Deluge Blues

It was full of flowers and bees eating the nectar 

as seconds pass through your skin 

weapons upright held above their heads

their unfurling minds reeling at the task before them

the full edge of their platoon pitched as they were

and a spy discovers the truth that the enemy are

not so bad after all their women all lead to criminals

who's prowess with deadly force and volanoes and cats

drown out all but the salient storms that flutter under his hat

it is as though the man has to travel the same path every three hours 

a lifetime of jumping out of planes and landing safely somehow

while wrestling their wounds deeply under the round

buried as they were while turning up and around

the wakeful shake of that storm that wreaked the city of towers

the people are tougher than that and snorkled in their living rooms

the screaming of the rich many floors up

won't be able to get out to buy their weekly sup

or even walk the dog seventy floors down 

the beginning of the event and the frown as the leave 

after a show with many feathers and snow

but nothing much else as the actor was held

in a traffic jam and so we heard the

outpoured heart of the first to come forth

and speak to the crowd start a movement start a walk

until it is brisk and they shout 

as the wind dances ahead

the lessons

peeking ahead, she shuddered
the hanging pendulum lamp
turned backward and fro
every slight descent
past layered obscurity

beyond knowledge
and ultimately buried
they burned books
after removing the people

to know wrong from
a hole in thinking
that missing generation replaced by
this greed

those needy grabbing torsos
garbed in pressed cloth
their right to own everything
to never leave humanity be
pounds of flesh fashioned
in quaint shapes
to amuse their endless
quest to improve
the children accumulating
in the corners of the nest

Dependance City

When he tried to hide his tears
after he lost the most valued toy in the world,
we tried to hide the fact it was so obvious.

When he lost his prime toy,
the teddy bear with loose skin,
we pretended he was brave and saluted at the burial.

When he privately lumbered about
and said he could not wait for the school ball,
we made provisions for failure,
but did not tell him.

When he did not find a date,
our rescue plan appeared to be an accident.

That job interview we prepared for him,
that examination we marked for him,
the years of protecting him from the world.

Of these we were proud.

We were selected as parents
in a radio competition.

We were toured around, grandmothers all over the suburbs of Adelaide
said "they are so wonderful with their poor kid".

And one night the brain bled
and Dad tumbled down two flights of stairs,
his brain stained half red,
the rest of his life confined to a bed.

And last week Mum's heart stopped.
It started again when they attached the great big machine.

And now it is all up to him to decide
the fate of his kin.

Anima

second version (edited)
Anima

a trail of fur lined escapades
little spikes in the sine waves
measure broken distance
over that horizon

eating out of the hand
the beginning of life
and the end of our time

do not gather around

silence grows from underground
all those years of living
not even a shred of memory
remains only your photograph
and the electrographic
traces in the mirror dust
static and misplaced

like wires that connect our shame
to the animal self

first version

a trail of dead foxes with hidden pieces
torn edges and mirror glass
hiding revelation and death
the loss of yesteryear
abandoned scars speak of
promises unreserved

a trail of fur lined escapades
little spikes in the sine waves
measure broken distance
over that horizon
eating out of the hand
the beginning of life
and the end of our time

give me a word
give me a sound
wear these gloves
and rip away
the sound of love

make it hurt
pull my hair
rub it in dirt
flames fill the air

take me from my mother's breast
lips and laughter
tortured skin
and the slaughter that follows after

does not gather around
silence grows from underground
all those years of living
not even a shred of memory
remains only your photographic
memory and the electrographic
traces on the mirror dust
static silence and misplaced
wires connect our shame
to the animal self

You said I would for ever regret
but when its gone, I may forget

Ultimatum

that old miss reliable should roll out of the bed
and land with a thump on the floor was not good enough
she had to roll out of the window, leave the entire
street gasping for air as her electric waves of
suffering were finally revealed and they closed their windows

it was a storm and the tea was all over the floor
pools of hot blood infected with anything the gang could
lay their hands on, and so tainted
it rests coagulating

hardened evidence of evil
the remains of three people
stricken, deserted and leathery

his thoughts were never his own
he walked down the alley
his arms flew back and fro as he walked
but out of synch with each other
his brow was covered with evaporating mist
cooling his head

and now storms of meteors rang out from the sky
he felt it was the future but in fact it was
a real meteor storm, and it was happening right here

hundreds of people lay on damp glass holding binoculars
on this cooling night on the heath
was it to be the end of the world?
or did he believe only in the things
that never mattered

the cool whistle of the cops shot
was the last thing he was to hear
the impact he was spared as
sound travels less quickly
than the hand of death
taking his harvest

Determinations

The laughing Jesus climbed up
into her eyes, her face inflates
like the money she watched all day
her arms no longer lie akimbo
they fall at angles that no longer fit
her clothes seem tired like a nuisance
stretched at wild angles upon her
attacking like mad animals last summer

The laughing Judas fought along
her border falling into silence
as four points of a compass changed
places the sky was green and angry
the storm was over in a flurry
the woman's face passes by the window
looking at the face of the other
now vast and saying too much

The laughing Midas gives her the fare
"take everything" he laughs and she did
so he pulls plugs and leaves a candle
burning under his house but the man
who wanted to go valiantly lies in
the daily headlines the last line
sticking on their lips
nothing they could do
except watch

The laughing cat nobody heard was seen
its tail was vapour around that corner
she walked and took mystery with her
all that junk she tugged with her
face fixed firmly at her feet
knowing only she went forward
knowing only that the future held
nothing for her
she plodded on anyway

life out the door

its still not there
faded memories are no longer effective
she tried the medicine but the bottle
lay empty under the table

the children were left in the dark
her father was a bastard
he left after sleeping and
never returned

it is not possible to love
an angel before it flies
oh too high to be true

not feasible to take a bastard
feed his seed to little dark places
we led each other to
in the glaring light of judgement
you regard me so strange now
you see how I speak
you take me over that other place

this time they side with the other side

the children take what was theirs
and leave her with nothing but the shell she
drags around the sweat of her toil
all lost to the distance
the memory of life
now out of the door

swimming in the bubbling tide

Base Shook

Barely knowing not quite talking
A glance and nearly a whisper
but nobody is talking

It is still in the advertisement
but the shop had run out

You see people carrying them
on the barstools of the devout
they sit and majestically
cement our attitudes into capsules
we can swallow
believing in the inner sacred
we believe in things we did
the shoes still carry traces
of that mud under their treads
they left dents in the ground
still there on the paths that we took
now we wait for our dinner
talk of incidentals about
those that matter more than
the facts that we shared
or the trees that we shook
the leaves that landed around
the base of the wheel the
turning faces of time
the changes in our
lives

these were the unfinished vows
we carried into the playground
the opened cans of torments
the stumbling old men
who carry our coffins
out of the playground

the trees that fall in the park
nobody carried them out, they
cut them into pieces
and burnt them on fireplaces

the city is full of noises
but nobody hears them
they believe the noises
are signs of life

they are the sounds of
corruption

From View

Far above the world lies a fortress in steam
Angels on heat travel between dimensions unseen
Far from above there lies a lake of snow
The dead are stored there awaiting the global warming
to unfold

peer over the edge and stop threatening war
there is hell down there
enough for the each of us
perpetual death at the hands of demons
it does not end on the end of a spear
or with an arrow piercing your chest
it does not end yet you hear
all the stories of the past
all the tales of the best

it does not end yet
in those final seconds you hear
your own voice reciting the
alphabet
that last thought was
what would happen if you did not reach the end
thinking it you folded up the napkin and
left the table unfed

we have not been hearing from you since
we are still careful what letters we say
out loud for fear of washing water
in the shallow parts of that river

in the leafy remains of your mind
the parts you call art
remembered as treasure
in that you remain dear
and deserve our mark
of confidence before
our own end we value
your remarkable memory

Just before all this
the very old man at the door
shook his head, that's her
he thought and escaped into
the morning light

the dog sat on the pile of
furniture discarded under
the old street light
late the night before

goodnight he said
and switched off the lamp

the sky
the sky
the sky

it is black and the darkest night
falls

it falls and it finds down
the leaf spinning about an unexpected axis
that leaf lands gently
the observation prevents
the savage building of treatments
in this quadrant of the white ghetto

the fast parts of the weak
heavy dark the clouded vision
of fished waters the lost dance
between cities all Europe laments
the passing of artists and
America recovers economically

all this happened after you left

war is necessary

war is necessary
to kill the punks
war is also a way
to get rid of the runts
that become a drain
on the wealth of the wealthy

the land taxes increased
due to the cost of the diseased
all this accomplished with
extraordinary ease
the stroke of a pen
no deaths on the battle field

the painted terraces fell
how progress and reinvention
can fail to resolve vision
how things could be
removed from sustainable logic

weapons on the battle field
firing ordinance at other
young cadets
loading guns in their trenches
the town rather forgets
they fight with each other
decorate the walls of the local
tavern with the blood of unfortunates
that step into the grasp of their graben

their sunken soul their loose canons
these terrifying louts are set to collide
reductionalism inflates and runs over the sides

justice is the peaceful morning
when the victors walk in to
indoctrinate the children of those
being shot at the night before

to imprison and enslave
in this modern day
the men and women who
make the bread
provide care for the sick and
house the poor
those that turn the pages in the schools
carry food on the backs of mules
the average person pays
for the fireworks displays

war is not cheap
but necessary
when we give the reins
to the insane

Wrong Door

Opening the wrong door
leads to the great vacuum
ideas fall into the sky
words are taken from mouths
and hidden in cotton floss
forever silenced forever lost

The black wool pulled down
over your open eyes staring down
these curled fibres passing
in a symphonic sequence of events
idiots who pluck the barbed wire fence
to provide that atmosphere of
tension to quickly evacuate that
question the table shakes for
full minutes the earth quakes
there is sweat on your upper lip
you can taste it as the tea slips
out of the cup and misses the saucer
and onto your lap you flinch
the nails instinctively dig
and something takes you down
a solid steaming form
crashes from its wire chair
to the cobbled ground down there
your eyes stare now
from an unfamiliar angle

Opening the wrong door can lead
to the wrong fate. Close it quickly
before you are dragged by its gait
you can't meander or feel ashamed
you must march in like a horse that
can't be restrained

your head won't fit into the hats
your feet are too obscenely large
your eyes are covered with memory
and your hands grasp the distance

The presence of a wrong door
does not mean that there was a better one

But taking the wrong door
leads to a place you can't escape from

Coffee breaks

When there is more than one cup
in front of you then you have a problem
my friend, you have to choose which one
two arms yes, but one mouth is the destiny
my friend, and hope is not sworn of the
broken cup. Majesty is not assimilated unless
by an historic act of murder on the battlefield
and even then we accept it if there is a tapestry
the fables woven there are the truth
caring for our young
two meters by two
and a desert of cables leading to the childrens bedroom
console games scattered in the bookshelves
the shopping never quite made it to the fridge
the always left on light switch
the stove controls that always broke
the elements that fried pans and non-stick surfaces
a specialty make them heavy thick and sticky
by turning up the heat
making life hell
making it work in
the kitchen where
life is not fun

caring for the young
making sure they are fed
given a sophisticated and cultured web of friends
people they can meet with and plot their business plans
but close up relations cause rifts and muck slips over the solid
portraits you keep straighting on the walls of your admiration
the bitter mouth calls, you are manifestly absurd, dark and absorbed

life is not fun
caring for the young
its more serious than that
keep it happening at the right
time of their lives

- unedited stream

light blind

ambulance ride my empty
road slide into the district
take back the emergence of
suburban insanity creeping
in the darkness like
entries on an invisible ledger
your finger grips the edges
bare your finger tips bleed
but the morality of fibre
and eating raw cement
keep you stranded

after playing the banjo
the man had spoken the magic verses
now there is no climbing out of this
a tree fell on her and he wanders home pissed
passing a man with a wounded keg
there, out leaks the wine for tonight
how he managed to puncture it so many times
he said he fell over and it was not his fault
but he still was not popular

the man sat at the kitchen table
light blind from the night before
the baby was sleeping thank the blessed lord
and his wife was cooking pancakes in the kitchen of course

The perfect scene of domestic agony
but a fly found a way in under the door
to fill the air with evil diseases
so who is to blame when he sneezes?
Who was it that let that filth in?
He was about to teach them a lesson
when the lights went out

Circumstances

The future is already gone

Been buried behind the bin bag
dressed tomorrows slaughter
manufactured olive ugly skins
to hide from
like a face behind the veil
is it protection from sexual savagery
or impending illegal immigrant inspections

uncover photogenic material he hid
beyond convention yet
revealed intent with a stream
of statements leaving behind unanswered
questions, floating in the wind behind
the taste of morning unable to cleanse
reputation before the end and after
it becomes distasteful - it saddens me
that the sensation only damages the ones that matter

the ones that are so alive and kicking
against pricks so sharp they pierce
progress stops as blood runs down the drain
life is so short and then its over

climb the tree and if you fall
at least it is from a height
and not just a casual storm

they parked their cars over gravestones
lying to their friends
and tried to fit in their grief
before becoming intoxicated
deserving all their top shelf mystery

attached to the ground with cast iron chains
speaking in public for the first time
feeling out a place

to exist under trees waving gracefully
that wind that carps away at
until no reason is left
to drag our sorry arses out
of this glorified spider hole

Preferences

terribly silent
the earth moves and shifts about
like a dart so sharp it break stones
that slide in under windows

"the elderly do not agree with your assessment"
gentlemen sit down and discard your dinner

the throat is complete and sings for you
you are not all that complex

but your ear is taken along
ways
nobody can stir a broken frame,
a lost legacy

the blurring of the direction of the tragectory
unplanned ruptures in the mountains of Mongolia
it rains blood and streams of it collect
outside peoples houses
they sit and suffer the weeping and moaning
of the broken old rock collapsing and rasping
buried broken up pieces of silver emerge

grant thee an audience
give thee any disease from the
palate of newsworthy and juicy pieces
everyone looks at her now she is quiet and still
but still everyone looks

nobody is immune
the heat is terrifying
and the ground has stopped shaking
but the sky is hollow and the wind
feels strange between the folds
of her shirt

A Cent and a Half

All obligation left
behind a trail of
deservedness
cruelty unbuttoned
potent mystery crawled
out to hide under a
momentous attention
diverted by jewelry
all the stained clear glass royalty
a tax over tribal austerity

Not what you got

Not what you got you know
you know it is what you know
that you have got you know

Not what you know you got
not that its got from
a lot of people you meet who
went out and lined that dark street
they wanted to know what they could
do to compete with the real

Listen to the sound of the beat

Not what you want when you are left
on the left or right on the right
hand signals are nice
not essential but kind
when you live in the arctic
the light in your eyes becomes
alive at night due to the heat
of your heart that most tenacious
part we believe in but do nothing
except complain about it

my heart is broken!
my heart is betrayed!
my heart exploded in my chest!

your heart is on fire with the energy
of the sun

your heart in the privacy of
its fire unreleased keeps
constant

your heart beats

and now its gone from the kick arse rhythm of the street
we wanted to hear from the doctors but they packed a suit
in the boot of that bus and forced lunch and a dance
held on the most elegant farms east of the bridge
the water drifts in a stately still life drama
while nobody is watching the tree leans down and strokes
the stream the wind billowing sighs across
the swallowing surface and the laughing water now cries

your heart beats

Not what you got
you know it is what you know
that you have got to know

your heart beats

Not what you got to know
it is what you
know you got

your heart beats

you know
you never notice
but you know