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
Waiting for the 2.42
Reply
Tag Archives: poetography.ink
Room
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 is submarine
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
Buildings of Melbourne
Winton swamplands
Blaze
All work is my own and subject to copyright. I do not permit AI to use my work.
Love signs
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
Scared of the new summer
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
Of lovers and madness
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
The interrobang
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
Australian Raven / Crow
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
Tableland Talk April 2025
Welcome
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
15 minutes at the tram stop
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 other side of the mountain
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
Frank Poems
(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
Sulphur-crested Cockatoos in silhouette
Cockatoos walk the walk
they are smart and bold
they talk the talk
human or squawk
they are social and caring
for others in the flock
they live for decades
100 years they can clock
Bogie autumn
It has been a long, harsh, hot summer. Softening autumn light is finally here. Hopefully, consistently cooler weather is to follow soon.
Trust, hope and happiness
“Our hearts long to trust and be trusted.” Karl Jaspers.
What is the human world without trust? It is a world of lies and deceit that has lost its common purpose. Only in sharing the truth can there be trust. Without trust there can be no hope, no true happiness.
Every one of us seeks trust. If we feel we can no longer find it in our leaders or institutions, we must seek it out in each other. It is there we will find trust, hope and happiness.
Cycle of life
I wonder if I will ever get back on my bikes
free to ride wherever I like
living with arthritis is a constant pain
I do hope I get to ride again
luckily I can write to fill my time
put some cycling photography into rhyme
All work is my own and subject to copyright. I do not permit AI to use my work.
Brother, I still grieve
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.
FOMO
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
Betrayal
Where did that government find such murderous intent
imprisoning and shooting their own wherever they went
exercising ruthless summary force
while advising its citizens they have no choice
venomous lies from forked tongues they let rip
their smirking mouths toxic with poisonous lips
vile spittle sprayed from the lips of autocracy
blurs the vision of the masses with talk of democracy
all the while weaponising the rule of law
where justice is now held in the tight grip of a claw
a new dark age is coming where information is missed
where manipulated voters are swayed by each Judas kiss
poetography.ink 