Sunday, November 29, 2009

Window Person -30/11/09


Muffled music and overheard conversation,
Fuels the paranoia.

All the posters are true,
Easy targets,
Phone calls never come when you want them to.
(I Left the window open)

Nobody smiles like that,
I should know,
I really should.

She was a poor mans imitation of Lauren Bacall,
But, shit, last I checked my wallet...

A bug with tiny wings just ricocheted of my arm,
Landed on its back and thrashed around helplessly,
trying to get the right side up.

When I looked over again he was gone.
(I left a window open),
I'm assuming it was a he.

...He had wings you know.

Did I already mention that?

Still remember her face though,
Had I can't sleep written all over it,
All soft shadows and saturated colour-eyes,
Wish she would have held still,
A little longer,
Wish I could have said,
A little more.

It won't be anything for a few hours,
You won't believe it.
(Left the fuckin' window open)

Have you looked around lately?

It's not a leading question.


Anyway, you can relax,

I think the bug's gone now.


(oh and look, gonna bug me if I don't make it explicate, the formatting is delibrate)



Tuesday, November 24, 2009

Not Coming Back -25.11.2009


Not coming back,

Not coming back,

Real certain of that.

Forgive her for the fact,

She can’t forgive back,

Forgive yourself instead,

Go bury the hatchet,

Inside your own head.

Not coming back,

Not coming back,

And make sure of that.

Don’t know what you have to offer,

Besides monsters under the bed,

Offer this up instead,

Asking for Somebody out there,

To take it all as read,

Cut a swath through all this said,

Might help figure out,

What you do have to offer another,


Offer that,

Because he’s not coming back,

Not coming back,

I'll promise you that.

He's gone to pick up the slack,

Down a beating track,

And ain’t coming back,

Not coming back.

Gone in a race of facing facts,

What his old self lacked,

Found he's not coming back,

Not coming back,

Not coming back,

Never coming back.

Never coming back.


I kinda fancy turning this into a song, but... (shhh!) don't tell anyone. That could get us both in alotta trouble if anyone finds out.



Saturday, November 21, 2009

Please -22/11/2009

It tried to be so much more than it really was.

Wanting others to shoudler rub and smile at it,
Welcome it amongst found or imagined peers.

This poem was a desperation,
Part plea, and attack,
Part instruction, some accusation,
Fighting everything beyond its fingertips,
Unable to be enough on it's own,
Redundantly over explaining itself,
Scared that you won't get it,
... because it's scared that you won't get it,
Because that was a better-scared than you already got it,
And weren't impressed.

This poem was a blank page rebuttle,
Shaking up under a pen tip,
A day stopping short from a fresh scar near a major artery,
Near one death and very, very far from a home, safety or friends
Lower lip trembled trying not to sob as it said,
Printed clear and sober in the middle of a blank page:

do better.




Wednesday, November 18, 2009

Faster -18/11/2009


Balmy night on streets that can be busy,
But have emptied for you,
Everything else left at the vanishing point,
Not a thought to hold,
Like early morning words,
At the tip of a pen.

The wind rides along with you,
Catching each message so quickly,
The safer the faster,
Your hearing chases them into an all clear,
Over the sound of ankles,
Passing kilograms of velocity,
Kilometres on memory,
Beholden at speed,
Tires eating,
White lines wobble,

Red for Green,
But everything runs and the lights can't stop us,
These are hours belonging only to your eyes,
Blurring past others darkened windows.
Are as far from sleep,
As a human-being,

Can be.


I hope you know who you are, and that these words find you well, I left them waiting here for you, my friend.



Monday, November 2, 2009

Randominities from Swan Hill and Mildura -29/10/2009


I explained that it was getting up on stage and saying things,
Not exactly acting, you know like performing?...
Yeah I get it,

She said before I could finish,
I was going to add there isn’t always necessarily a stage,

We got along fine that morning,
The waitress and I.


He’s gonna wait,
To punch that fucken cunt’s head in,
‘til after Thursday,
So he doesn’t have to spend all weekend in the nick,
His friends agree as the idea goes around the table,
Yeah wait until Monday,
One table away I keep my eyes down on the coffee,
But I am desperate to look up and see what they look like.

Capture their faces.

* * *

When kids are up on stage saying “We are the World/the Future”,
They are annoying,
When kids are up on there with something more depressed,
Self-destructive and hopeless things,
They are still annoying.

Really, really annoying.

* * *

Getting a tattoo written in a language you don’t understand,
I don’t understand,
For all you know,
You’re walking around with I’m a fuckwit,
Written on the side of your neck,
And even if you’re not...

You kind of are anyway.

* * *

Tough men here are all wearing short shorts,
Not enough women are.

Someone should do something.

* * *

I am sitting amongst backpackers,

I am definitely not one of these backpackers,

I am just here checking it out to make sure I don’t do all the same things they are doing which would make me a back-pack


Music is piped out onto the street,
Backpackers are here,
Bugs are everywhere,
My water is in my bag,
My bag is on the floor,
All the cute girls are with all the dorky guys,
All the chairs are out in the beer garden,
Taxis are across the road waiting,
No one in Mildura has ever seen a safari hat before,
Or so I gather.

And the Beer is right in front of me.

* * *

As she walked back across the vast distance to her friends table,
From my window-side perch,
I then realised she wanted the monosyllabic,
Mysterious stranger, personae.

Okay, ah, let’s see...
He’s drifted into Mildura on a trail of empty bottles and broken promises,
Explaining this slowly while staring off away from eye contact,
That maybe just maybe,
Some tender mercy moment with her, here,
Might heal.

Instead, all her questions are answered well,
Lyrical, sharp and practiced, and I made her laugh,
A lot,
But she didn’t want that.

People sitting quietly by themselves,
Like I was,
Are supposed to be shy,
Not gregarious, conversational masters,
Like I am,
Too smooth, too polished and rehearsed,
No one needs rescuing here ...except her,
She makes a strategic exit.

I am again left alone in a crowded room with my notebook,
Only now,

It’s not by choice.

* * *

Observational humour is essentially dry, but not always sober... haha.


* * *

Inspiration is an alarm clock,
That you have forgotten to turn off,
On your day off,
And it must be silenced, immediately!

* * *

You should go over there,
To the girl from Mildura who walked off on you before and explain,
Carrying your bag and new- found belligerence,
That yeah this used to be the shy guy you suspect she’s after and all that,
But no one found that interesting, except myself,
So you gave up and started to be actually interesting,
Albeit every bit as pretentious.

All you did instead was write (this) down,
Your own exegesis on why you will never win,

Then again...
There was a pause before you wrote Mildura before,
Where you had to remember where you are,
And she lives...there.

Guess that makes you even.

* * *

Your father is a thief,
He stole the suburbs and put them in your country town-eyes,
Possibly making his getaway with them on the back of a ute,
There are utes everywhere you know,

Utes in their eyes, straying across the room,
Attempts at stolen glances,
But my eyes can't hide the metropolis I'm from,

So no one's stealing anything,

Or is getting away with anything, either.

* * *

I want another drink,
I want a taxi,
I want a complete sentence,
I want Oliver Reed’s last words,
I want you to go look up what they were... yep.
I want money to spend so I can want my money back,
I want long flowing hair any colour big breasts smooth legs arching heels,
Lips that are just too good to smile with.

And I want them all on me,
All over me,
No you idiot ~ I mean I want them on someone else,
Whose on me,
No just one of each,
No I meant a woman,
I mean I want this person to be a woman...

I mean I want...

I want to start this over again,

I mean, ah bugger it,

Wonder if Oliver Reed ever made it to Mildura.