28/02/2019

A gumnut branch still full of life rests on a broken tree
A plastic bottle shines.
Bones of ancients rest like the shoulders of our giants.
A red roo the size of you stares me down the path.
He watches for a moment, jumps away, 
Thankful he let me pass.
Shadows of skeletons rest on the sundried stump showing the suns strength.
The blackened patterns on for the show,
Stretch and shrink in length. 
A pink seatless bicycle with shiny white tyres.
No grips on the handlebars except two zip-ties. 
A dragonfly swiftly passes by.
A barrier splitting the difference of here and there.
If that roo could speak English 
He would probably still stare.

Black strips of plastic lace this tyred road.
Red dirt turned to grey dust with the use of apathy weight and speed.

Sharing my log with bits of broken glass.
It’s spread all over like leaves.

Barbwire, 6 inches from my shin, I didn’t notice.
Camouflaged in the midst of white/grey sticks and brown and yellow refuse.

A sound shatters over the bush for a minute.
Pervading me with a small sense of terror.
The plane doesn’t realise how incredible it sounds out here.

I sit by the fig tree which shares its spot with two lime trees,
a log,
a cushion,
a rubber blackened cement slab about the width and length of a decent shed that really looks like another trademark of failed plans),
the rusted out & graffitied on ute tray full of bushes
and a beautiful pair of rocks with someone’s name all over them…
They still shine with natures radiance.
I don’t know what you would call them,
a hybrid.

It wouldn’t be a stretch to call this someones home.

Lush and vibrant, amazing colours invade my eyes.
Even with new items showing up every day.

The trees stand with their family, survivors, lucky that they weren’t in the way.

Inanimate objects of the bushes colour seem to fit in just as much.
An empty beer bottle’s red brown holing onto it’s spot.
it’s a survivor because it’s not smashed.
A rusted barrel on it’s side, holding onto a little bit of white paint as if it still had a purpose… as if it wasn’t dented irreparably.
The broken down fencing surrounding it, reminding nature that human’s make borders and none of it is safe.
A gas bottle standing ominously in a patch with it’s red warning signal and knowing full well it doesn’t fit in but wishing the contents were free or back where they came from.

Rope & wire & plastic & birds squawking, whistling, flying away from this new ecosystem created by speed weight and apathy.
The wire ends so abruptly as if it never has a purpose.
The rope is dropped carelessly in a pile.
The plastic is strewn all over the brown and grey bush shocking me like a hammer beaten thumb.
BRIGHT PINK, red, orange, green, black & soon an ode to us when we’re all gone.

But this wire was cut so abruptly.
As if it never had a purpose.

The walk continues as nature always has more to give.
Someone is shattering rocks with their massive machine

CRACRCKCRACRCKCRACRCKCRACRCKCRACKCRACKCRACKCRACRKAK
It goes on all day because nature had more to give and nature couldn’t say no.

Do not trespass signs encroach this land.

Piles of rubbish are a disgrace.
Empty CD cases, lawnmowers, broken down pajero with its parts all over the place, car seats, head rest.
I mean, It’s all here baby!
Let’s start a new society with the rubbish in the woods!
It’s gotta have more substance than the lot we got now.
We  can live off the figs in that decrepit clearing
Sleep on that slab of concrete as long as we fight off those pesky spinning tyres.
There’s a creek that’s not definitely dried up, or at least a dam somewhere and I’m sure they can give us a damn for once in their lives.
It’ll be the last damn they can give us.
Because we’re never gonna give a damn again.
And then we can all have our own damn and none of us have to give it out to anyone else… Unless they want a damn.
A damn for everyone, because everyone needs water.
What a plan! Whata plan water plan! dam man! it’s a water damn.

 

Shower Poetry

So there they are!
My cards fall gracelessly on the table.
To be read by all.
I’m not worried, I’m just well fed.
If I was worried, I’d be crying or dead.

My eyes betray my secrets.
That I never had.
Or that I wish I believe I didn’t.
What’s the difference? Tell me quickly.
Believing you don’t have any secrets or…
knowing you don’t have any secrets.

But cards are more boring
and bloodsport’s exciting!
This heart has been open
Like an operating table with spectators like a sport.
Openness is the best policy for a boxer who can move.
But the ones who can’t dodge,
They tend to block.

Lucky

And the sunlight strikes me as I sit and the Bees fill the valley with the monotonous joy that is work.
Loyalty forces my heart to beat with happiness Panting beneath my feet, this is a soul worthy of love.
Catching flies in my wake like a dedicated soldier.
My heart beats with happiness.

Someone who loves me
My flaws awake doubt
She holds my love dear
Her heart is pure gold.
Mine has colours stretched.
She loves my difference.

In my heart I know
Her love makes me glow
That it beats red blood
Used to live in mud
and squelch sour smells
Is the future bells?

It’s all history…

And time just stopped,
a moment you can grasp
finally an inch of a clock
that you can almost get your hands on.

Built from the ground up
The clock tower will always boom
It’s salutation to time
and it’s non-essence.

For there is no else
but yourself’s self
as the minute hands continue
Encroaching on your damn goals.

There is still more to do
always more to do, always
unflinching in the way
life isn’t sometimes.

But for time to beat
its waves to create
A steely past
That we can mould like plasticine
That’s all we do.

No title

Shivering with anticipation I fear,
I might do something I regret.
Pain on my hand that eeks
down my wrist.
So I’ll chop it off.
Amputate before infection
Spreads.

If I let it,                       If I let it.
God Forbid,
I might die                      I might die.
God Forbid,

But time moves faster than infection and we all need to make a move.
maybe, not all, but I do, I need to make a move soon, but not far and I think I’ve gone and done it anyway.

I’ve shouted a big old get on with it as I leave it up to the old gods of my hometown and find some NEW gods in a far away city.
The furthest I could go without a passport.

I start to thrive, I starved never.
I starved never.
I starved never.

I move with so much gratitude it’s leaking out of my self-inflicted sores.
and melding into the drinking water of my new city…
that doesn’t need a lesson like my old as it seems to get on with it faster
and whether I like it or not,
far beyond my control,
easier to get a grip on and let myself drift on,
and let myself drift on and let myself drift on and let myself drift on
down the river of insolence as I have never starved in my life but wish to wither and hope I don’t die but love the thought of the romanticism of aching
melancholy.

So I commit myself to life and its finer things when I can afford them
&
Let that misery and those regrets ebb and flow with the tide.
As my soul grows into something pure and real which I strive to own
Wholly one day and make it mine
like a selfish hoarder with nothing better to do than to collect
&
steal trinkets.

H, S, K & T

As stomachs rumble over the east,
and eye sockets shrink so eyeballs stare
While the lungs have taken in all the air
and are refusing to breathe out.

As shoulders have forgotten how to twist,
and hands have gotten so large they grip hell
While ice fills the mouths of the forgotten,
turning into water while freezing their teeth.

As lips crackle in the oven and spit,
and cheekbones stick out from the skin
while your legs are stamping out the mess
that they kicked apart in the first place.

Walking with Sprites

 

ARNA BAARTZ ARTIST
Art by Arna Baartz @ http://www.artofkundalini.com

“Alright, let’s go,” the man said to his little pup, and they walked out of the yard and onto the sidewalk.
It was getting dark, but the man thought he’d be back in time and you don’t need sunlight to walk your dog.
He was proud of how the dog was walking beside him and following his commands, he had never done anything well in his life, but he can train a dog.
He decided to take the back route home, jumped over a fence (the dog climbed under) and walked along the dusty fire track behind all the houses.
It was dark now and he couldn’t see a thing, each backyard was long and covered with trees and he wasn’t sure which house was his.
When he had finally given up hope, he saw a tall thin statuesque being in one of the yards. He thought he recognized it from somewhere, he approached it.
As he was moving towards it, the being began to sway and the very essence of it would flicker.
He called out, “hello?” and the being flickered at that and returned the greeting in a soft childlike voice and vanished.
It immediately appeared directly in front of him.
His dog ran away.
It was a beautiful woman; her features were sharp, and she was taller than anyone he had ever met.
She kissed him and told him to come back tomorrow.
He wouldn’t, he had a wife and he loved her more than fantasy.

A little love poem

When you held my hand for the first time…your beauty and innocence reckoned with me.

It showed me the joy and devotion in your heart. An everlasting joy, the be all and end all. You be all of beauty. You be all of dedication. You be all of the wondrousness of you!

No sadness shall end me as I gaze into your meaning and devour any morsel you possess and wish to give me.

We are no more less than

We’re more than a no more bigger than.

If you understand, I could face my views due East towards the sunset.

But it will probably circle right back onto myself, like a dog chewing its tail.

Or a goldfish trapped in a bowl

Or a regular human being working day to day in some shitty dead end job whilst they believe if they probably just had a little more backbone, or motivation, or style they might succeed.

Succeed how? Like get a promotion now? Get a better job now? Go to school right now! Now!

This is boring, but probably correct.

Corrects usually boring, if not satisfying it’s usually boring.

Bad guys finish first because they aren’t correct right?

Why do we know who Capone is? But not the guy that took him down? You know who he was? Some tax man with a penchant for numbers, beautiful.

We care about Capone, not a tax guy and that’s final.

Wrong is right and correct is boring.

So slink around and do something dirty, wash your hands and feel it slide off.

You know what I’m talking about…

That grime, that sludge, that grim grimy grime and that sludgy sludge all over your hopeless hands and there you are, the bad guy, the sinner simply washing off all that muck.

I’m good, honest.

I have read all day.

I have cooked a nice breakfast.

I have paid my bills.

You think of the rapid world, that’s nowhere near me.

I can barely hear a motor, it’s peaceful here, see.

My dog is nice company, I don’t think I will ever be alone again.

I am surrounded by love each day I don’t think I will reach for a stone again.

There are flies buzzing outside, but thats probably my dogs bones.

Credit recieved where credit is due.

I wish they would leave me alone but I suppose they are hear for a reason, maybe to buzz into an ice cube, who knows.

I am rapidly content, feeling up the world at my own pace, I hope I get to go all the way. I hope we get to go all the way, together.

Thanks for reading