Month: March 2017

The lake like dark wine unfurled, bent in the light, rose as waves in the sea,   broke on the pebbled beach. I may as well   not be here: I might be mad, but feel   the water rising up the sand would be/is;   even if I never was there, by the wave-tormented…

to my old piano teacher     to Mrs. Wells remembered this afternoon along that road the paddocks where you grazed your horses, your pug dogs snuffling clustered at the door, your riding crop and helmet, the house redolent with sun and a dark piano were all no more than that nothing history of real estate…

Booze is great – it drops us in the shit our fathers made – in the field, hard-up against the bark of a tree.   Dec ’16

So, home and the rest of the afternoon i don’t remember. The sun had shone in the rain on the walk home and later, rain. The clouds at sun-down made way for stars and i thought of a house we found in the wilds, miles from the mess down to my trembling hand.

there’s a golden globe that bounces in Gisborne laps up  surf     langours in sand trees shift their branches wafting in greeting not to be missed     paint pallets no justice define not the still of a sunset epiphany risking its will we bow in deep envy praise mighty relief pleasure intensifies natures…

  ‘m   If time measured love instead of hours hearts would not cease Sun would not set  embraces       Moon would light belief     the clock could not tick its seconds Childs play nor cease or chase old couples smiling presence young lovers deep intense   the garden grows unfettered by chiming…

I can see into your eyes of blue Like a drifting sea surrounded by clouds I look deep inside My big blue eyes gaze longingly within you trying to gauge you Are you real enough for me? Are you tough enough? Are you rough enough? Do you truly get me? I’m a wild child drifting…

You inspire the flower to loose distended crown. Is that you, my orphan, dressed in the aperture of my dread?   I must illustrate the angle of your head, unbent; the limber leg, compliant; engage myself – our hues   indivisible; and in some better way, enunciate the tenor of dew.   *note that “loose”…

I couldn’t do it, Not at that pub. All those clever bastards Spilling wine (into their throats). Fancy standing up To read – I’ve seen the pictures: All black jeans And pained looks, Unruly hair and rolling eyes. And there’s me Drinking days done Gasping for ale, Anything – It’s too late now The stars…

‘shame to stop 2 steps short of hell’s exit ( – Alighieri, Dante);   hard to turn; go on; to lie, hear the pulse between my ears..burn;   apt (is it), bad luck or.. – what a shit of a trip i could drop but for   (i confess) my irrational belief in..discipline which is…

Well, she said, it’s been a while. As it had; 40 years or more. She was young and wanted a lift. Oh, you must remember – The road to Canberra Autumn frost’s silver sheet and blackened trees Peripheral place names and Kris Kristofferson’s Sunday Morning Coming Down; And us, going up and coming down; Thoughtless…