I am going to tell you a story about what began, thus .,,,,
our underused garage became a room for rumpus.
Little did we anticipate the rowdiness it would encompass,
when rowdy young children began to rumpus plus plus!
Discuss the matter further we must.
This week Kim challenged we poets to craft a quadrille around the word “rumpus”. This is an almost true story. Only the children have changed. https://dversepoets.com/2025/08/25/quadrille-230-lets-kick-up-a-rumpus/
Enough enough
I’ve heard enough
of your bleating voices
of your derogatory stuff
of your divisive policies
your dumb ignorant rants
your jumping around
like you have ants in your pants
your discriminatory whinging about difference like it’s bad
when diversity and creativity are the best things humans have
when you wear ignorance like a medal
and stupidity like a gong
your lack of clear thinking shows something in your head has gone wrong
so for once in your life do something good
sit down and shut up __________
try to learn - if you could
(for wider application insert here _________ the name of your own idiot populist leader)
Everybody say yeah ………. “Yeah”
Everybody say yeah ……… “Yeah”
Everybody say yeah & stamp one foot ………. “yeah”
Everybody say yeah & stamp two feet ………. “yeah”
That’s cool!
yeah this is where it’s at
yeah I'm on the stage
and I’m here with you
and you're all with me
and you’re into it too
yeah this is the place
where I come to share
safe and sound and full of care
and it fucking feels good man
sharing poetry that moves me
with an audience like you
playing your part
- I think it’s groovy!
let me hear you say yeah - yeah
let me hear you say yeah - yeah
yeah when Wednesday night comes around
and I’m getting ready to come into town
and I’m wondering what’s about to go down
I can't wait to hear the next freaked out round
then I’m thinking about what words I’ll do
at The Motley where yeah it’s such a great crew
so I don’t have to ask will the audience stay true
because the people who come are true through and through
let me hear you say yeah - yeah
let me hear you say yeah - yeah
I pick a couple of old ones or write something new
I fine tune and sometimes I even rehearse too
I try to mix them up something funny something blue
a love poem a commentary something from my muse
because I want to have my say and I want to have fun
and to please you all, isn’t that why we all come?
let me hear you say yeah - yeah
let me hear you say yeah - yeah
Let me hear you say yeah and stamp one foot - yeah
Let me hear you say yeah and stamp two foot - yeah
yeah yeah yeah
alright!
I don’t drink beer and I don’t drink wine
I’ve had to make adjustments and it’s sort of been fine
but I do drink Coca Cola because I think it’s nice
and my daughter says I’m allowed one vice
addendum
please note if you are buying me a drink
I ask you to take a moment to be considerate and think
be sure it’s not supermarket cola or that Pepsi shit
because I can assure you I really don’t like either
not one little bit
I’m gonna have a crack at being bold
I’m gonna have a crack at saying what I think
I’m gonna have a crack at not being told
I’m gonna have a crack at trying out my kinks
and if you want to make me mad
just tell me it’s about time you did things dad
because all my holding back yes it’s true
was because I wanted to give a stable life to you
My brain has been fried by too much pills and booze
my lungs have been fibrosed by too much smoke and hooch
my liver has started failing now from all the injectables
my addictions have been diagnosed as damaging collectables
my complexion has been described as 20 years past my age
the amphetamines did that and being in a state of perpetual rage
my twitch is due to uppers and the paunch the sloth of coming down
and don’t talk to me about cocaine, is there any going round?
the munchies sometimes fattened me up but then the crack always thinned me out
who needed diet pills? I did because I was kind of always in doubt
the cough syrup got me high on ephedrine I could always get a six pack
as long as I went behind the chemist with cash paid out the back
my muscles are wasted my skin is pocked
it’s fair to say I’m generally fucked
some of my junkie friends died young but I admit I barely noticed
unless I was trying to get clean, and yeah those times were pretty grotesque
it’s funny what getting clean meant to me it was a sort of an exchange trip
which never really worked because backwards I would always slip
so here I find myself old, no friends no family to want me and I’m really in the shit!
I will go and get a pillow with a flannelette slip
I will nestle in my big armchair lying on my hip
I will stretch out my legs toward the soft topped footstool
I will place the warm pillow on an armrest before lying out in full
I will lay my head down with a lap blanket across my knees
with handkerchieves at ready for mopping drool each wet cough and sneeze
I will keep the temperature from the column heater constant at around 20 degrees
I will take the symbicort regularly and salbutamol as necessary to relieve every newly occurring wheeze
I will try to keep my fluids up though walking to the kitchen breaks my morbid reverie
a bottle of water by my side is good for sips but not as satisfying as hot green tea
I will remove my glasses from my eyes because everything I see becomes bleary blurs
I will close my eyes to beautiful music to distract me from headaches shivers and joint pains that ail me like a curse
and if the sleep I seek does come I will for a while be at peace
for only good sleep refreshes and revitalises a weary body when little else gives relief
In a world where unprotected justice is just another manipulative tool
those who believe in blind justice look increasingly like naive fools
where chaos replaces transparency with the purpose of obscuring truth
evidence based learning falls from aspiration, to work fragmented and moot
when lies are an accepted part of political discussion for misuse
the power lies with those who societal values they readily abuse
if public denigration of dissent is a routine weapon of discourse
then know ye that they will come for you too by threat as well as force
if wealth and appearance are the only currency around
the majority may well end up in position genuflecting from the ground
if deceit tricks and hacks are permitted to taint the heart of democracy
then notional democracy becomes yet another self defeating fallacy
and the corrupt, malign and unread will rule over every land
empowered by the inevitable sycophants and their militarised bully bands
The poetics prompt for we dVerse poets https://dversepoets.com/2025/08/12/dverse-poetics-tuesday-power/ comes from the deep thinking Lisa this week. It is topical, omnipresent and scary – as it has been throughout history. Is it worse today than in past eras? I am not sure I can make an absolute statement about that. However, with the likes of social media and AI now available as part of the dissembling and propaganda mix I suspect it is to become so.
I cannot resist a more personal comment about two principled men from Australia’s political history who I believe represented the antithesis to the forms of abuse of power described in my poem above. Two men whose democratic modelling, and leading of social justice and cultural reforms could be learned from by many leadership figures engaged in the power plays of today. My father Race Mathews with his friend, colleague & mentor Prime Minister Gough Whitlam.
My whispers to the morning
will not wake this sleeping brood
they whisper of the dawning
of the pastel colours hued
my whispers to the daytime
are those of habitude
of daily tasks and courtesy
none offensive, base nor rude
my whispers to the evening
are subtly subdued
yet another day is passing
but sunset is still well viewed
my whispers to the night
are those pleading quietude
contentment is a household
resting in subdued attitude
my whispers in my sleep
tell of my servitude
spoken in such a whisper
such that life comes not unglued
I recently met a metahuman.
Her name was Tina Fleet.
I found her interesting and she attracted me.
She was living just down the street.
I admired her superhuman power.
Her’s was flying feet!
She could launch into the sky on a personal whim
or run like the wind -
as just above the ground she skimmed!
She was also super smart,
in a class of her own.
None of us un-enhanced humans
had like her evolved or grown.
Her ancestry was drone AI,
from the time of the 21st century.
Now, one hundred years later
here she was living –
right near me.
A product of a mutant gene implant,
crafted by an ultra-mind
placed into a cloned human form
with attributes refined.
So, I can’t call her just human
because technically she was designed to mutate.
But on the other hand she became a friend
or dare I say, even a very special “metamate”
We’d meet at the local cafe for a cuppa.
Her supernature and powers didn’t bother me.
We would play a game testing her memory.
She never failed - infuriatingly.
We’d walk together on summer evenings.
She even held my hand once, after an impassioned plea!
She almost treated me as an equal
even though I was the inferior human species you see.
However,
there was a definite personal attraction.
I often wonder if it was a love that could have been?
I would have liked to have kept on seeing her,
but word had got around our town
that she was associating closely with a basic ancestral
on whom her metahuman friends looked down.
I didn’t want to embarrass her
my feelings were that strong!
I wanted her to be happy,
so I dropped out of where I didn’t belong.
And yet, despite that decision and to this very day
I feel that the way the Metas treat the rest of us
is quite unfair ……….
and wrong.
Juliet
is all slick and wet
her long hair in her eyes
she has been hit by an idiot
drunk driving by ……………. bye bye
Romeo
roams idly past
he sees the girl on the ground
he looks at her - quizzically
then he realises what he has found
Juliet
breathes in gasps
as blood pools under her back
she looks up, sees Romeo
last look, last love
as her limbs go slack
Romeo’s
not much you know
but this time things are different
He wipes the hair from her glazed eyes
and wonders where her life went
Juliet
rises above the scene
she watches Romeo
He cradles her head
gently in his lap
he whimpers out a moan
Romeo
struck by love’s full fist
his only love has gone
he whines, he weeps at his loss
death into his soul is born
Juliet
bears final witness to
Romeo’s last testament
“Did my heart truly love till now?”
he whispers
------------------------------------------
For the first time
he knows of true love and grace
“Good night, good night”
“Thus with a kiss I too die”
He declares to her still and pallid face
Romeo
bends his head down
and tenderly brushes her cold blue lips with his own
he softly places her head on the ground
a final look to the only love he has known
he lies quietly beside her
he takes her right hand in his left
Romeo
retrieves a switchblade knife
from his trouser ‘s pocket
meant for rivals never his life
and yet, he eases the blade into his chest
dividing his ribs apart
the sharp-edged steel slides smoothly
it finds his broken heart
As blood pools under his back
he has nothing more to say
onto the cold hard tarmac
his life also leaks away
Juliet
utters one last cry of grief
before she disappears forever
or was that one last plea for relief
in hope somewhere they will reappear together
for never was there a story that reeks of more woe
than this tragic tale of Juliet and her Romeo
Verdigris verdigris
How this oxidisation shames me
Will I ever get my copper clean?
Only with elbow grease
I’ll polish until a mirror like shine
Emerges by degrees
What is it the forest says to me?
It says, “Dive in deep and gleefully!”
and oh I do so like to take that advice
because diving into a forest is oh so nice
I approach the edge excited each time
because when forest bathing the time is all mine
nearing the forest the world changes scale and shape
new dimensions appear: from 2D to 3D, into 4D I leap
as the colours of tree thin lands fade out behind me
the colours of the forest grow ever richer to see
and time seems to stop while immersed in this place
as the harshness of cities is quickly replaced
by the soft light of beauty and amazing grace
the smells of the flora the anticipation of wildlife
the moisture in the air the freedom the relief
where I walk in peace awestruck and at my own pace
where I find so many reasons to pause and marvel in this space
I belong in the forest it puts smiles on my face
it slows me it soothes me it relieves me of haste
it gives me adventures I would never otherwise find
it welcomes and embraces me and I return all in kind
I embrace the ground cover the mid story and canopy
I welcome every insect bird and animal I see
I soak up the sights of mosses lichen and fungi
the waterways the water aquatic life and algae
and I think if this is heaven in heaven I want to be
because then heaven is on earth to revere joyfully
Today’s d’Verse prompt is from Lillian: write a poem that somehow mentions, is set in, or is motivated by the woods / forest. As I hope you can see, I like nothing better than to spend time walking in forests.
If only you had stayed, I would have learnt to love black days like bright ones with you. Why wouldn’t you? We could have learnt together. Such contrasts are about opportunities, about understanding different perspectives, about understanding each other and how to live and love together. All sorts of days come and go. All types of moods. There are enough days for everything we could imagine sharing - good days and bad. If only you’d waited to see how bright the future could be. If only you had taken the time to see through the clouds to the clear air beyond, to project us into that space of hope and optimism. Instead you allowed us to falter at the first hurdle without even thinking to explore how we could make the dark days bright again. You succumbed to the transient storm as if it would last forever.
This week Kim’s dVerse Prosery Prompt comes from Walcott’s Dark August , “I would have learnt to love black days like bright ones with you.” The task was to write up to 144 words of prose incorporating this line. I chose to write a flash fiction about the disappointment of a short love affair quickly lost to stormy weather – in 144 words.
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
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
poetography.ink 