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.
A vivid sun rose from the east it offered me a good day my withered body sought solace in what was promised in that way I rose to greet and meet the sun looking forward to its promise my creaking bones and stiffened joints arose with only a little grimace I followed the sun throughout the day from sunroom to verandah seeking light absorbing heat with more vigour and more candour no pain relief was necessary as the day progressed I calmly bathed in soaking sun therapy at its best I gave thanks for another day of appreciating the sun its warmth and illumination of the world was delightful to this one as sick as I may be every coming day I return to partial health as the sun rays wash themselves over me with their golden wealth and so the night too looks a little less grim as the suns light fades and the evening chill slowly settles in I wrap myself in a blanket I sip hot tea and sit by a warming fire never the sun but I take what I can get as the aches return the cramps begin I look forward to tomorrow and to the east I’ll turn my gaze hoping for a little more sun to borrow
Poetry Days #31.
All work is my own and subject to copyright. I do not use AI. I do not want AI to use my work
Fewer Koalas visit us these days, Strathbogie Tableland, Victoria.
We witness their leaving like smoke in the wind the wildlife departure impossible to rescind following First Nations people out of the bush into memory alone at an increasing rush when we came here there were many koalas just 16 years ago now their sighting is uncommon as they falter and go and the freshwater crays I haven’t seen for five years the metal blue of their backs absent - extinction fears there once was a blackfish but it also is gone from the spring creek below us it once called home and the robins are fewer where they once dominated the platypus just hanging on from being eradicated I’m sure the list is much longer but what more can one do than try to protect what is left sheltered in a zoo more people and cars, disease, cats, foxes, more stock more land cleared, less native food, climate change, ticking clock we should know better but our efforts are weak we talk local but the world must now deliver what we seek
Poetry days #30.
All work is my own and subject to copyright. I do not use AI. I do not want AI to use my work.
Cnr Exhibition & La Trobe streets, Melbourne, Victoria.
I try to build the high towers you quickly tear them down I try to exercise my powers you remove my crown all my efforts at good you come for them with spades determined that you should send me back to the shade you undermine my efforts at being something better you cripple my best endeavours with termination letters I was once the coach but you do the money managing I am now an impotent ghost you’re the one real and damaging whatever I did to you I cannot work it out when I ask the question all you do is scream and shout so I’ll leave you here head for new towers on some far horizon I can’t wait any longer you and I are done
Poetry days #29.
All work is my own and subject to copyright. I do not use AI. I do not want AI to use my work.
Shark Bay, Western Australia. Photo: Michael Taylor.
The rocks called the brave fishermen to their very edge "come hither, fish from here" they said "the fish are biting the catch is better the fun is greater the platform flatter the water deeper the violent waves are more extreme" challenging warnings of danger with a fisherman’s dream
the men they came day in day out urging each other mucking about telling fish tales over waves in shouts clad for spray from towering spouts casting long into the deep swells without doubt
standing or sitting amongst squawking gulls from cold cans or hot thermos taking deep pulls reeling in their lines casting again taking on the elements as true fishermen
when the king wave hit most scrambled to safety some saved by their fellows dragged to the shore others dragged down were followed by bellows where are you our friends are you on oceans floor or riding the waves in hope of rescue we will scour the surface we will hope to find you we’ll watch from the rocks for any sign of life or we’ll slowly trudge home to inform family and wife
Poetry days #28.
The writing is my own and subject to copyright. I do not use AI. I do not want AI to use my work.
The star that fell as a bright flaring slash across the sky was really a meteor the dull star that brightens then fades over weeks in the night above is really a comet the star that arcs in a consistent orbit lit in the heavens is really an artificial satellite if ever a star was to really fall toward earth the solar system would simply ignite There is no Father Christmas
Poetry days #26
All work is my own and subject to copyright. I do not use AI. I do not want AI to use my work.
Accessible walk, Lake Pertobe, Warrnambool, Victoria.
Accessible walks are such a wonderful thing getting all people out to enjoy nature and sun for me, it is a matter of strategic dreaming that I will publish each accessible walk for everyone
the pleasure I see in enjoyed natural spaces and landscaped gardens designed for all the smiles on all young and adult faces as they embark on a walk at nature's call
feeling healthier and fitter for being outside as they see the sights on a walk or a roll and so much mentally better inside breaking the chains of confinement is a worthy goal
This picnic table had a great view of the sea but it was what was behind that distracted me when I turned these twisted elongated branches were reaching at me with strong twiggy pincers their prehensile limbs moving into my space their sinister demeanour put a frown on my face I was sure as I sat that these ti-trees did creep I was sure as I sat that my body they did seek before being encased in the arms of these woods I got up and ran while I felt I still could
Poetry days #24.
All work is my own and subject to copyright. I do not use AI. I do not want AI to use my work.
Yellow-tailed black cockatoos, Strathbogie Forest.
The one on the left said, "What will we do? I think share all our seed, what about you two?" The one on the right said, "I've earned more than you." "I'll be taking full earnings, as is my due!" The one in the middle said, "Be reasonable." On cue. "There's no need to bicker, dissent or argue. Let's eat what we need and let some accrue." The way forward was set by this Yellow-tailed black guru.
Poetry days #22.
All work is my own and subject to copyright. I do not use AI. I do not want AI to use my work.
poetography.ink 