common ground

do you like the way the fronds come alive

when the light falls and the wind stirs?

how they wave –

 

worm tails, white

your eye stilled

in the darkness of my room.

 

huh, it rained all day and the sun shines

5 minutes before sun-down, but.

 

the first stars,

 

sky

laundry

I drink wine. Think,

This is my blood.

 

It’s good. Put

down the glass close

shop satisfied I’m

insubstantial.

 

More god

than man. I was at

 

the laundromat lost

in the hum of

tumbling colours.

I was

 

nothing. Drove home

more god than man.

her loneliness

it’s lonely, i’ll tell it,

it’s lonely there & you’re too sore

to think.

 

II

i’ll describe the crooked lamp

shade later, the tears

of paper, cracks, chipped

dinner plates, years of

slog for,

this?

& that on good days

you figure it doesn’t

much matter

 

in the long run;

the black stain

where a picture

hung, its gilded

frame long

gone now bones

 

crushed.

 

night animals

Me & the cat saw a possum scamper up the plum tree

by our letter box. We raised our gaze in the quarter light

& spied it on a high branch, a silhouette against the smoked

dusk sky.

 

& last night, as we shared a smoke, the cat & I,

on the veranda, we heard a cry that turned our ears,

& a moment later saw an owl spread against the sky.

Reinga

REINGA

 

Brave light in a foul wind

Squinting in the mist, signposts everywhere

Voices of the land, sea and sky

Echo in the birds cry.

 

Some deep and ancient but not for me.

Some violent ugly and black – attack.

Some of a strange peace from a foreign land.

All from Reinga – the underworld.

 

I am alone but waiting with hope.

So much man driven selfish greed and pride

Promises of better times, but never by my side.

When will you come, great Io of the spring?

 

I wait for clouds to roll away…

There is more than life to live.

There is more in my heart to give

Of great worth – Immeasurable in all of us.

Beyond the realm of fools…

In the quiet place of morning light.

Alone but not alone at last.

 

For Sarah from her Dad.         8.8.14

inferno 2

The sign nailed to the front gate says

Welcome, all those who enter.

 

The ante-chamber’s lit by the pale eyes

of dead souls with no way out or

in: attendants with nothing to give

but themselves, which is nothing.

 

The library shelves the most extensive collection

of old scholars who trudge

the circular road of academia.

Their lungs are wracked with God knows

& thru the tight hole that exits the throat,

they discourse. For no reason.

 

The lounge is stuffed with men stuck

in armchairs; whole families

& televisions set on blasted adverts

& melodramas which are like

& nothing like their lives.

 

The kitchens are hot

with bad-tempered cocks,

domestics. There is no rest.

 

The stairs are crammed with guests

with no-one to talk to

& nothing to say. They came

& never left.

 

In the back room

lovers consider ultimate solitude

& boredom.

 

In the bedrooms lie a multitude

of couples who say nothing but know

it’s over.

 

Thru the bathroom windows

you can see the silhouettes

of lonesome men washing their hands

in the cold porcelain; feel

the blunt steel of razor blade.

 

In the garden at the back,

in the sheds, are high beams

lined for miles with necks

at the end of ropes

about to break, caught

in that moment.

 

& children

wandering the halls

don’t understand the silence.

dead man stuff

I wear yr shoes work

boots you left good

as new & yr coat

I hung on the line

 

shook yr drawers for pills

loose change gold

fillings rings

tender notes

 

frm yr son Dad

not the best but mine

& a photo of him

I laid aside

 

for now nicotine

gum because

cigarettes is

so expensive

 

fucking government

tools to match

boots & junk

which I can sell

 

I feel like

such a cunt

but shake it off

in the morning slog

 

I let the kids

have the ps

but will give it back

because I’m decent enough

 

if your folks ever come

birthday cake

who will sing for us

hear us

in love

with ourselves

 

only

no-one cares

if we live

if we die that’s

 

different

friends we never had

speak for us

say such

 

& such

which is worse

than nothing

but I didn’t

 

want to talk about that

tonight I

want us

to think about

 

isolation

 

is it good

 

15/07/17

germinal

I’m here for the burst of rains that score trails across

the silences, ‘til my bowels give out or some more

spiritual need intercedes, flowering my insides: heels

on the street, the memory of her skin; any minute

 

I expect a vision pressed against the glass, looking in.

I’m in the mood to conjure up, everything; cracks

against the sky, lightning strikes; strive to understand,

like the first man to rise from the protozoan slime.

 

All things can tempt me from my bliss – colours, for instance;

the spectred trees, hands to the sky, on the other side

of the rainbow; temporal worlds, apparitions like stone

peripherals, half real; love, politics…Anything

 

goes

silence

There’s some time when there’s birds,

insects. Weather. Then, flies.

Nothing more. This

is the end. Germs & such,

scum.

 

Although just now a car went past,

I hear nothing but the micropods

cruising the silence, cracks in the

pavement, blades of. Past this,

I can’t go.

You Are Not My Entire Audience

That music is turning my brain to mincemeat,
That Japanese chick screaming those lyrics,
“Bee bop around you”
Too much longer I can’t handle,
Vomit from the eyeballs at her sound,
It was going cool until she took the stage,
She’s lost the concept,
She was there once but not tonight,
She’s lost the moon whilst counting the stars,