Tableland Talk February 2025
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Monthly Archives: January 2025
Cracked
There is a crack in heaven and the people are falling out
back to earth they fall
governments don’t know what to do with them
there are so many of them
generations of ancestors now displaced
refugees from perfection
returned to their ruined point of origin
bewildered bemused angry and ofttimes bewitched
I read in the news that camps are being set up
the people from heaven are objecting
they expect more
better food drink accomodation and entertainment
they certainly don’t expect to have to work or pay for anything
they say they have done their time
if they get distressed or sick they are looking for health care benefits
what is wrong with these people?
Rain
It is so hot I can barely stand it
they say this is the future come early
I can’t stand the idea of the future coming early
how is that possible?
surely the future has to come when it is due and not before
in its own good time if you will
but the future has come early and I am so fucking hot I feel like I am cooking
I feel like everything I touch is either a hot plate or cooking on one
I feel like the sweat I am dripping is not sweat it is boiling water
and I want to scold the future for coming early because I don’t know what that means but here it is in the present and there is no relief from it
I want to get a big soaking brush and watercolour the sun from the sky
I want to replace it with pile upon pile of towering thick grey cumulonimbus
heavy with precipitation weighty blackening the sky and ready to dump
I just want it to rain
big fat wet drops that land with a splat and each single drop soaks everything it hits
rain so thick if you try to run away from it you just get wetter and wetter
it simply hits you harder and reaches deeper into your soul
I so want to run in that rain
all I think about is getting away from this fiery dry heat by getting all soaking wet
cooling until I shiver to my core with cold relief
to a place where I can confront the profound desolation this false future brings
the rain will put the future back in its place
take its toll on this deceitful future of scorching isolation divergent from its proper path
giving me a new wet future where I can cool off for a while
where I can relax and think about other things
I would lap up the true future
the moist green rain dominated future
it’s not like I don’t want any heat
it should just be intermittent again, when and where it is meant to be
I want us to all have a right future properly in its place
making it easy to breathe without fire in your lungs
wet enough to have us splashing wildly outside free from fear
rejoicing in the joy of life and secure in what is to come
I want everyone to dance with me in the rain
shake off this febrile oppression
and share my love in the rain
Polly McQuinn’s
Let’s go for a picnic and a swim at Polly McQuinn’s
we’ll pack a basket of food and some cold drinks
I’ll get the picnic rug and the Esky
we can spread out on this long hot lazy afternoon
under the tall peppermints and swamp gums
by the cool soothing brown water of the swimming hole
we can lounge in the shade all day if we want too
maybe you will want to take some sun in your bathers for a spell
before a refreshing plunge into that oasis below the weir
I’ll watch you, admire and love you the whole while
I’ll reflect on where we are going and where we have been
I will even venture in for a swim with you
because this moment in this water will change everything
when I meet you in the slow eddies
embrace you forehead to forehead nose to nose shoulder to shoulder chest to chest hip to hip
our legs gently treading water together
rotating us blissfully so full of each other we could burst
I will tell you I want to marry you
I will ask you to marry me
and I will softly kiss the earthy water from your lips until I hear your reply
Cloudy
Sunrise and the clouds are silver, gold, pink or the brightest of whites
they promise new beginnings and I believe them
I say goodbye to the night
and the day is full of all that might be
sun fringed clouds speak of good fortune and hope
when I raise my eyes to see them things start looking up
silver linings
dark clouds rising are mysterious and foreboding
what danger is imminent?
how will it affect me?
I become watchful
ah, today black clouds shadow my father's angry face
it’s time to make myself scarce
there is no doubt about the turbulence ahead
for mother and me it’s time to flee the storm to come
I am grateful
the clouds have lifted from our little home
the windows and doors are open
fresh air has once again surged through and purged too
my little window looks to the sky
there are omens in the various shapes passing by
I watch them, they guide me
to more thoughts of what is to come by and by
Xanthorea
It's good to see ya Xanthorea
gathering in the forest
your handsome forms and spiky hair
well combed to keep you modest
your food laden tail of unrivalled scale
flags you as altruist unprejudiced
your coming together in all kinds of weather
shows how best to coexist
your invisible feet step slow and repeat
toward timely arrival for greetings and meetings
you are never late with your shuffling gait
your committee nothing short of enchanting
it leaves room aplenty for your language of rhyme
to talk things through and determine what is true
resolving prime issues one at a time
until everything works out absolutely conclusively perfectly fine
Harro & Jack
Walking and rolling
with Harro and son, Jack
under giant California Redwoods
in Ballarat
where they hold up the sky
and you marvel at that
but just being able to be there
is something else to marvel at
for a father and son
called Harro and Jack
while creating another
accessible walking map
it is my great pleasure
to be part of all that
Bejewelled
Here jewell like beads of water hang from grassy stems
the crystal clear worlds inside each reflect a world less clear on the outside
shiny bright surfaces glisten and sparkle with the captured light of morning
here in perfect symmetry each luminous pearl is delicately balanced
suspended flawless and oblivious of the future
pulled by gravity against the surface tension of a liquid sphere
each represents one of millions or billions across this mist dusted field
here a landscape is bejewelled
a scene elemental as the water of which it is composed
rich as every jewel that composes it
here natural beauty on a tiny scale is the very essence of pleasure en masse
public art
I love the part
played by public art
for the stories it tells
for the stories that well
for what it says about us
in artists we trust
Photography days #36.
Words and photo are my own and subject to copyright. I do not use AI. I do not want AI to use my work.
autopsy
when they cut me open what did they find
a withered heart and a troubled mind
my broken engine with its oil black
muscles and sinews weak and slack
a shrivelled soul extinguished of hope
a brain of mush from alcohol and dope
I knew what was coming so I preempted death
with a listless overdose an easy last breath
with death I claimed release from a life
of never ending misery trouble strife
judge me not I did the best I could
homeless familyless and never any good
Poetry days #41.
All work is my own and subject to copyright. I do not use AI. I do not want Ai to use my work.
canoe
My canoe
nothing else to do
just paddle away
enjoy the day
my canoe
Photography days #35.
All work is my own and subject to copyright. I do not use AI. I do not want AI to use my work.
Algorithm
Curse of our ever accelerating time
leach of the time once yours and mine
funnelling us to places we don’t want to be
presenting us with things we don’t want to see
corporate instructions with manipulative intent
designed to create outrage reinforcement and vent
secretive grabs pull our clicks and attention
urging us to resist when facts are mentioned
I loath the discomfort the rush to agree
the social fragmentation from this wedge
being driven between you and me
Follow the simple non digital instructions depicted here to put out the fire!
Poetry days #42.
All work is my own and subject to copyright. I do not use AI. I do not want AI to use my work.
Griffin
can you see the griffin dance
across the garage door
the sun made griffin just by chance
of course I wanted more
more the sun would not give me
and the griffin faded fast
this was my very first griffin
alas I expect my last
Photography days #33.
All work is my own and subject to copyright. I do not use AI. I do not want AI to use my work.
Rust: an ode to climate change
Mine robe is rust
it’s purpose refuge
oxidised shell around me
protector of my heart
a flutter
barrier to the world
a clutter
betwixt my rusty robe and me
lies a sea
of tranquility
where mind and soul
are at rest
where love beats strong
in swelling breast
I dwell in rust
on rusty bed
my pillow brown
for rusty head
there find me
with pledge to you
amongst helter skelter
rust piles askew
through water deep
I will walk with you
with you beside
your rusty guide
to rusty haven
secure engraven
come stay with me
we're safe inside
in rusty fortress
under rusty sky
this place to be
abide with me
a rusty mantle
tough rust retreat
that malign forces
will not defeat
my trusty eye
my rusty robe
deflects the fierce
threats of the globe
the purveyors of hate
the snide deprived
the walking hopeless
the full divide
to whom protective rust
has been denied
I trust in rust
as I trust in you
together we’ll forge
our rusty due
the crust of rust
our rusty glue
Poetry days #41.
All work is my own and subject to copyright. I do not use AI. I do not want AI to use my work.
resurrection
If the bright sun arising marks renewal of each day
why is it so I persist in feeling dull and grey
if the sun sinking below the horizon offers rest this way
why is it each restless night tormenting dreams hold sway
every night the same every week barely endured
why the sun bothers at all I do not know
when no resurrection is assured
Poetry days #39.
All work is my own and subject to copyright. I do not use AI. I do not want AI to use my work.
the poet’s magic carpet
Anonymous poems from times immemorial
Modern poems with layers to peel
Poetry is the magic carpet
Flying to places unknown
Ride on the carpet and know you have grown
Poetry days #38.
All work is my own and subject to copyright. I do not use AI. I do not want AI to use my work.
Hope
Hope is the beautiful anticipation of the next time we meet
hope is that driver to deeds not yet complete
hope makes the future worth working for
hope is the key for unlocking any door
hope blooms eternal
Poetry days #37.
The writing is my own and subject to copyright. Bloom is an artwork by artist / recycler Kate Howard. Winner: Swanpool Creative Recycled Art Prize. Scrap, Wow from Waste Exhibition, Swanpool, Victoria 2018.
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