Power Politics Abuse

Waiting for the 2.42

Flinders St Station Platform 10
Waiting for the 2.42
nothing much else to do
so we cuddle and kiss
oblivious
to the sensibilities of the other pair
sitting there

Writing

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

Bayonet

She pierces me
with sharpened steel
and twists the bloody bayonet
I push away to escape with my life
I spin I thrash I turn and writhe

such familiar pain I feel
when once again my wife
confused demented lashes out
with her disorientated knife

The brutal sea

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

Time

Boroondara General Cemetery clock tower
Time forgive me
I have not used you well
I lived without a thought
given to your passing
your never ending
support of which I ought
have appreciated
gratefully respected
sincerely thanked upon my soul
because now I know
you will let me go
you are not mine to control
infinite time
you will pay me no mind
and at your pleasure
you will swallow me whole

Poetry days #08.