* fish stick *
Relevant fish sticks
A metaphor for modern life
All the left overs bits
Compressed and battered
Presented as a treat
To be had with traditional chips
You can wave a fish stick
Or even roll a fisk stick
But never ever allow
Your fish stick to try and swim
Because the fish part can't
And the batter doesn't stop water getting in.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
fish stick
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Frozen rose
* frozen rose *
Caught a glimpse of your face
Rising from a deep deep sleep
Covered in creams and oil and lace
Never had ever seen this face before
Your hair colour changes on a fickle tide
Once I thought it was brown
Now I see a touch of blonde on brow
When you frown a map of small streets
Hint of oily aloe vera streaks
Filling in your jowls and cheeks
The woman I knew now counterfeit
My precious jewel manufactured construct
Your mane has flared to auburn fire
Eyelashes taut and tortured thin
Your clothes pulls in what age let out
You are neither too thin nor too stout
Spending more than for a naval fleet
To adorn your slim pale feet
Grow an inch or four on stilts you adore
Getting inspiration from media pack
On all the tactics that you lack
A frozen rose stuck in time
And as time passes grow more absurd
Hair extensions twisted in
Lambs foetses sprayed onto skin
Musk glands in your perfumes strong
Perhaps some urine from goat or elk
Reading the bottles really is no help
Half the ingredients I know are poison
Anything to deny mortality
The world may end tomorrow night
Armageddon overthrow all we know
Even in rapture you will smell fair
A fresh youthful hue of gold through hair
Presentable and presented for me to take
Just do not kiss your lips too firmly
The hi-gloss lifts and turns to grit
Fingers not allowed to run through hair
Hours spent to this state attain
Never watch as you dress or change
All lights off when I am in range
For the naked you has no artifice
No disguise and seems no place
For your heart to love your self
Irrevocably tied to potions on the shelf
I wonder if the world did this to you
If it was I or your own desire did
Who"s to know when so hard to find
The woman proud who once loved herself.
Monday, July 5, 2010
Insect thee
* insect thee *
We insects busy
Without shell or feelers
Missing two of our limbs
No mandibles to speak of
Yet giant nests we build
And as nests grows they link
Join together across the land
How long till all our world
A suburban stink
House to house and bush extinct
No open space for any of us
How long till World quakes enough
Decides to shake infestation out
Did the same to dinosaurs
Be an almost impersonal deed
The great solar flares shall catch us
As if a spraying aerosol
Strip the life from us swift
Before we can spirit prepare
Masters of a universe constant
Until something happens we have not seen before
Poor scrabbling ignorant pests
Wiped off the surface
Smeared to goo and bone grit
Our civilizations gone in eyeblink
Mastery a con trick dealt us
By laughing fickle universe.
rats
*** rats. ***
Rats are creatures low
Low of snout and fleet of foot
Hairy as a clothing brush
Inquisitive and quick
Seek to know every entrance
Discover every secret hoard
Flourish in alleys and marketplaces
Scraps a feast of food
Build a nest and procreate
Orgies rampant without restraint
In a rat's family always more the merrier
And if not Dad might eat the young
Bright incisors slicing cannibalistically
Through offspring freshly born
Post birth control solution
A rat speciality.
Business boring pass
* business boring pass *
The tired eyes of traveling
Not seeing new world afresh
Picking out familiar brand placements
Not noticing the rest
A flight from A to B
On business only given
A sleepwaker in economy
All sharp objects are forbidden
No electronic devices
In case you bring plane down
Do not display your unseemly vices
On drunkedness and loudness all travelers frown
Hope your pilot is not distracted
By marital woes or call to God
Else from wreckage your Samsonite extracted
Blame the lack of radar and the fog
You work the percentages
Sitting near the back
You listen to the preflight briefing
Check the engine struts for cracks
The food is marginally less
Than prisoners in solitary are fed
And your fellow passangers have bowel problems you guess
Someone forgot to flush the head
Oh Marco Polo had it lucky
Months to trek cross land
Travelling on a camel or a pony plucky
Map being made in his hand
Yours is a more familar route
Seven flights go there daily
Full of discontented air travelers
Eating peanuts and coffee thick as gravy.
Friday, July 2, 2010
South Winter
* South Winter *
Middle months of year are these
In Southern Seas our coldest time
Nights grow longer diminish days
We seek our heat in a hundred ways
Coats grow heavy and layered dress
Heaters blow to edge of stress
Rain might fall and we care not
As long as we remain nice and hot
Winter months no fun to play
Unless on mountains you have a sleigh
The games of football continue on
And fans attend though Sun not shone
Is a rigour and a chore
Skills diminish and so does the score
Tight hard matches fought in the center
Until one team subsides and other forward enter
A roar of frozen breathy fog exhaled
As a goal is kicked into a gale
This is Winter in Melbourne fair
Where beanies hide Winter hair
All are waiting for middle months to past
Watch for daffodils from ground to blast
Show their colours warm and bright
Indicating shortening of chill night
And Spring lengthening of daylight hours
When we can wander and frolic in the flowers.
Blues
** Blues **
Shades of blue
Taut across the sky
Depths of sea in blue shades
Blades of blue brightly spinning
Flying blue from artist's brush
All these blues so rich and lush
Or delph blue cool and delicate to touch
These blues of sound smoky
Rubber blue boots coats and caps
Faded blues on nursery walls
Distressed blues on furniture raw
All these blues from sky to doors
Tardis blues which police adore
Blue from heaven to deepest depths
Blues of truth and old regrets
All these blues and more beside
The blues edged with razor blades inside
Dragging you from heaven's heights
To down and down and down to dire straits
Where the blues bottom out
Submerged and crushed and lifeless take
Instead discover a black dog dark
In which no hope or light does spark
Beyond the blues this crushing place
Of all you are and all you hate.
Cohen sinning
*Cohen sinning*
Leonard Cohen played so loud
Probably a sin to abuse him so
Should be played deep low and slow
His voice seduction from the speakers
His rhymes and couplets leave us speechless
The steady dark insistent voice
You must listen have no choice
He talks of love's sweet lament
The holy chorus David did invent
All the humanity bound up to play
Towers of Song so high he says
Every drum a beating heart
Then the ladies their crooning start
We see ourselves so ugly and no prizes
So love of angels always surprises
A rift bridges from God to man
See self as part of some greater plan
Is much easier then to explain
These chords of ecstasy entwined in pain
A holy prophet poet with Casanova's voice
A man who from shallow reality divorced
There is either heaven or hell
To cross the gap only need to smell
Sweet scent upon your cheek
Those brushing lips which leave him weak
Also make him stronger than
Ten thousand men and all the clans
One woman divine at a single time
Express devotion to all in singing rhyme
And its probably so wrong of me
To play his songs halfway through you see
Because the drive from home to station
Is an inconsistent time of salvation
Listening to his blessed voice burred by Satan
He seems to be everything for which I'm agitating
A singing bard with wealth regained
An older man in his shows freed from pain
So I am so very certain must be a venal sin
To play his songs so loudly as my day begin.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
faltering wave
* faltering wave *
Placeholders of popular culture
A song played through public speakers
Sound of Bowie asphyxiating
A new form of English pronunciation
And a constant drumbeat
Raindrops falling from an eave onto windowsill
These are the new archaic bubbles
Of memory constant surrounding
Aromas wafting forth from a chickenshop
The takeaway steam of the hotdog vendor at 3am
All around dancing figments
Casting self back to earlier days
When memories created not unearthed
When we were young and closer to birth
Rather than reminiscing and closer to death
Even if appointed time still vague
Can feel the wave of Time which bore us
Has dissipated its energy
All the scientific breakthroughs
May give us more months or years
But back of our lives broken
Half way mark petulantly saluted
And ahead less creation of memories
And more revision of past events magnificent.
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falling away
** falling away **
Falling away
Masonry down on the ground
Lifeless as drowned fish
Home is so less profound
Diving for coins
In an unlucky fountain
Swimming against a black tide
Blood and oil never should mix
Death in the highlands
Another fine set of points
Bambi should not visit
Venison always a treat
Hear wind so wild howling
Echoes of warring clans no more
Seeing the first dawn
Edged with frost crystals and cloud
Trying to find a sound or direction
Caught in the fog for so long
This subterranean murmuring
Babbling brook of discontent
Finds so many outlets
Escaping under a pressure
Springs fresh feeding frustration
An arterial vein of bad blood
Soaked through with anger
Twisted in resentment
Heavily spiced in the cold
Such bite the waking
Deep from an ill sleep of regrets
Unrequited murmurings
Oratory lost in the flow
Of mundane loud happenings
Wondering where life escape
No turning or righting
No blaming idle old fate
This is the course set
By decisions you made
And unmade and you waited
For something better to form
Now find the best days
The bright eyed and bushy behind falling away
No stop till the end you have found.