No one could say why they were there the brigades the battalions and some in neat formed lines in neat clean uniforms they had come they marched on the parade grounds and through the big cities they trained in the fields out front of towns they ran through the wires to get to their goals they fell to the mud all mown down and their neat uniforms were ragged and torn their clean faces running with blood the muck of the battlefield filled their boots and their minds their assault waves were a simple flood the pretending of training faded from view as their numbers fell to the few the bulllets and shrapnel stopped forward forays as they scrambled to avoid injury or death every day as they cried and they died under the sun until there were none
Australian Saint Mary McKillop. I expect she was a good person. Just not sure why that defines anyone as a heaven sent saint.
What do saints mean to me? a martyr regardless of victory an angel from heaven found on earth sent for secret religious work a pietist of this earth born alone in piety oft forlorn a glorified soul for reasons uncertain purpose obscured behind glorious curtain
or a loved one supporting home and hearth trusted reliable always steadfast a good person who generally tries hard from heaven no guarantee not to be barred
What is this this thing called art this thing I feel smell touch hear see before me this mode for the senses to draw upon this code for the mind to interpret
what is this connection this very personal yet cultural experience where is traditional what is contemporary what is permanent what is temporary which aspect is simply material which is internally enhanced in response to which parts do you remain static to which do you dance testament contribution idea retribution
dora’s idea is redistribution
so let’s make anything into something called art let’s see if I can do my part I take an image something plain as a floor but it’s where I take it from that makes it more I climb stairs I scope and review until I find just the place that will do and the floor is no longer just a floor anymore but a creative rendering of space comes to the fore this is art
Vibrant skirts colourless skirts skirts that are static skirts that swish around skirts of various lengths from the ground skirts of pleats skirts flat and plain skirts to flatter or hide weight gain skirts attract skirts distract skirts that look different from front and back skirts with buttons skirts with zips skirts crisp and new skirts with fashionable rips skirts concealing skirts revealing skirts that are practical skirts adaptable skirts no name skirts expensive skirts that are cheap skirts destined for landfill or the rag bag heap skirts with patterns or random display skirts for work skirts for play for all the skirts in the world today I simply say hip hip hooray
I hope there isn’t anyone out there offended by this simple bit of new nonsense today. The way things are I guess there will be. Oh well.
Once I had one hundred pairs of shoes so many shoes I didn’t know what to do with them all How could I be fair to every pair?
I wore them in I wore them out I wore them everywhere and all about I put them on I took them off I cleaned them and I watched them scuff I kept them in the wardrobe I kept them on the floor I looked at new pairs in shoe shops always buying more I watched over them in case they walked out on me although that would be quite a shock to see
I wondered how to share the wear for so many shoes I’d bought with care I wore them in evens I wore the odds I racked them up and hung them from rods I couldn’t work out how to be fair to give each two an outing same as every other pair so I put them in a line and started at one end each day I would wear the next pair I did intend the days wore on the line grew around the house I walked in socks to each next pair quiet as a mouse
eventually I reached the very end at which point I must myself defend I came late to realising shoes have no brains or feelings so there were no gains from my actions bold and unreserved my treatment of them was undeserved
I thought I would try a nonsense poem for a change.
This river of mud it comes to no good when it spreads on the plains or surges through the woods when it rises in the towns or breaks dams where it would this river of mud is never any good
they throw the mud they make the mud stick weather whether there is mud to throw splattered thin or cement thick and I see the mud it makes me feel sick a vitriolic flood of slander and lies sinking reasonable opposition no due process applies
I write forwards you write back you tell me where we have been where we should be I write of where I’m going to be and you are not a character in that book
I was beckoned by the land it called me from the brutal sea the land fictitious beckoning me was not real I now see and that is how the brutal sea drowned me
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
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
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
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
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
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Hold those words as one beloved hold them close to your chest and let time slip step outside time as one embraced in the arms of poems that hold you in their grip be taken to that strange dimension where all is compressed and distilled into new forms of truth turned this way and that by the bent of the poet’s will reminded of who we truly are by words that by being will never lie weep laugh and gasp in that suspension of time being far from everywhere yet ever closer by
with thanks to Marcella Polain (Ed) Australian Poetry Anthology Volume 11, Foreword II, Australian Poetry Ltd. 2024
Poetry days #
All work is my own and subject to copyright. I do not use AI. I do not want AI to use my work.
Secretly we meet as separate, boy and girl but take each other’s hand for company and together in our own world forget their world which has split us, violently we tarry a while, for our regret is felt both deeply and silently
to give up our child before our prime when all we wanted was decency all we needed was more time to be a family and only to be with each other as three together instead of separate and lonely
Poetry days #34.
All work is my own and subject to copyright. I do not use AI. I do not want AI to use my work.
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