X

Poetry and Lyrics

 

 

X. A Perfect Duet

 

My perfect bride

Platinum blonde hair, sea swamp roots

Azure eyes; brown eyes just aren’t as clean-looking

Nubile large bosom, frail arms, back ballet-straight

The pancake makeup, blended all morning

Never taken off

Freckles, stretch marks, spider veins crawling up

Towards her perfectly sloping hips

Not too fat not too thin not too thin not too fat

My perfect bride

Stage makeup and pleasing lighting

A drawn-on expression, perfectly captivating

Costume and props,

Waterfall hair and sweet budding lips

Never capable of dissent

Heels tilt the pelvic bones forward, perfectly tempting

Shoes are an inch too small; feet are compact and neat

Dainty pastel flowers on tall stems

We’re a perfect duet

A baby/ protector dyad

Can’t walk, can’t throw, can’t think

 

She’s perfect.

 

XI. Jesus Don’t Ride the Subway

 

Kid beggar husslin, wearin granddaddy’s clothe

Two sizes too big, Aunt Hazel chiv him outta home

Hey Louis-wearin honey, can you spare me some bone?

I’ll pay it back some day, baby, don’t think this ain’t some loan

If you came here for answers, I’ll tell you one for free

Jesus ain’t around here, and he ain’t lookin for you and me

Your soul belongs to Chinatown

Your heart belongs to me

Jesus don’t ride the Subway, cos he’s fucking St Marie

Sly walkin red fox lookin’ so street n cute

With a knife in her pocket and a small nine in her boot

She purrs for free: I ain’t got time to worry bout my luck

The nights are bright, the men are hard, I’m down to

Turn that buck

Drunk soldier rides the Uptown, carriage is dirty and dark.

Army ant hasn’t memories ‘fore he chased the poor boy’s hark

When he steps onto the tracks and his body turns to dust

On Stan Bazan the cleanup-man did Cap’n leave his mark.

Baby in a cheap suit faking all of that fame

Take the train to Broadway baby, they’re gonna know your name!

Lie on the seat honeychile, this is how we play the game

Sorry you’re not what we need today, but I’m really glad I came.

If you come to this town for answers, let me tell you one for free

Jesus ain’t around here and he ain’t lookin for you and me

The devil’s the conductor and the angels sell the coke

Rancid is the punchline to all your stupid jokes

When Jesus starts listening, you know the Devil spoke

But he don’t ride the subway cos Jesus ain’t that broke.

Greasy two dime thugs slink down Mulberry bend

Right hand takes the wafer, left hand pops his friend

Blow, dames, gatt, drink, St Peter’s gifts we’ll send

When you’re floatin down East River, you can’t rewrite that end

Harlem goblin rain pours till the city feel that soak

Bow to big rat beside you, and ask him for a toke

Pull that sewer rabbit out clean, so we all can see the hoax

I’d try to eat my bagel, but I know I’ll probably choke

If you walk these tunnels for answers, let me tell you one for free

Jesus ain’t around here,

He’s feeling up Miss Liberty.

 

XII. Savage Bushwalk

 

On a savage bushwalk in one’s mind

We roll and sum, we reach the plain

We should have stopped before the find

The corpse unmoving beyond crossed lines

Sunken deep within the fields of sane

On a savage bushwalk in one’s mind

If I had known adventure to be blind

And felt the fingers of swarming rain

We should have stopped before the find

Today an unnatural light above us shined,

Yet we pretend to live, our breath is feigned

On a savage bushwalk in ones mind

Such foul acts performed by mankind

We look at our hands, they are bloodstained

We should have stopped before the find

To the walking dead we are resigned

We drowned together on floodplains

On a savage bushwalk in one’s mind

We should have stopped before the find

 

XIII. Strangers

 

If I had known that you would add another notch to my undoing

I wouldn’t gaze upon quiet strangers on icy Friday nights

Ones who stare right through me, to my small and exposed self

Who dangle strychnine carrots, the undetectable poison of choice

In Christie’s Mysterious Affair at Styles

And although I am made of stone, I still let your fingerprints brand me

As we smugly indulge in the old cliches of what we want to be, but can’t be

The daydream glow of the sun flickers upon your eyes, as

We slide into the shadowy fronds of the forest

There is so much nature to enjoy, and so much penitence to enjoy it

Your olive eyes burn me, through this guileless charade

We taste the vulnerability and we want more

The tarnished crucifix is concealed under your shirt

Twisted so I can’t watch it, and only you can feel it

Pressing against the soft nape of your neck as a burden

We hold each other tentatively, a stale couple

Whom we were mocking moments ago

Such a mindlessly beautiful moment, that I

Forgot it was you, a stranger.

When we realise that we had been

Mistakenly

Holding hands, for that one fleeting second

We dropped the clutch like our hands were burning

In your absence, I bury all of it

The proverbial body in the bin that you write songs about

But I knew all along that we’d do it again

Following me with your every nuance

Are the images of a crack in time, where

I would feel my existence writhe with pleasure

It is a restrained fierceness, most unfamiliar

Which dissipates when I gaze upon my familiar loved one

Because we are to each other a passing fad,

Or at best a resplendent twilight

Which will eventually turn dark and cold

The comparisons are obvious

And we will roll over with a sickening guilt in the marital beds that we made

To pretend, to lie and conceal

And I will embody one of the regrets that you burn artifacts of

And still we will romanticise it, and god how we will bait it!

Because you, like me, are stuck

Your interest doesn’t beckon anymore

And we hope that our guilt will resonate together and compose

Some sort of transcended melody

So we corner each other and tally our sins in one joyous catastrophe

We are setting fire to the house when the foundations are perfect

And stand idly by and smile at the conflagration

We silently know that what binds us is our desire

To watch the blazing magic again and again

 

Lions 

 

I want you to be proud of me

I want you to not feel shame

I want you not to think you wasted

The last 10,000 days

I want to show you that I’m smart

Independent and capable too

I want to prove them all wrong

And be that girl for you!

I want you to be proud of me

I want you to see that I can

I want to be that person you deserve

A joyful, successful  friend

Do you think I’m beautiful?

Do you think I’m smart?

Do you think I have a soul

Or fire left in my heart?

I thought of you when I looped that noose

I wanted to show you my real worth

You were the last person that I thought of

When my soul did leave that earth

I wanted you to be proud of me

So are you finally proud?

That I finally became brave enough

To find my peace inside the ground.

 

 

XIV. A Walk In Early Autumn

 

On a walk at a midnight hour

Brown thorns escort the remaining rose

The dew of the darkness suffuses the flower

T’was a beautiful scene

That Autumn tableaux

The hum of the piano dances with the footbridge

Supple fronds that fall from that fern

Swallowed by a wind in its lilting true language

A red light above flickers

From the garnet Saturn

The blonde bees end their daybreak voyage

Hot winds of March whip up and burn

And together with the bloom, compose a tender marriage

The moon grinning round

Like a Jack O’ Lantern

Black puddles echo as fiercely as mirrors

The Frogmouth slices across the misty terrain

A new morning broadens through the sprawling pink acres

The crimson leaves tumble

As fat goblin rain

The sun is borne of the horizon as a new infant

Perfumed jasmine falls as a flume

The canopy of eucalypt still gleaming and verdant

While the geranium finds

Its mortal tomb

 

XV. One Sister Played (Part I)

 

I wander in a far away suburb

and come face to face with a dirt mound of

my childhood

Puckered white bricks and infertile soil

The gate that locked me in, now

so small

Compared to the chasm that engulfed me

so long ago

when one sister watched, one sister stayed

while one sister watched, one sister played

Within, a man sat on his throne, with kin

A Father.

Husband.

Provider Elect.

The leather belt cracks down with a

Halt

A Fathers discipline marked across his

daughters back

Pause; Remain

while the addict slams

His

weapon of choice. The

infant’s screams rip away the

Dust

and the speeding train travels to the present

Past, present, past,

a fluid fury

Staring

through vacant eyes and rushing adrenaline

A Man is a

Prince

of His Castle, and

you

With your long hair and long skirts,

needn’t argue!

The grown-up red house squats like a

Fat Man lauding over His meal

Ominous against the horizon backdrop

a million paces away

Its gluttonous walls

haven’t glimpsed the flutter of another heartbeat

For ten thousand and one daybreaks

Never a stranger’s eye could view that enviable

Man, who sat so honorably on

His golden throne

Crafting

His golden legacy. His Son

now cement poured into the same cast,

Who elates in the sound of

splitting mirrors.

What is buried at the back of your garden?

Busy hands keep replenishing the soil, but

nothing grows

Except a mound, where a

hundred writhing ants

are poured into the waiting jars to be collected. When

our screams crescendo,

the mound collapses

when one sister watched, one sister stayed

while one sister watched, one sister played.

 

One Sister Stayed (Part II)

 

Stooped shoulders, sister

 

Eyes blackened

She cries silently to herself

Amid the loud clamour of her mind

Scrubbing the varnish off the expensive teak

Pouring bleach and vinegar down the runner

Skin like parched white rice paper

Fists purple and fat, rubbing down to her raw flesh

Crazy hair falls in blackened eyes, sister

She screams at the top of those rotting lungs

The pets flee, she cries silently again

Her bony arms are covered with raised white webs

Some brilliant lavender, where the razor cut too deep

 

Sitting motionless, sister

 

Soul compressed

Her grey robe covers her hair and eyes

Corporeal bean-sidhe, her excited voice incised by a sigh

Imbibing her weakness, plates thrown to the wall

I’ll kill you in your sleep, she pledges

Videos played on a loop

She stares impassively, her world will not stop hurting her

 

Stooped shoulders, sister.

 

XVI. Merri Creek Blues

 

We perch on the creek edge, swingin our feet

And wonder if in the next life, we’ll again meet

The listless North Fitzroy dusk is bittersweet

Down by the haunted Merri Creek

I call my opening gambit the Patient Italian

Freddy’s asleep by the third move

So he gives me One Mulligan

Only a fool has something to prove

The old chessboard won’t stay flat

Resting on the underbrush and weeds

So we fold it up, and shut our eyes

Let’s just here in stillness and breathe

Freddy sighs: I’ve been self medicating again

Sometimes it’s the only thing I can still call me a friend

He soundlessly cries, then goes into his head

I’m finding it so hard to get out of bed

Glossy travel brochures hide those scars

It says the Creek’s lovely under the stars

But that mucky brown rivulet has gone too far

It’s gorged itself on stolen cars

Drink The Water! The faded sign tells us so

You can’t get sick from water that flows

On the glassy surface moonface does glow

But I can see our sick faces in the undertow

Freddy says: avoid reading Naked Lunch

Posthumous ramblings of an addict are never that fun

I’d rather talk about nothing, I’d rather talk about none

I’d rather put my mouth on the tip of gun

But if heroin chic is still your trick, please try reading Monkey Grip

Read the whole book with an upturned lip

Then he fades away where the dark path dips

And with a smile, he says: Goodnight my dear, my passing ship.

If only the Creek was ever that wide

To sail a kind ship down its violent tide

I’d come back for you again and again

And save you from drowning, my sweet old friend.

 

XIII. The Ideal Girl

 

The wily will of the Ideal Girl

I gaze upon her with the eyes of a fool

Of the things I saw, I could not judge

Which of her features rendered me still?

This girl was an enthralling site,

Her every surface beaming

Was it broad blossom lips, permanently parted?

Or her silken skin that she asked

Me to touch lightly, whenever she felt so inclined

Was it the fragrance of lychees and jasmine in her hair

That silhouetted me wherever I went?

Or the transient touch of her temperate hands?

The way they held mine and led me

To peer at silver rings in the store window

Or the freckles in her olive eyes?

The eyes that always seemed to rest on mine,

when the sun shined through and against them.

Or was it her blistering tears, and her soft ‘come backs’ ?

The wily will of the ideal girl

That makes me lie here, absent of soul

Hoping the fires of hell will smother me

That sends me teeming with amber-drink

to pick fights with shadowy gangs,

To lie and cheat and steal

Yet, who am I to act surprised?

I knew all along, that when my happiness exploded

And took the world with it,

That if I dared to line up the universe, and punch it

That I, within it,

Would feel the most unsure

 

 

XIX. when the monster faked his own death

 

he isn’t dead,

but you mourn him like he is

he led you into so many dark caves and depraved places

to put your face in the flames. When you cried, he guffawed and took you by

the hand to show you the thrilling drop. You detested him, disapproved of his mind. Spat on his fingers. When you were with nothing, he was there. he made you rely on him

and defy everybody else. he is repulsive, but you can’t forget the glory

of his recklessness. he isn’t dead, but you mourn

him like he is. And as the dead are eventually

parceled away, you hope one day

he can be too

XX. Three Blackbird Chicks – A Nursery Rhyme

 

Peering through the rose bush, so dense and thick

Lives the creased bodies of Three Blackbird Chicks

In a nest of supple twigs, moss, and rotting leaves

Wrapped with skill like a tight basket weaved

Mother blackbird eyes us joyful voyeurs with distrust

While we marvel, stare, coo, and fussed

She’s perched nearby on the gate, wings poised to dive

As our touch to the branches cause the procession of chicks to rise

Desperate for food, the blind hatchlings chirp in unison

Horns in an orchestra, rising to a conductor’s baton

The chick’s tender necks are a soft leather musette

Their sinew and flesh the shade of faded russet

Seven sunrises pass, and their daffodil beaks rust brown

Their crumpled bodies now fluffy with ebony down

I touch the verdant leaves, and the birds scattered! Fell ! and Flew!

Softened worm and shrub no longer their food

Presently came a bright blue day, with a sun that stirs the bones

The cat stretches his aching legs and grooms his fur of roan

With deadly skill, he plucks a curious fledgling from a shaded nook

I try to save the chick from his vice-like jaws, but a cat is resolute!

And as the sun shone bright that day

And the neighbourhood cats slunk, dozed and played

My blossom-beaked chick with the midnight coat

Slipped unceremoniously down the fat cats throat!

 

***

 

 

SONG LYRICS AND PROSE 

XXI. Dear One

 

Atop the cliff we danced into the falling sun

That turns the blue sky into a bruised purple one

He looks at me, and his smile lingers on and alone

And he says baby, I have never felt so damn warm

So I sing this old song

It’s your song

You told me it was a sad song, such a sad song.

When the night heeds the morning

And those fears of mine come dawning

I’ll watch you sleep, dear one

A laugh is shared, a moment in time has passed

I hold your hand and I wish for this season to last

The sadness chills me but I know you’re still sure

And I say what if I can’t smile like this anymore?

So I sing that old song

It’s a sad song.

A song we can all sing along to.

And in the dawn we’re sober

And those faces look much older

Cos time’s not yours to keep, dear one.

 

XXII. Carlisle Street

 

The fun in it’s gone

It stole away my sleep

I’m counting the riddles

But I won’t find them on this street

Around each corner, around every bend

I hear my name, I find a hundred friends

But in all that silence, the town spirits

Keep rattling their bones

All I have is just my suitcase and

This ten dollar bottle of wine

All I ask is for another night,

Let’s stay up until sunrise

The car lights blind me as I walk along

In a two-step shuffle beat. I say hello

To every shadow that I meet

They keep dancing along

My money is gone, and I’m all alone

With this song. I can hardly sleep

I’m searching for riddles, but I wont find them

On this street

All I have is just four cigarettes

And this half-drunk bottle of wine

Let us sit around and laugh out loud

At all those years

 

XXIV. Australian Roads Through Your Windshield

 

The road we are travelling on runs endlessly

into a horizon of powdery sky

and low flecked cloud

The sun saturates us with heat, sets the view alight with glare

On the side of the road,

at the foot of a crumbling church, three hippies dance to no music

Crooked trees and wire fences follow us with every inch

Hills far away, forgotten by all but a

lonely farmer, sit patiently, biding their time across the earth

Hay bales squat like a thousand

stationary soldiers, cracking with the force of time and the sun

Telegraph poles march towards us, lowering their

military flags of wire between them

Crows perch on the wires, eyeing our vehicle like prey

My love sits in a wistful dream of sketches

and sees the beauty in almost everything

Flaxen hills frame our road and the lamb’s faces

peer at us blankly.

The sun flickers like a torch through

the dense foliage, and punctuates the road with light

Wispy clouds stretch across the sky.

They are fading

with their ghostly arms outstretched

Cars turning off the main road leave a memory

of dust that swirls to the heavens…

And on foot

Newly–formed rain clouds coat the landscape with a murky wash,

trees jump at us like watercolours

I suck in the thickening air to slow down my heartbeat

We scan the dampened and dusky landscape

He lights a cigarette; a plump raindrop extinguishes it.

A densely canopied path lies ahead,

and with no words spoken,

we begin the trek on foot.   The wind taps our ears

The gravel crunches melodically

The green stretches for miles, and then some

The sun seeps into the shadows

 

And we walk on.

 

XXV.  Lord of the Sea

 

Lord of the Sea,

We call Him

One of those people

Who stand and stare,

Aimlessly

At Their ocean, on Their

Formation of broken slabs

Their anemones,

Radially symmetric, protective tentacles

pipis, urchins

Their sky and Their clouds

Peels off his socks and shoes

For a better foothold on the greasy rock

A shipwrecked view and a low-cloud wind

Him above its Might

You Can’t Hurt Me,

His eyes are steely

And resolute

They quietly make their peace

The sea

And The Lord

 

XXVI. Closing

 

It’s been such a long time my friend

If we had it over, would we do it again?

And you wonder why

Why do I care?

And why do I want to know?

And if I could have called that day

Do you think that I wouldn’t have?

So many things that I, want to say

Now that I

Can’t say them.

 

Quiet

In

The

Chaos.

Shhhhh

 

So often, the origin of human misery is simply rooted in our unfortunate propensity to constantly attempt to transform into multiple, ever-changing human incarnates; none of which adhere nor honour our natural emotional or spiritual inclinations. We falsely believe that if we behave “normally”; like everybody else; or keep all of our arms and legs inside the cabin at all times during this short, fucked up ride, we will find some sort of peace in the generalized acceptance of other humans. But this is a dangerous and ultimately lonely fallacy. Being a tarnished bolt in the dreary machinery of society is nothing but a spiritually barren endeavor. We simply cannot become what we are not, and we should never feel shame in that. Trying to transform ourselves into something that is manifestly unnatural feels painful, forced, and we end up feeling like jealous, ineffectual, idiotic failures. It has become obvious to me, through years of confusion, frustration, introspection and misery, that I will simply never think linearly, or be sensible, guarded, dull, predictable, “grown up”, perfect, demure, organized, ordered or neat. I will never watch what I eat, censor what I say, or try to unnaturally control any aspect of my life. I am a child’s madness. Their absurdity. Their chaos. I am a child’s wide-eyed wonderment and naive kindness and heart-tearing empathy. I want to be shocked and thrilled. I want to fall desperately in love with everyone. I want to cry for others. I want to talk til sunrise. I want to soak up words, stories and knowledge like a bonedry desert. I want to laugh til I can’t breathe, at things that will make no sense in the morning. I want to give everything I’ve got to others. I want to finish all the food on my plate, then go back for seconds. I want to invent ridiculous affectionate names for all my close friends, and speak in a different secret made-up language to every one of them. I want to dance til I get dizzy. I want to sit and listen to the misfits, the dreamers, the animals, the loners, the ones who stay up way past midnight and whose imaginations and creativity blaze like a burning dawn. I want to experience everything once, then do it again just to make sure. And most of all, I never want to follow any well worn path of tedium that has been carved out before me. Tedium can wait for me when I’m dead. We should never change who we are for anybody else. I want to be a spinning, burning, flawed, fucked up, excited mess that lives as a bright star in my loved one’s hearts long after the worms claim my madness and my soul becomes stardust. Acceptance of one’s utter absurdity is the only logical path to peace.