1.
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
2.
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
3.
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
4.
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
5.
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
6.
like broken thoughts
the heart tears away
from the inside
pulling free of
restraining walls
of muscle
and ambivalence
and treachery
Sep95
7.
this poem
wrote itself
that’s why it’s so short
Sep95
8.
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
in
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.
so
jealousy is a curse
and the only way
I can alleviate it
that tightness of
the chest
is
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 