95

28. time 303

linear time

parallel experiences

coincidences

charms and potions

the notion that

time just skipped a beat

out of time, out of place

out of the blue

and into the black

wild red yonder

misty veil of time

overlaying everything

all things present,

past and future

time, the only thing

certain, until the

end of the universe

29. soft

It’s just a pillow in my mind

cushioning me from all that I expect

to not understand

or to forgive myself or others

it’s not true what they say

it can’t be true

the Ancients never wrote about it

how come they never told me?

how long does this life go on?

the tormented joy

striving to survive in each

of the brethren member’s heart

the softening of the blow

came as a mild satisfaction

that all things in the world

turned at the same time

on the same path

in the same dimensional space

one, two, three four to ten times / ways

and Organism (Gaia) sleeping,

continues peacefully on

sep95

30. The Interest, The Passion, an Index

bursts of activity

flashing through the mind

the CAT scan on my brain

would be going crazy right now!

movement!

colour!

ripples of

hydroelectirc power

across the pretty picture

right hand

brain

vying with left

both finding purchase

and

a comfortable

way

to work together

– this

– is the result

(forgive me, I indulge)

16 Mar 96

31.

a little boy

brave

stands, shakes his head

the tears fall from his eyes

they fall on the bare ground

salt water won’t grow flowers

briars grew there

in the hard stony ground

a boy’s tears

falling unheeded

a sadness reigns

this time for too long

the boy is a man

but he can’t feel his strength

he still only feels his own pain / loss

can’t even feel his mum’s

little sister cries too

they all weep together

it’s not gonna get better

they know the truth

but together they fall down

and are together forever

yellow wallpaper series #

9.97

32.

Blank Book

The Spirit is like a Tree

It can be cut down

and reduced to dust,

or it can be allowed to

grow higher, taller, stronger,

living out its’ longest natural life.

The soul is like a stone.

Your soul is the stone

that is thrown into the

pond to make ripples.

The bigger the soul the

more powerful the ripples.

The body is like a ming vase.

Precious to those that possess it.

A sculpture of finesse.

Yet, it cannot be owned forever,

being forever vulnerable to accident,

one day it is relinquished.

Intelligence is like water.

It flows to least resistance,

it can be evaporated, by a

dry heat.

A dry earth will suck

dry the wet intelligence.

Society is either a dry earth

or a rich ecosystem.

Integrated or arid.

Compassion is like food,

everyone needs it.

Tenderness is like a baby animal.

It cares not who cares for it,

as long as it is cared for.

And ‘the truth’ is man’s best invention,

a bulb shining from the dark

corridors of the unknown.

9.97

33.

The Female Warrior Book

I am so deeply touched

these friends of mine

surprise me in

innumerable ways

they see inside

my visions, my paths

when I think them blind

they understand truths

that I thought were only

revealed to me

I am hugely flattered,

honoured, mortified,

that I should ever

depreciate their efforts

at communication

when I am such a poor

sharer of emotions, myself.

if I were blind, I think

I could tap my emotions

direct into their hands

to speak and thus through

physical contact, convey emotion

if they were the page

that I write on now,

with a poised pen,

they would experience

the pent emotion.

but they are not here,

the gift of honesty, love

they have given me

may not be adequately

conveyed when next I see

Ann, Emma

for emotion dies quickly

is born like an insect

a fig-wasp, male

that mates inside the fig

never to see the outside world

unless emotion is captured

as I’m trying to do here.

so that it is revealed

in essence, spirit, humanity, humility

Dec 25 ’95

34.

I’m getting pissed with my therapist

we drink together

smoke, talk, laugh

I get to talk, at last

she, also, talks

questions

laughs

I’m funny

I’m a funny one

need a therapist

but –

I also, allow her expression

she’s my best friend

‘Maria’ Dec ’95

35.

the mask falls

the warrior steps from behind

her greed has been bent

her potency suppressed

the mask is of goodness

smashed to the ground

pleasing no longer

she wounds others

with the spear of her tongue

inviting a castration

demolition of anguish

study of parody

an end to satire

her shield is her inner vision

behind it she stands erect

mind, body, soul, clear

other warriors hear her call

Dec ’95

36. The First Love That Cut

out of home at sixteen

thought it was true love

brutalised

terrorised

my dreams torn asunder

the female warrior in me

was hurt more

than I realised

took ten/twelve/more years

to get ‘her’ back together

never to be the same

looking backwards/forwards

to the next awful surprise

it’s true, you know

you took a little girl’s future

made her into a woman too soon

and ruptured a potentially

beautiful future

you horrid tutor

who couldn’t wait to

satisfy his hungry prick

even though you had

a de facto wife

and two children

you didn’t care

don’t care

and

I hope you died

back in prison

because

no doubt

you can’t

change your ways

scarred you may have been

but

that’s no reason

to take revenge

on new people

you sold out

and those who deserved

your wrath

got off, scot-free

Dec ’95

37. The Winning

conferred in absentia

I receive my priceless, prized degree

sweated and worried for

when the brain is turning off

the turning away, forced

to turn back, back-track

what was that sentence, paragraph,

page, again?

chapter and bloody verse

oh, I’m not born to traipse

through the tropics, savannahs,

steppes and tundra

gazing about me with a

silent and ecstatic tranquillity

in case I disturb the mosses

growing, or

to only love, study, and concentrate upon

one species of creature

all are beautiful

all are a must

each of our lives are too

short for the individuals to

truly know each other.

My dog doesn’t wear shoes,

how can I step into her feet?

well, I have it now

what I waited so long for

trudged so far for

and beaten my head against the

brick wall of my resistance

in honour of.

is it of use? any of it?

a few poems, born of the tedium

are they stunted offerings

or things born of need, filling

gaps, where one thought

there wasn’t

I strive, I strove

the poems throve?

the degree shriveled

is it useless?

pretty ordinary pass degree

well, next phase

job-seeking time

and I’m about to go

banana picking

perhaps I’ll meet a few interesting bugs

2.96

38. SHIT unplugged

the unstoppered gap of my mind

I want the liquid to flow

not venom,not nicety, but truth

only the truth

must pass from the top

of my head

this weight

pressing in upon me

sits on my vial head

preventing truth from spilling

preventing anything

from emptying

how to rid myself

of this stressful, stressful

shit?

2.96

39. -O-

too many poems, too many stories

I want to write my own good/bad stuff.

Head full of Biol, Zool, Econ, Law

Tryin’ to put it all together

this pen moves too slow

this head is too drunk, too fuzzy,

where’s the pot, that sometimes

allows a vision to sweep through

but, I am lazy. I want the vision.

I want to imagine the Answer(s)

not to put in the hard work,

developing it. Only if it’s fun.

Why, how, do some people

enjoy their work?

Still it is eluding me.

I am dreaming of a day

when it all comes right.

When the idea whose time

has come, is here, and

the Will is stronger than

the Flesh, and Fate smiles.

Impossibility, too, I ask for.

The contingent evaluation

is required.

Nov ’94 ‘the Ann series’

40.

jealousy is a curse

and the only way

I can alleviate it

that tightness of

the chest

to write what

I feel,

and imagine

that I can

speak for a

few others

and

that, all will

come good,

this (wrong)

feeling will

leave, truth

will be mine

but

can I share it?

Nov ’94

41.

Sometimes I say

what I want

sometimes I don’t

sometimes it is

said for me

most times, it’s not

Nov ’94 ‘the Ann series’

42.

one was a success

one wasn’t

one was alive

one wasn’t

one was a heartbreaker

the other one was too

there is no distinction

but some live to mend it

instead of relying on the

passage of passive

and healing time

sometimes the will

is available to create

something that can

actively achieve

the goal

of reunification

rejuvenation

rectification

supplication

simplification

oscillation of a path

that winds its’

meandering way

through all our lives

the death, the cry, the rebirth

Oct 1994

43. Diana

The deep kindness

In his words, his voice

Stopped her, enthroned her

Once again.

Her dignity lowered,

Restored, by a love

That spoke through his tone.

As father to daughter,

As sun to plant,

And water to ocean,

So timeless things

Were said, in a man’s tongue, sweetly

She cried, touched

By a gesture, meant

To convey the loyalty,

Admiration and respect felt.

Truly she had won

The right, to cry.

But it would not be

Deemed right.

So, stiff upper lip,

In a stately British way,

Comes to the rescue

During the light of day.

Nov 1994 ‘a kind word from Phil’

44.

Coming out

As a performance poet

I feel very nervous

Anxious to the quick

The speed, the adrenaline

The natural high

Of revealing oneself

To all and sundry.

One can keep it hidden,

The essential You.

But can one live a life like that?

Surely, it’s a life half-lived.

Yes, this is right.

It is best to say

What one thinks

After one has achieved the

Politically Correct status of ‘Out’.

25.10.94

45. Death

She loves me

She loves me not

She loves me

She loves me not

I’m dying!

Death was never so beautiful

As at this very

Personal moment

None may look in

And see what I see

Or feel, or know

at this moment

I’m all powerful

All seeing

Omnipresent

Omniscient

I am all people

I am Godin this moment

-soon to be the

Un-God

Good luck! Good-bye

I loved you

23.10.94

46.

Every killer wants to be

Known as one

Great Ego!

Ye gods!

Too many myths of

Pain, deception, revenge

The Earth goddess

Is here now

She does not require

Blood and bone

Only those that are due

Her decompositional factor

Is our saviour

She swallows our mistakes

Into the void of time

And into the cycling of her nutrients

All things must be

As they were born to be

Go now and take heed

She sees all

Remembers all

And will receive all

In her very gracious

And voracious manner

23.10.94

47.

Mellow Out my friend

Think about the meaning of life

The joy of life

The absurdity, the strange

Quirky feeling

Of being alive, involved

In something very big

Our Universe

Cogs we are

(but what cogs)

Threshing machines

of nature

If nature had known

What She was doing

She would never have

Allowed us off

The production line

The prototypes would

Have been discarded

At the first sign

Of trouble

Of psychopathic tendencies

of psychotic lust

For problematic lifestyles.

Murder! Is not the problem

Or the Solution

It is but a way of life

For some people

Drastic action may

Be Taken!

Watch your step

Your back

Your armpits

If they start to sweat

Your hair, your nape

Prickles

Run!

Don’t be afraid to fear

To feel the adrenaline

that portrays

Your liveness

Be careful!

Somebody wants you,

To take you

Far! From here

They want you

From the scene

So that they may have

Your spotlight

Extra electric glare,

They want it

Not until they are caught

Can they bask adequately

So remember this!

Oct 1994

48.

Fear not for our souls

Lest we be frightened

By your fear

Have faith in your children

For we shall be

The leaders

Our time will come

When we stand tall

And demand

Or ask politely

For what is Ours

The Future,

Our environment

Our Territory

Our creation

Our Birthright

Our destiny

Oct ‘94

49.

Fate meets all people alike

She waits to meet you

She likes you, she wants you

To come to her, to be her friend

She loves us all

She wants the best for us

We must heed her call

And allow Her to grant our deepest wishes

Oct ‘94

50.

The man became mired and so, how do we punish God?

Man is most easily punished. Do we

Consciously set Devils loose? So that

We may witness the struggle? God’s

Will may be broken! We cry crookedly

Momentarily we cheer for the

Wrong side. Yet each must come back

Because in that moment of death,

Some have us believe, maybe before,

We are re-united with God. Going

Back whence we came, we comment

Upon how familiar this seems. Not

Exactly de je vu, but similar. As the

Fight becomes less fight and more

Surrender, as green fields turn

The colour of old rust, so the sky

Sinks a little lower and the poets of

Way can but sigh and beat their

Breasts. Words will make the difference

Quick find some! Somebody make a

Speech. Speak up! How are we going

To manage this? We all have our

Words, yet in What Order can we

Add our words so that we may formulate

Our criteria for Wisdom of the Ages?

Oct ‘94

eFfeCT

My First Blog Post

Mystical Meaningless Poetry

O.K.

Introduce Yourself (Example Post)