Some Old Poetry
Browsing the archives of my old writing and poetry, through hard drives kept for decades, reveries that last.
8th October 2008
Turn up the gamma and monitor
my usages of how
I’m choosing to traipse
with a stammer, no clout
Burn what you earn
By staying devout
Losing and lapse
A hammer on synapse.
Steering with a stern
plan of care and cleverly discerned.
What’s then to fear
10th Feburary 2008
Tower of Headaches
staring at the penthouse
causing a kink in your neck.
Pop, your spine comes loose
And the enormous penthouse
started to shudder and shake,
juddered loose, plummeting close,
Smashing into the city leaving a fire to douse.
Making the headache now a wreck.
Threadbare & footloose
I am travelling around Australia without much of a care.
You look for an answer but the
eyes have no answer, vicissitude
What are the questions when you scrutinize and stare?
Is any meaning there?
Is this the case for anywhere?
What do you deduce?
"Being A Student"
There was not a scoff, a jeer or any act thought
as old Man Scraffer was led out the auditorium.
The lecture hall fell silent, the drone continued,
Scraffer the Complainer was subdued.
Then in the mind of a select, more derisive few
simmered an indignant anger
that boiled into a stew
until they did what all good men do
and approach the faculty
and scoff and jeer
but this time it’s sincere
Graven smiles and an imposing style
You politically driven realist, you
Praising views while others go blind.
Or were they blind already?
Is it better to go that extra mile, when you are running away, steady?
Their lies are embedding your mind
with lies trapping left, right and beside.
Molten introductions of conspicuous explanation...
In the end if was only the deaf that were ready.
Move & Love
And when I journeyed across interstate to be
with more than just a mate.
From the window seat in the plane I saw
insanity or fate?
Yet again, I couldn’t know
but I’d love to find out
side I’m honestly gregarious
but inside I’m against the tide.
On the shore of decision
will my choice make me poor?
Will it settle the final score?
I’m not sure.
I don’t have the mettle to test what’s in store
for me as I look outside the window
I’m gonna discover
and end this stupid show
Realise that you could be my lover
when all the time I was pretending
that I never know
And when we declared our relationship on facebook,
the inner most sensibilities of our world shook.
I love you,
and these three words is all it took
to cement the rose-tint upon all things we look.
My world shakes
Our world shook
Three words is all it takes
To write the most beautiful book.
Older Colder, Care Less
As we get older we care about less and less
We live our lives by creating a mess.
There’s stress to give
And the cold we bless
as we suffer and strive
to stay just a little more than alive.
”This place is more than alive”, he whispered.
No intoxicating allure with the fact
Would you rather have friends that accommodate for your weakness or friends that try to make you exhibit strengths that you think you don’t have?
Would you roll the dice and test your luck
Or would you smash the bell and test your strength?
Enough about friends,
What about enemies?
Would you rather those you can see around
And attempt to flee?
Or the one who lies inside
Or the one that is me?
Lying is making friends and enemies
The truth is attempting equanimity
Being the rock
Withstanding thousands of years of erosion
Maintaining your composure
Through any human relation.
The nation you are on a line across
The train that has limited stops
No time for friends or enemies on this schedule
Packed to the brim with fantasies
No time to think of who to please.
How do you stare at the computer screen?
How do you sit when staring?
What clothes do you wear and how are you faring,
if you are hiding and don’t want to be seen.
I can’t tell how you have been.
So tell me all, and no this isn’t me caring.
The reason I thought of this,
is because I thought about how I sat
when I started typing out these
reasons and left any sense behind.
The reason is lost
Because no thought
Imagination is possible
trying to see whats behind the screen.
16th January 2012
An eternal solitude upon shores
breaking harsh on pristine bleached sands
Sun and salt
Debt and stores.
O where art thou? Bloody vapid hearted minstrel?
That sang to me across the wide wide berth
of the River empty and desolate which we built a life around.
The river alluded to in many songs sung by previous minstrels
who probably created this river out of imagined memories
carved into song
and breathed some soul.
Dis 'ere dair is the river
Dis here there is our mark
This here everywhere is our dissatisfaction
Hidden by the walls so stark and blank.
Masturbate but never wank.
Who is this cunt that started this shitty crap?
There's no graffiti presence around
There's no colour or interest or if there is, it's puzzling or abhorrent or good.
Sometimes good, like that zig zaggy sculpture on the corner of James and Roe St in Northbridge
thats b&w and links an arc between the centre of the traffic
roundabout and the sidewalk.
Can someone please tell me what else is good?
28th July 2012
How can you fall in love when you've never even met
You like to roll the dice and place a risky bet
that while your waiting for the stranger
sipping cold bitter beer as you watch the sunset
over a landscape devoid of regret
At what point will paranois become justified?
Don't worry about the evidence, evidence doesn't exist. It's all just a matter of definition.
When will paranoia become defined; is it when the dark shapes that menacing and brooding creep from around
the edges of peripheral vision and cloud sight?
How before all sight is clouded?
How long before all voices are of fright or derision?
All this is beside the point. This toilet seat is cold and I simply can't make the decision to simply
tear away, or is that just not right? Too dis-simple.
Better not mention my feet which are cold also. Moreso freezing than tearing away from pleasing. Start
the ingition, press the button to flush.
When’s your next weekend away from the ships?
The promise to stop the play
To replace that with a prolonging stay
When’s the friend to offer their lips?
Who is it with the pensive stare?
Making a face to ward off doubts.
In the falls we clamber and call
wildest of animals most restrained of children
shipping self on to the train.
Travelling as a third wheel
besides myself and besotten.
Slipping off the shelf
losing footing on a cliff.
A ah ahm.
A an ohm.
let go of your logo.
forget what that you know.
sponsorships for causes untoward.
for redemption from Our Lord.
Redemption from his vengeful wrath
angry, as no donation is made to the sponsor.
Our superlative math
The obvious fact we’re
The important goal of wealth
Implies an unimportant role of stealth and
It’s a pitiful movie I stole for your
We walk and we talk
and believe what we believe
I stand with us in unison
dreaming of a distant future
in a present we’ll never leave.
I gawk at the lights
and marvel at the sight
I am slack-jawed
not from fright
but from wiping the skein of illusion
off our plight.
What a marvel,
What a fantastic delight.
To afford a chance
against the darkest of night
to make a difference
you looking like me
or of me moving to your dance.
I’m not moving to your defense.
I don’t give up the fight,
staggering and asway
despite being bloodied and dizzy
I remain unbowed
and switch my footing, My stance
”Our deepest desires we doth slay
when we pray
thus becoming spiritually endowed”
You came into my country on a fucking banana boat
preying on innocence and youth
instead of creating a faith
Who is acting in truth?
Who is lying?
Who is healing the poor, sick and dying?
My belief whispers away, an apparition, waif
My desire conspires to be a simple naïf
I’m leaving you here to kneel by the beach side
Your banana boat is leaving along with our life.
I’ve never met a person of the likes of you. I didn’t want to leave your side, or to see you walk away from me. I neglected to touch you and hold you (perhaps I had no idea that the opportunity to do was limited and took your continual presence for my touch as granted). You were just as human as me, fragile. Frighteningly so.
That is what was so scary, that anything I desired would be enacted upon and reciprocated.
You did cut through the emotionless morass, the desolation of desire and made the mirage become an oasis. But instead of staying in the shade by the sparkling water close by your side, I walked off, aggravated by the scorching heat (the refusal of desire) with the sureity that this is the way I will always be. Not even a mirage in this desert.
And now, now I am further away than I was previously from you. And now I realize that I probably wont ever feel the same longing again for you: I long for the same connection and touch but do not seek it out. Would it come to me? The patient one doth misses opportunity; the reticent one doth miss the initial chance to speak forth. The impulse is lost forever by the former. The patient and reticent one is one, alone.
I could have given more and said more and moved closer. But I was scared: now I’m not. The longing and my age (or rather, the age of the longing) is giving me courage to face what I desire and to seek it out. You knew what I desired yet I was too weak to be inviting or reaffirming.
I am not imperiled by these facts now. A little saddened at what was lost, that is all. Will I find something with equal opportunity to cut me? To make me desire? Will I find someone?
The time spent apart is spent thinking of time spent together.
I need to remedy this…
The fact that I see people weekly that remind me of you is enough to compel me to seek out another significant other.
Hold my hand, on a park bench. Lean close for a kiss. Look me in the eyes and see them glossy and sparkling with your reflection. I tousle your hair playfully. That is all. That was all.
After writing all this, I still doubt it. Doubt the truth.
There is a side to me that wants nothing.
And I need this side
my vision is to be the last man left standing
Our vision is to be the greatest and largest best affirmer of non sequiturs.
Your vision is to be something else.
What's on the line,
what's on the line?
I did you harm, panicked and flew, last thing i was left to do. Last place with a chance to hullabaloo.
Risky risky, just hold back and don't get too frisky or something large and imperceptible and demonic will be coming to cut you down to size.
Don't make it too long,
don't make it too short.
I take solace in myself, stride out to slip into shadows later on.
To earn my place in dark places
To hide my face from other faces.
When i'm out and about,
i'm just going through the paces.
I'm just going through this
to get back into gone.
Give and the giver is gone with out a trace.
That is this mysterious giver's wealth.
To slip in and out of environments with stealth,
to move through brazenly
to slip right through
to slip right into the flow
of doing what ya gotta'
to gain speed.
to go faster.
I don't even know what you do.
so i'm telling you now what's going on
I'm going man, i'm going
fucking crazy shit yo,
go faster go faster go faster go faster.
Run right past
run right through what you know
do you know what i do?
I tend to unsettle
to test your mettle
becoz ya gotta understand
that there’s so much
chaff and bland
in each grain of sand.
And as such a length is this beach
I reach out a hand
once I sort the best from the rest
so together we teach
a lesson in something that neither planned.
Here is a stream
It runs different colours. Does it run different consistencies? Only when its hard to breathe, when the walls of the bank (the chamber of the lung) start to close it. A layer of alluvion is settling and making a narrower passage. The stream contains my thoughts.
There is not love here. There is not thinking of that much. Doesn’t need to be, because other things remain supercilious. Rough. Keep it real.
There is no need for not love here. Yet there it is, there it will be. I wont it be. Stop talking about me. Stop taking it to me. I do live in my own little world. Is that why I leave and recede? I am seeking esoteric insanity it seems. Draw draw draw. Paint paint paint.
sing sing sing
Dance dance dance.
I want to dance forever and ever because I love it so much.
Keep it flowing, keep on burning those feet. Jumping around, hotter than coals wherever you step. Hopping mad, are you. Hoping.
The river is gone. A road runs over it, hardly ever different colour, and designed to conform to a single consistency. MMMmmmmmmMMMMMM. VRRRROOOOOOOMMM. A figure is loping in the middle of this stream, so unawares it may seem of the constant stream of blinking and flashing,
so far away.
Miraculously the figure isn’t run over ever. Even in this figurative world you are invincible, people can remember what is left over. Take it home in a doggy bag, whatevver. Just enjoy it. Just do
Think of when life was simpler and more enjoyable. It’s hard not to think back to these times, now it isn’t all that bad. But then. Then you always miss something when its gone, when you didn’t know it’s value at the time. But then your breath hangs on the eclipse of that memory over something that reminds you. And when you are reminded the river runs narrower until you can’t dance no more
shitty writing is shitty
In moments of visceral rage, barely restrained fury
seek solace from the finest of fluid beats
to keep you cool and clear.
I'm trying to word it in my mind how I can sound
sure of myself yet not a cunt.
It's not working out too well mentally
so let's give it a shot on paper anyway.
Don't mind others and their fallacies,
their misgivings and insults.
They are perceived insults so don't perceive them.
You are still young, free and alive
so that is the advantage
Willing to change
and open to ideas and truth
You will outlast the others
who live so earnestly beyond their means.
Who take it in turns to try crushing your bones
Who will whisper those sweet nothings over your corpse
that are whispered ad verbatim from television
then broadcast as live death on the internet.
Never mind the death, the perceived deaths
you are still alive.
And by virtue of freedom,
the land is stalked
cases of wanderlust
consumed and enacted.
New ways walked.
and new thoughts made.
leaks out your heart
a hole in your body
And a whole everybody
without the capitalization,
it’s no trademark.
I’m using it colloquially.
All fucken mixed up inside.
Like oil and water and slag in a cement mixer, turning over and over getting messier but not gelling. No cohesion
There's no imitation quite like a pale imitation.
Try to take turns telling truths. Can't think of any so say nothing instead.
Just want to lie with you.
I'm not the sanguine.
Colour drained of saccahrine.
What are you afraid of? More than blowing through the streets, walking fast and on-your-way in white cross trainers and reflective sports sunglasses. Who knows you cares not for you, you think to yourself. Paranoid motherfucker.
There are many crimes within a dense urbanized environment such as this one. There are many other actions also, and personalities which more often than not tend to dissolve the unpalatable pleasantries or the unfatal crimes as the case may be.
Jump up to the beat, don’t worry about pollution or the shit seen/heard on the periphery.
Sphinx. The giver of riddlers, and if you lose you die. You die by being killed.
Lose this jinx
Singin old song that make me think where I’m from.
That’s why I seem so far away today.
Lost the friends I needed losing
And found other that needed replacing along the way.
Lewkin’ 4 jobs. Coz ya need to steal a buck
Honesty is the best robbery. Don’t forget that I died for your constabulary.
Your dis syncopation.
Your trials and tribulations
Buy a fucking badge.
Who could handle this milieu of anachronistic hegemony 8-4-08
Who could handle this milieu of anachronistic hegemony?
Personality unencumbered by popular opinion.
Consensus is to be reached amongst your clique.
All now perspectives, numbered, ordered
and sorted for ease of paraphrasing
when we speak.
Thought-processes congealing, on the surface they are.
Tap pointed-toe boot on a polished floor of teak.
Silence drips like molasses from the ceiling.
Reams of marble, storey-length mirrors,
Hushed atmosphere and rushed menace.
This menacing dream is such a marvel.
“You’re selling mahogany?
“I don’t want any.
I got what’s best so please no more this nonsense you speak.
Driving off in an ad for a car.
words 27th April 2008
Hit me colloquially
Hit me with your aneurysm hit me.
Hit me with your stick.
Separating to contemplate
and squirm singularly as we wait.
Fervour is increased: into art, into what we write.
Wipe my floor clean,
Spill me onto you.
It’s too late to wipe it off, cut it out. Give me an squeegee.
Ad is myspace.
I saw you saw you looking.