POETRY

​THE HAIRY VIOLINIST
This one has a special air.
He looks familiar, I have seen him somewhere
His movements have an animated sway 
Dresses in tails but the frayed cuffs, give him away

Quite at home, pouring his soul into the gutter
This part genius, this part nutter
The hairy violinist on his wooden box,
This musical dichotomy, this…paradox.

The air fills with Verdi, Ravel, clanging and toots
Even on this chilly morning, his notes penetrate the suits.
For they stop and stare throwing coins into his case.
Why is he not in the Hall?
This maestro with his pavement base/.

But he continues to play without a care
He does look familiar, I have seen him somewhere

TUESDAY
Ommmmmm...
Peace ….calm
It must be Tuesday.

My head unfolds into yoga mode
Limbs twist and contort in weird positions
Momentary calm.
Then they come
Thoughts and objects hurl through my brain
Like the stuff in a hurricane
Let them go
Let them go/
Eyebrow centre…candle flame
More objects, more thoughts.
Rust in the car, finish the painting, kids, plant shrubs.

Ommmmmmmmmm…

The head empties
Eyebrow centre …candle flame
Another thought stumbles past
Tonight’s meal, don’t drink too much.
De-clutter life.

Eyebrow centre
Ommmmmm….
Candle flame
Eyebrow centre
De-clutter
Peace, calm

Ahh Tuesday
Ommmmmmm…

THE SEVERING OF THE CORD
I have been thinking again, 
Won't it ever cease?
I’ll be on the slab 
Before I find peace/

I am wondering about the severing of the cord,
If it was all an illusion?
A sleight of hand by the Lord,
Just to add to the confusion.

It hasn’t been through the lack of trying,
but I just get into strife.
They will have to be dead or dying,
 before I get a life.



LEGO BLOCK DREAMS
I search deep into the black hole with scrutiny
What reasons for this…. Mutiny?

My things …….being torn apart at the seams/

For there goes the Car, the babes and
the Lego Block Dreams.



KILL ALL THE ANIMALS IN THE ZOO
Why is it so hard to find the solution?
We defecate in our own back yard 
adding to the pollution.

God made it perfect 
with his own hand
yet we now ruin 
the air, the sea and the land.

Where do you draw the line against the kill?
When you say, ‘save the whale’
Well, what about the krill?

To you what brings on the emotion?
Aren’t they all the same?
those things in the ocean

All creatures great and small
in Gods eyes, they’re all tame 
the short and the tall.

We now eat crocodiles, emus and kangaroo/
Why not just get on with it and 
Kill all the animals in the Zoo/



THAT IS THE LAST FISH YOU WILL GET OUT OF ME/
I refuse to pander to their vanities any more.
Not a fish, nor a lemon, a mountain or a shore.
I cant prostitute my brain or brush any longer.
As I whip the body the urge gets stronger.
forget everything, risk the fate
and finally then and only then can I truly create?

Poetry 8 .


MY SON MY SON
‘How do I look Dad’?
I look up from the paper.
Oh my God he is wearing a frock again/
What do I tell him?

He should have grown out of it by now
after all, he is twenty.
Where is that Maurice Balsam book
on child rearing?
Probably at his mothers
Yeah, it’s all her fault,
pampering him too much
and those bloody ballet lessons
Having two older sisters didn’t help,
perhaps I should have had him first.
Was he like this before 
we split up?
I mean I am a good role model,
I’ve got to be 
I am his Father after all.
Should I have kicked the footy with him
more often?
Hmmm I hate footy/

I look up again
He does look gorgeous
“son I think the little red
off the shoulder number
 would look far better with those
 heels’./
Poetry 6

ANGELS BREATH

Oh love, oh love of Angels breath
You have come to me again in the middle 
of this terrible night.
Just when I thought I would never need you again.

Oh love, nibble on my lobes
lap my nape.
tongue my toes

I feel the blood rush
my knees go weak
but ahh/
Wasted again/ 
Wasted again/

Love oh love of Angels breath
this time
 you were nearly real

When will you be real 
When will you be real/


APHRODITE ...THE TENDER TRAP.
I call on you Aphrodite
Goddess of love and beauty
Come tend my needs 
Fulfil your duty.

You were born on the white sea foam
You rode the waves on a shell
can't you see how I am all alone,
deliver me from this Hell
I like you have had many loves 
I know I have tried.
Yet you seem to rekindle the spark 
When mine has died.

But you loved again and again
You spread your wings, 
Show me how…… Aphrodite
Teach me things.

You could cool my heat
 and blow me gently to shore.
You could release me from these wants 
and not need love any more

But it is all too late 
I’m destined to this fate

So Aphrodite ravish me
With your gorgeous white flesh.
Engulf me…
entangle me in your mesh

Come straddle me….cover my face
and let me drink 
from your, special place.
That crack
where Adonis and Ares Fell.
Intoxicated by your juices, 
I too 
Will drown in that well/


WAR, HEAVEN, HELL AND A CUP OF TEA

WAR WAR WAR WARRRRRRR/
War, you Whore /
You Freaking Whore/
You rape and maim/
You mutilate/
And then some more.

God turns his back for a while
and You devour every living thing
The flower, the air, the breath/………the breath///

What Hell for these walking dead.
Surely there must be another Hell
For those…
Warmongering, profiteering
Bomb-making sons of bitches/

Do they have Mothers?
Do they conceive...or are they the devil incarnate?

God remembers again.
And everything is alright for a while……. until the next cycle
There must be something.
Heaven?..... Hmm/
Those poor poor suffering bastards.

Its all a bit much really so
I turn the television off
And make a cup of tea.


THE LONE SAILOR
Just when I think I have reached port,
the wind fills my sails.
Together with the current and tide
they pull at my vessel
in opposing directions.
I wade through this cerebral,
a cornucopia of contradictions.
They come in floods, inundating my brain.

Do I pull down the Sails and go with the current? 
Or tack off into safe water and never, ever know. 



BEYOND THE VILLAGE AND UNDER THE SEA.
I know a better place for me
it's beyond the village 
and under the sea

to get rid of all that stuff 
in my head
all that stuff
I really dread

 rid the Catholic Guilt
and other accumulated silt
I shall go with dreams 
and scoff what sanity deems

so bury me deep
and bury me free
beyond the village 
and under the sea

the answer to 
all my wishes
to swim alone
with the fishes

THE BIG PICTURE
At last the big picture is getting clearer
The bridges of my mind have been crossed
The barricades fall with a breath 
and now
the slab does not look so cold
For death is no longer the enemy
I embrace it

No more procrastination
Forget the destination
and on with the journey.
Now is not the time to reflect
Now is the time to live/
(repeat twice daily until the swelling goes away)

 ALONE IN HER ROOM AND THE MAN IN THE MOON

SNIP SNAP…YOU CAN'T HAVE IT BACK
SNIP SNAP…YOU GAVE IT ALL AWAY AND YOU CAN’T HAVE IT BACK/
Now you are alone in your room with the man in the moon/

The cat nervously eyes the nearly empty bottle. 
Conditioned to the ritual about to take place and knowing full well the warmth of his mistress’s Doona will soon be over.

In due course, the profanities begin.

She targets objects in the room. Anything from the eclectic decoupage of memories bluetacked or pinned to the wall, furniture, paintings anything…anything to vex or venom on.

She staggers to the end of the bed, knocking some of the accumulated flotsam to the floor. She takes a swipe, with her forearm at the mirror… some filth clears, enough to see just part of her image. She stares awhile at the battered woman in the glass, then to the girl in the photo on the wall…..then back again.

The cat’s head moves back and forth with hers.
 Her arms move up and down as if to fly.
 Her head weaves from side to side.
 Her sobs come in great gulps.
 She resembles something like “the dying Swan” only way more pathetic.
Then the Voices begin.

Snip-snap
“Shut up” she screams.
Snip Snap…you can't have it back
“Stop it” she spits.
She holds both hands to her ears but the voices continue.

Snip Snap...you can’t have it back.
Snip Snap…you gave it all away and you can't have it back
Now you are alone in your room with the man in the moon.

She senses the cat is laughing at her. She hurls the now empty bottle. Marmaduke, whose eyes have not left her, does not have to leave the chair, her shot is wide and the window breaks.
He decides to seek refuge under the bed anyway, happy in the clutter.

The clouds clear and the room, now moonlit, takes on a very surreal mood…each object highlighted by the moon glow.

She lies back in her bed and pulls the doona high up around her neck.

The voices have now stopped.

She turns to her man….her Man in The Moon.

She murmurs…

“I will get it back/
I will get it back”

 THE FAT CATS GRIN
Pay packets strew the gaudy carpet like confetti /
Lemons, Kings and Crowns,
spin before their mesmerizing eyes.
The Fat cats grin.

What sad, sad silly fools,
that pollute their own beds and poison their Children.

and the Cats get Fatter.

Where is the new Christ 
to throw “ The money lenders from the temple?"
Forgive them for they know not what they do?”
Some do/

And the cats gorge their prey/