There is a room in a house on a hill without doors
nobody knows what it was put there for
because nobody knows that it has no doors
the room in the house is alone and forlorn
trapped by its emptiness without any doors
never able to hope for better or more
ne’er an open door through which to explore
Ariel was submarine once seen
where aquatic fossils scraped the sky
submarine is like a dream
of eternal meanderings passing by
like a book written within
like records of the past deep
until revealed or awoken
they have lain millennia asleep
In the Valley there are few trees now
since white settlement the river gums have bled
steadily back into ever depleting soil
the dehydrating sap bleeding red
some majestic sentinels remain
on final watch across the floodplain
of gritty dust and cropped introduced grasses
as the parade of indigenous extinction passes
withdrawing from the flats
retreating across the hills
ascending to heaven after suffering grave ills
and the broken remnains of centuries of trees
stand skeletal or lie shattered on the ground
as if awaiting a last chance for redemption
after each falling whoosh and final thump of sound
in atonement for overseeing the loss of forest
they crave to protect their young who escape the cut
of plough or chainsaw or grazing teeth they
enfold survivors in fractured parental branches
fostering the roots beneath
attempting nurture of trunk and leaf
but they have nothing left to bequeath
to young individuals left standing exposed
to sadly age in grief
witness to a parasitic human occupation
a relentless quest by the future’s thief
Water water
in that hole
I see water in that hole
been so dry a heavy toll
now I see water in a hole
drinking drinking
drinking up
I keep drinking hands a cupped
all that water it’s going down
I keep drinking though it’s brown
walking staggering
just how far
to another waterhole reservoir
the door of hope is now ajar
waterholes be my repertoire
heat and sun
pounding down
no further waterhole to be found
in the lee of boulders I go to ground
to die in shade without a sound
The idea of Australia going nuclear galls me
Mr Dutton with a finger on any nuclear button appals me
This land of sunshine vast spaces and mineral wealth
locked into a future of power hazardous to health
with effective contribution to the grid decades away
when we can scale up renewables here today
I am in a state of dismay
at nuclear plants throughout the land
of nuclear waste dumps / come contraband
of huge ongoing costs already astronomical
compared with falling costs efficient and economical
of obsolete technology by the time it is in place
when an ever improving tech is already here
its a disgrace
it’s sensible to consider it and review the outcomes
but not to legitimise it without proper data and sums
this is not a neutral decision and should not be
it is populist electoral baiting for a fait accompli
The nuclear legacy window is closing ready to be dismantled
Not whimsically enthroned and politically handled
All work is my own and subject to copyright. I do not permit AI to use my work.
Each kiss a little longer
hands running through my hair
a massage of my shoulder
a whisper in my ear
hugs are that much tighter
gifts come with thoughtful care
the lifts are so much higher
the intimate things we share
welcome touches when we lie
lingering snuggles tight in bed
brushing tears when we cry
loving words never left unsaid
closing off the world around us
the opening of our own
full of love and trust
a permanent inner glow
holding hands whenever walking
some teasing and much fun
lost in each others eyes when talking
there’s no doubt about true love signs none
It makes pleasurable sense to live in the country
but I am apprehensive about what it means
when the blistering sun and a searing north wind
are set to scorch the earth when they rise again
I am scared of the new summer on days like these
marked for worsening catastrophes
where shimmering heat on the horizon it seems
prefaces the burning of landscapes by fire destined
to scour every countryside rise and glen
I feel the new summer fear rise again
I am scared of the new summer as you should be
when severe climate change dictates choice and activity
Love is oft mad
at least it is common
for those who are in love
to behave madly most often
whether love at first sight
or as an earned right
love’s haze can refuse
the darkest of midnights
to acknowledge or confuse
bright beauteous light
thus driving one to action
bound later for redaction
for as Shakespeare said
in lines wise writ and read
“Things bad and vile, holding no quantity
love can transpose to form and dignity.”
Ref: A Midsummer Night’s Dream II 232-233
I introduce the 60 year old interrobang
the question mark as an exclamation cue
the bang originated as printer’s slang
a punctuation mark infrequently used
query and emphasis are from whence it came
for the enhancement of modern writing
gives use of an interrobang strong claim
a sting in the tail for subjects disquieting
I hear the rasping caw of the mortuary bird
alone at the top of a single skeletal tree
black feathered reaper scavenger and restorer
observer for signs of frailty failure and futility
calling to others announcing death as imminent
there at the carrion end of the cycle of life
crow presence at death's arrival is prescient
beak and claw ready to tear and cut like a knife
the murderous flock train beady eyes on their prey
awaiting the moment they can safely descend
they utter hexes for stillness at the meat of the day
aware their role is to share in marking the end
From Southbank
enter Melbourne on a bright yellow footbridge
under which the slow brown river flows
cross the river pass Flinders St station
walk your way to the parliamentary ridge
you will pass the most diverse of nations
every ethnicity, every colour and language
and generally we live harmoniously
although some would have it otherwise
I swear they would have us live in catastrophe
but I refuse to cooperate with their lies
The tram it is late the line it is clear
except for the gig riders in their weatherproof gear
the pedestrians dodge each other prop and weave
the boy on the kerb wipes his nose on his sleeve
the pigeons peck at spilt food on the street
lovers embrace and kiss when they meet
a young couple argue about where they should go
an old couple look sadly at the carnival show
that washes before them like the waves at high tide
where the truth is the water but the water lied
and the city is a victim in the coils of a snake
the people are uncertain is this dream or awake
the man on the seat nearby smells of alcohol and sweat
his hair is matted his shoes are wet
and seagulls circle looking for something to steal
from trailing children with chip bags they conceal
there’s a dashing young man dressed up to kill
and a dazzling young woman sexualised to the hilt
a girl sitting on the path is blackened to the core
blackened teeth blackened eyes blackened soul blackened jaw
the sky it is ruby splattered with pearls
of sun setting starlets in blonde locks and curls
it’s a festival of side shows coloured and brash
where faux credit has all but replaced cash
where art is artificial made by machines
where the grifters come to realise their schemes
a homeless woman drags herself past unstable and slow
and I’m ready so ready to go go go
The mountain ahead was a really big deal
with trees on its flanks but few flat green fields
up on the ridges were sharp flinty stones
this was the path I must travel alone
all through my young life I believed what they said
crossing the mountain was folly many ended up up dead
I dreamed of the mountain most every night
in my dreams of the mountain I looked up and took flight
over the mountain I did range I did soar
over the mountain I sought release from remorse
I scoured the slopes and I scoured the crown
but I saw little and little I found
my dreams fell shattered and broke on the ground
I determined I must climb by foot from the town
I wandered for days on flat lands for a time
before reaching the base of the mountainous climb
the gentle foot hills were covered with flowers
the meadows were rich I crossed them in hours
the mountain itself was immediately steep
the forest was thick the scree cut my feet
I had to use switchbacks many miles for a few
only meters in altitude gained daily as I drew
toward the top of the mountain’s ragged sharp peak
in crisp snow and cold air were answers I did seek
I reached the summit with its razor sharp edge
I looked on the other side from a dizzying ledge
and what did I find on this remote outlook
enough for a page enough for a book
I found enough to shake me and to realise
that my thinking was blinkered by my very own lies
my remorse was false a craven escape
from fear of the truth in me now awake
I had thought it would be different on the other side
but all I discovered was another brutal slide
and that I did not need to climb to be true
I needed to scramble all the way back down to you
to say I am sorry for the harm that I did
to understand the hurt that occurred when I fled
I am sorry for the struggle the wounds that I gave
I beg for forgiveness if there is any to be saved
(For Rain)
Written as a tribute to 1960s New York poet, Frank O'Hara.
On February 26
in the year of 2025
Rain brought Frank O’Hara to The Motley
for a short while he was reborn
in another place
in another time
where the words of other worlds and other times
are allowed to be reborn
and encouraged to live on
I had forgotten the name Frank O’Hara
until Rain reminded me of the small orange and blue 1964 book I had recently been dipping into
and here he was again
speaking again
speaking through Rain
being spoken of
the book is called “Lunch Poems”
I had come to think of him as a street poet
an observation recorder
but he is also a nonsense, a blender, a masher of words
a poet whose name I hadn’t quite yet fully retained
but I had sort of retained what he was doing at the time
Rain suggested I go and visit him on YouTube
I found some short and grainy black and white film recordings of him reciting and explaining his work
we take such things for granted
but it felt miraculous to be in the room with him in those moments
I wished I could talk with him
still I absorbed what he read and said and I dare to paraphrase here
Poems
poems
are made of words
the words don’t have to mean anything
poems are the vehicles
for words
to create a feeling
you can mix up words
in any way
as long as the feeling comes out
and stays
Dedicated to Codi and her dog
I’m all alone
in the cemetery lot
I need growth from bones
so I’ll take a plot
beside the friends I dig
I’ll form a skeletal assembly line
something cadaverous and big
to build a ghostly host refined
I’ll nurture them with fellowship
we’ll dance to death metal music
arisen from this macabre landfill tip
atop our graveyard homes
we’ll shake and rattle
them fresh grown bones
Fire me
because I hate this job
the work is menial
the owners are snobs
my self esteem
they are trying to rob
resigning won’t cut it
because Centrelink stinks
they’ll stop any payments
for weeks and weeks
so I’m trapped in this lousy job
I did not want anyway
they forced me to take it
though I wanted more pay
but who am I to say
I’m worth more pay
when the alternative is
no welfare paydays
while seeking the work
I am qualified for
as opposed to dismissal
or a lost file in a drawer
so I press button one
I press button two
slicing foam for packaging
it’s all I need do
when due for a break
a mountain of off cuts I climb
in my dead time
and I bounce on my bum
to the tinnitus hum
of factory machinery
that means nothing to me
All work is my own and subject to copyright. I do not permit AI to use my work.
I want to open my heart to you, talk every thing through about -
you and me
I want to open my windows, yell my love to the world, shout it out -
you will see
I want to open my door, run out, leap and dance and sing of us -
I can be
every bit enough for you, completely one with our two -
that’s the key.
So, say you’ll be mine
until the end of time
and everything will be fine
just fine, just fine
divine
The dVerse prompt for Poetics this week is from Dora. She asks wee poets to give our take on the romance of the open window through your poetry.
Talk to me about the sea
of sand drift and sea breeze murmurings
of tidal sliding and wavelets gliding
onto a peaceful shore
of curling surf and whale songs
of towering waves and sailor’s graves
of a blow driven chop hard to cross
and the constant desire for more
of rock pool eddies of a wind unsteady
of sudden squalls and risking all
of unpredictable storms defying norms
of salty landless freedom
of reflected moonlight and sunsets bright
of dolphins playing and albatross staying
of cutting the water and catching fish
of life in Neptune’s kingdom
of thunderheads piled high or a cloudless sky
of seabirds arriving splashing and diving
of phosphorescent wake so easy to take
of distant horizons all around
tell me tales about the briny sea
how to travel a weather filled journey
crossing oceans wide upon the tide
and I’ll take you where I’m bound
I watched him as we sat upon the deck of the sinking ship
the stern about to dip
our chairs starting to slip
our hands white in their grip
he wondered where we would be tomorrow
he stood as fires erupted upon the tilting deck
walked around the wreck
sought every way to check
for escape that he did seek
only to find himself on the rails of sorrow
the water now was rushing over both our cold wet feet
with no sign of relief
in sadness and in grief
life’s surging wild thief
he told me he wished well for his wife and children
I looked at him I took him into embracing arms
no protection here from harm
just wishing to disarm
anxiety and alarm
one last moment of loving calm
when going under the waves was the only given
we held each other standing there on the edge of fading hope
to the horizon we did look
to the water of our grave
cold and churning were the waves
then into each others eyes
resigned to our good byes
we held hands before stepping forward
the last things I remember are treading water in my doubt
the water in my mouth
the imminent blackout
wishing I’d never roamed
my loved ones left at home
wishing I’d never sailed
slipping under as strength failed
his tired smile as we fell
that I forgot to tell him how much I loved him
then came the wings of rescue they winched me up into the sun
I the chosen one
the sky it turned to gold
but I had lost my hold
on my brother and my friend
who supported me to the end
all I could think was how much I’m going to miss him
it’s been ten watery years passing underneath my bridge
I’m wasted and I’m damaged
with nothing left to salvage
I relive our time together
the fractured brother tether
brothers ever a pair
ever together everywhere
and here I am still left with no way of knowing
how I can go on without my brothers song
days are dark and long
I think it’s time I must be going
underneath the waves
my lonely soft parade
in hope that I will find
my brother left behind
always on my mind
I want to join him on death’s seas a rowing
together across the waves
nothing in it brave
just our watery grave
and our time together saved
All work is my own and subject to copyright. I do not want AI to use my work.
Hooting to acknowledge
others hunting there
camouflaging plumage
prey beware
soundless flight
beak and claws to tear
night vision adept
anywhere
hooting acknowledges
others hunting there
dancing with abandon
a nightclub lair
drinking jugs of alcohol
teeth are bared
faux charm awooing
without care
De Jackson from dVerse asked we poets to post a Quadrille (44 word poem) using any form of the word “hoot”.
The chairs were blue and black
the floor was speckled grey
the squat square tables
were printed wood grain
with aqua painted rays
most of what was said at the tables was untrue
the rendezvous of lovers
straight or gay affairs
were clandestine betrayals
nothing here was fair
the wilful and the wicked
the ribald and those plain dumb
came together here
for more pain or simple fun
few considered the consequences of their lies
there was a girl slender
a blonde slash across her her chest
a long ponytail from her shoulder
hung between her breasts
her sharp pencilled brown eyebrows
contradicted her eyes
which were as ill defined
as concrete slurry skies
dull grey as shattered shale
they certainly lacked registration
of the interest of the boy opposite
of his panting or condition
she was as forgiving as she was a true blonde
her date was a smallish young man
with waves of cascading auburn hair
framing a long straight nose
above a jutting jawline where
underneath his struggling beard
his tongue would have been hanging out
if it wasn’t for his jutting jaw
of that there is no doubt
he tried to be interested in her words
but a lusting body made him waver
he talked in a desperate way
with a flushed look and a quaver
there was nothing honest about the words he had to say
the family with the teenage daughter
amused she wanted gin
insisted she drink water
but the barman slipped it in
after a few more gins were taken
he met her later outside
her innocence was lost
as he took her for a ride
ashamed at her naivety ever after she denied
the chefs wore haircuts
chiselled short back and sides
engraved by the cutter with glyphs
that meant nothing but misguided pride
everyone of them had a goatee
of one length or another
growing wiry out of cratered skin
and a top knot tied with leather
these bound them all as brothers
but this was no family they were in
they fried, they tossed and flipped
like cooking still food was a sin
most of that was kitchen trickery
it was only for the show
to impress all the customers
who didn't care or want to know
the "Only the freshest ingredients" sign was blemished and rotting
the waitress was run off her feet
she had black skin and a black tank top
she looked trim naked and neat
and nothing could make her stop
her apron was black
it was stiff as a card
her cheekbones were ebony
razors high and hard
her gold plastic glasses
amplified deep black eyes
that reflected artificial moons
from the fake silvery sky
skimming the muddy boards
a note pad for orders clear
she attended to demand
pencilling a multi ear-ringed ear
everything she told customers was fiction
the ceiling was low the ceiling was false
the abundant cupboards were bare
the cash drawer opened with a jolt
the counterfeit was there
behind a dado of artificial pine
casual bar staff were busy mixing
the bar top a deep black lacquered shine
liquid with glasses spilling and clinking
the spirit shelves held coloured water
the air was synthetic scented air
the alcohol was inferior elixir
the bar tenders challenged with a stare
every stare they glared was full of contempt and deceit
everyone in the room was scared
scared of honesty
scared of respect
scared of integrity, dignity and truth
scared because they were there
to be looked at
scared to look
scared of the culture that
required they all pretend
scared to be
someone else in the end
RL 21.500 is a line in the sand
between two opposing camps
which one will make the first move?
it is going to happen AAM
(At Any Moment)
don't look away
or you might miss it
I was loitering on the corner after friends had dropped me there
I didn’t go nowhere because I was scared
I felt it coming a fright and a fear
as if it was my last year
and when it finally fell upon me the anticipated dread
I wished I had stayed at home in my warm and cosy bed
the devil in his black coat to me he came and said
I’m gonna frame you
I looked around but I couldn’t see anything of a crime
I waited there longer I waited some extra time
there was nothing to give me a clue no flashing sign
that my whole world was a turning
when she pulled up in her long bright shiny yellow hearse
I avoided her stare as if it was a curse
but eventually she prevailed with a promise to reimburse
me for my trouble
we drove to the mountain right to the very top
when we got there she made the hearse come to a stop
right at the edge by a long steep drop
I exclaimed I was scared of heights
she got out of the car came round and opened my door
I didn’t see her coming cos I was looking at the floor
she pulled me out with the strength of two or three or four
and dumped me on the dirt by the barriers
I struggled as she prepared to throw me into the abyss
but then she bent to give me my first Judas kiss
I knew what was coming so I ducked and she missed
I pushed her in the chest
and she swayed backwards
little did I know that she would unbalance then
I watched her teetering on the edge until when
she fell to her death
just as god sent
me a message
he said to get out of there because things weren't looking pretty
I didn’t need no message I as tore across the city
my mind was in turmoil full of self pity
I found a little hideaway a little dirty a little gritty
and laid low until things blew over
ever since that day I’ve been creeping around the town
all nervous and alone again I’ve been going round
worried the cops would do me over and when I would be found
but my life became fortunate and stable
the lord moves in mysterious ways around my little hangout
but in my mind there really is no skerrick of a doubt
he saved me twice from death and the devil without
my ever understanding anyways how or about
I ever got to be in so much trouble
In forests we go walking to find the time for talking
to take us away from the city hustle ever stalking
I meet you on love’s wings at the perimeter of meadows
and I love you all the more as we enter soft green forest shadows
we take the paths less trodden to open new forest doors
we find our way to high places to meres and rugged moors
the ferns they point our way with glistening fronds a waving
guiding us through the timeless forest we find ourselves a weaving
hand in hand we travel each a lovestruck wandering Gypsy
this time this place alone together precious magical and carefree
sun rays light the glades with golden shafts of wonder
we look aloft, laugh and dance beneath the forest grandeur
we lie down on forest beds and let our fingers do some walking
our hands our lips our tongue tips put a silence to the talking
again the language of forest love begins and with it our renewal
I’ll always be your forest love you my cherished forest jewel
when the forest loving is done and we must find our way back home
we’ll look forward to more forest talking and forest loving yet to come
poetography.ink 