Powder

Thinking nothing
Balancing all
Original thoughts of a midnight zeitgeist
Cascading slowly by so that the mask made submissive, cowed.
Crumbles into powder upon first touch.
It is tasty
I touch it
So be immersed
Judgements permanent state hardens.
Fear of exposure
They don't teach how to love.
Starvation and neglected by lack of support
A pitiful cry of the bleeding
It knowingly touches your mark
The spirit is gone into a shroud disconcerted by daylight that isn't empty
Of self-deceit.
Unnecessary ardour of this suffusion of time
Coalesces
Into an amazing machinery that would murder your star.
And so you forget the will to think
Do I want this?
And if I do, am I weak if I give you my life
For I don't know what is power
If I don't desire it
Not my apology.
For when I am awake
A gypsy sun spirit reflects your resentment
Torpid.
A victory in the house of cards.
Empty fortress that no thirst from that powder you inhaled,
Can be slackened by it.
Happy to be empty for the sake of it
I watch you descend willingly in the trough
Mistaking mud that hides your heart to be your saviour
A free will that will quicken death
Modern masculinity without a cause.
For the sake of it.

Nomos Dreaming at Ngunnawal

Parched and deserted scape of mind
Emptiness and discomfort become a part
And hard to tear away in this environment
Believe the distance to be far and it is
Rescue from this quicksand running faster
Won't do you any good.
Constructed concentration of thought gathering
Erring in your way
It is calamitous
Feeding energy with energy
Propel yourself on false values  and in this pit
Inevitable death.
The mind full of ghosts
To what is empty and what do you speak of as mindless.
They come and they go
But rarely linger
And know the reality of the feeling of quicksand
Thoughts overwhelming
Sinking closer to the mirror.

Anima of Pythagoras

Romantic baubles sitting in wine
Voluptuously seduce me where I am
Fire uninhibited with fear
Belief in metempsychosis
In this tournament of undressing.
Arched
And satisfied with urban hunting
A plumage of veins stands proud
And ready to inherit its terrestrial prize
Whitewashing Babylon
With the doubling of the cube.
In the cult of Orpheus
You swoon

Auto-Poet

Nothing but this is
Why we were so much
For that time
A long way from no
Scratch the time and input
Up and running out with my family
To look elsewhere nor follow nothing
But the reality of your own personal decisions
Blow my life and focus on creativity must
Admit it will strengthen the bond.

When he gets the infinity of my own spoken words
Go out of my own little girl who is smart usually
Working out the details of the atrocities committed
By this.
Pen without having fun for you
Silks supposed launch
A missive be it ever so cryptic signatures from me
Perhaps you have a little quirk
To love me for my words
Which this time around
Mostly thinking about telling you
These words mostly predictive text chosen.

Barakei

The punishment of a rose
Self-made and deserving
Confinement,  not.
Of course you penned it.
Sun and Steel
In the courtyard, a naked self-revelation
Bare for all to see
Akin to Saint Sebastian.
Between Eros and destruction
The die slowly moved
While you vacillated.
Highly conflicted Erudite
Mirrored image ritualized in Zodiac
A disciplined code to follow
What was it like for those who followed.
Levis
Loincloth
And a rose.
You gave yourself up
With innate precision
You knew the outcome before it culminated
Sound in Body and Mind
Fo there would be no decay.

Sobriety

Stench
We all contribute something different
Even egomaniacs impact individually
Visceral, spiritual or theoretical intentions
Your spoke of anti-rhythm in my mind still turns a wheel
Though it's sometimes better to focus
Intent
Makes a difference on the consequences.
Counselling neurosis
While stirring barley and lentils
With spinach
Out of earshot from the dripping faucet.
We  legislate a ban on smoko breaks
But happy to serve you with the Responsible Service of Alcohol
Over-stimulate you with too much caffeine
Let's hope it's fair trade.
Before too long we'll find a way to genetically modify you
If that option turns out cheaper.
I don't like conflict, you say
I suppose you contribute in other ways
Even Sir Thomas Moore
Looked the other way.
There's no I in team,
But still,  there is me.
Get up from that hangover.

Waves

The battle of Marathon
Earthy
Faeries  flushed out
And nature torn apart
The upward curling vines creep up
Linear,
Pollen of yellow dust.

Roots sink beneath the rotunda
Outside
The battle scape has changed into
Something more insidious.
A sunshine shadow
They're quick to cover up
Its gas that's still extant
Even if you can't see it and lift an eyebrow in question
Mercury,  Uranium, amnesia or noise pollution.
We'll clog your highway and take a smoke-o  while you sweat it.

It's a marathon
Bring out your arsenal from inside that closet.

Not the best thing since Sliced Cheese

Punishing innocence
Precariously perched on a ledge
Defamed and hunted down
This collective paternalism
Is overwhelming and stupid.
Blame goes two ways
When you conspire to feed fodder to your flock.

Like the artist who kills butterflies
The hunter prizes its fragility
Dismemberment takes place behind
Closed doors
And the result is our pledge to their values
For what harm is there in it.

That color ringed in blue of that new hierarchy
Powerful nouveau elite
Gradually we'll mow you down.
We've placed fear in you
Feed you objects of plasma
Because you won't come to notice
Our business in that territory‘s back yard.
For how can there be statutory independence
In a review that says sorry,
That's not enough cricket.
Start a riot and we'll demote you,
The execution of your death need not be corporeal.
Uranium.

Perhaps I should stay on the dole
Rather than work for you
I'm a hypocrite
Of your politics,
You chose it even when you stand by
Of course your power is well done.
Nothing lasts forever
The last laugh is on us,
Organised trouble.

Friday Night Economist

From my Friday Night Economist
Originally from Bologna
Who calls me and tells
Me
That he's at a pub in Kenya.

TGIF he says
I can stand on one leg
Better yet still,  touch my nose.
Isn't that sweet, I reply
Put it in your selection criteria
God knows when you'll need it.

Like father
Like son
Funny how our aspiration levels are determined
Can be set by predecessors
While others prefer it
If you have standards and goals of none.
Best to shrivel and die
Then be seen to outshine where you came from

But there's no need for resentment
And you are showing me
The beauty of grace and humility.
You achieved so much
And sweet enough to think of me
Be it so far away
From a pub in Melbourne.

Intuition

Owl in the night
Deliberately,
Gone.
You did not see it.
Falling
Where Ganesh stood back.
That vortex
Is in front of you
Angry, solemn
Its pulsating and furious.
From another dimension
My breath is sucked.

And on the left palm of the tarot reader‘s hand
A third eye
Closes its lid.
Angry vortex
Gust of wind
And yet its fury is in its own quantum beyond human touch
You can see that angry spirit
A whirlwind of energy
Gusts of fury.
A voice at your ear wakes you.
          Get up.

Something intuition understands
Invisible communication
Between mother and daughter
The spirit is connected,
Even if life on the physical realm has departed

Untitled (Armchair)

There are no prizes for being sensible
Or for survival
Nothing better than seeing a happy face
That reveals nothing of the battles
Behind its travels.

Creeping along bit by bit
We're meant to cohabit
While we have the chance,
Let go of old clichés and
Bad habits taught
By those that knew no better.

Is it anybody's fault that they get the attention
And you don't?

The artist‘s way need not be
The struggle of a martyr
Nor follow rules
There's nothing wrong with being a worm.
It worked in ‘07
If anyone was watching.

I quite like election night
Counting polls, doing statistics
And hurling obscenities at the laggards
Quicker than you can say
Mackerras pendulum,
I'll wait while you Google that.

Untitled (Votive Curdle)

What provokes the courage
In the battle of time
Lofty ambitions
Brought down to earth
A Hakka from deep within
Each limb filled with a
Warrior‘s  thought.

Beating heart
Electric hum
Dimmed floorlights.
Still there is that sound
Of planes passing overhead
What is it like to deal with
Post-traumatic Stress Disorder.

It is very easy to gaze inwardly
But are we victims
Or do we seek out these traumas?

A sandpit of the mind
Leaves only the inner scar
The clock ticks on
Its mark invisible to all
Until we can't shove it away
Intimacy can be alone.
We are highly functional
And spatially aware
Of the robot within.

A lack of sleep is not much to go by
Bit by bit the heart
Calcified.
It isn't unrelenting
If there is help.
We aren't talking self-medication or polite nods to general enquiries
We don't air our dirty laundry,
Don't forget you've been inducted
To feel the fear before you even get out of bed.

Healing is OK to be pagan
We call it New Age
Not today fearing the witch‘s cry
Adorning the scroll of your medical certificate In which the icon of Pan is embedded.
Stoning, drowning or burning to death
But this happens for many a reason.
If only there was more love.
A world benefited from wisdom
For power corrupts minds turned
Cold and forsaken of nurture
And dominates it absolutely.

In defense of only

For the beast within
I won't turn you away
For if I acknowledge
And face you
Then there is no need to
Make union
With that of another
Whose owner
Cannot abide.

It needn't take malice
To be ignorant of one's flaws.
It's amazing
Actually,
How I can see your lack of depth.

We are both educated  you and I.
True,
You are better at numbers  than me
Yet
You've found no equation
To explain your lack of insight.

Of course I'm full of judgement
Which is why I quickly ushered
You
In the direction of the nearest exit.

Being a fool
You thought that being alone
A little melancholy,
Gave you an advantage
Meant that I was weak.
That word being cute
So often used
Realising too late
There are claws in it too.

And so we are at the exit sign again.
It's quite clear you don't get  it
Afterall,
Look how far you've come
A life spent
With no regret
For how can you
You're outwardly decent
Like any other.

Your jokes being terrible aside,
Your lack of depth and excuses
You should lock yourself up.

That's what I said Monday
Friday,
And my foot won't stand still
I'd rather be alone
Than have you pursue me.
False disguises of Eros won't fool me.

From Zen to Mental

A lil loose change
And some red sunglasses please
Brown Boy‘s talking at the pub again.
I woke up this morning
Money's all gone,
I credit you with this line
Another day is started
What of those ills
Be it fully sick
From Zen to Mental.

I need some images
To attend this verse
Nance,
This title belongs to you.
We was pimpin‘
Ideas
And today sellin‘ your wares
According to social media
I was sentimental.
I shared my ideas with you
Now
We're just Zen to Mental

Now according to the powers that be
If you work in the arts
You aren't doing enough
We give you a few crumbs
Put them in your pocket
That's more than enough.

So it's time to turn the tables on  you
Grab a mike
Any surface will do
When you appropriate,
Do these walls belong to you?
Vic council please know your stuff
How many times
Must we tell you
That Banksy‘s stuff is art .

A lil loose change
And some red sunglasses please
Brown Boy‘s talking at the pub again.
We're off to make a living
Somewhat better than
A dead.
Where's my placebo
I'm feeling sentimental again.
We're arranging a cyber tour
Called Zen to Mental,
Curated for you by me and Antsy K.
For some of you it's called art
For us it's just PR.
Fully sick, someone said.
Can you top it?

Burley‘s Electrum

Relative clauses
Possessive pronouns
Look it up in the Style Writers Guide,
It will tell you
Where to add your colons.
Omit everything
And nothing
For when you are done editing
That work of yours is public
You'll never see it again
Unless its a fuck-up of course
And then we'll know who to blame.

Goulburn gets a bad rap
For a place to bypass
According to the Songlines
It's no coincidence they say,
That institutions, prisons and asylums
Gravitated to that spot.
Incarcerate yourself
For ignoring the Spirit‘s wisdom
While you plot and plan the domain of your fiefdom.
But if we talk long enough with  Spirit
Maybe make an appointment with Aunt Matilda
Will there be a way to clear it all up
Make it habitable for all?


Walter Burley and his electrum
Long since replaced by the Surley Griffins
We acknowledge traditional land owners
While in other states politic
Some would love nothing better
Than to assimilate
And make do with this thing,
Cultural Amnesia.
So frustrating,
You aren't my Generation
Why are you making decisions
When I told you personally of everything I oppose?
Sincerely, I like all of it
Except for,
Your ideology
Your supporters
Your agenda
And my ineptitude.
I'm confused now,
Do I dislike me
Or is it you?

Do you know of your country?
That place where your people come from.
We are the intelligensia.
We gather,
We pool,
Collect, critique and analyse.
But when it comes down to it
The travels of our mind
Usually a long way from home.

The bay of Echo
Otherwise termed
Yarralumla
by the Ngunnawal
Is but one place
Said to be a horticultural suburb.
Designed around strict hierarchy
With the heart at it's centre
Not too unlike this valley
Now colonised.
The heart of the Nation
From which support of services spreads itself out.
Though it be a gathering place,
Gather your things before you stagnate
And move on.

Kintore, Coranderrk and Goodparla
Otherwise known as Day, Christmas Bush and a homestead.
Red Hill, Mt. Ainslie  and  Mt. Painter
Form tripartite vistas for the
Brindabellas  
Vantage point for Thawra
That healing place of business
Where lighting gathers and is drawn
While the rocks that hold what we call art
At Yankee Hat
Sit still on in silence
Another 20,000 years or more.

Meanwhile
Ginninderra,  sparkling like the stars
Sits far away
From the wild peach of Quandong
But nestles closer to
The Ghost Road of the Drovers,
We know it as that street Murranji.

Ambalindum, Erldunda, Dungowan and Kulgera
We like your place names
And would like to borrow them,
Stations and cattle
Represent
A stone‘s throw away from
The rocky little hill
Of  Gungahlin.

Tugranong as it were
These days we call it Tuggers
Back then it meant cold plains.
Not far
The Terror of  Argyle, John Tennant rests
Occupying a distant mountain
Not belonging to the errant cattle
Of Captain‘s Flat.
Bushrangers can still be named.

On any day feel free to drag on your boat.
The formation of a collective
Neo-Phoenician and proud
Skims a man-made lake
Acquainted with the history
Of Molonglo and the Murrumbidgee.

Omit everything
And nothing
For when you are done
Editing
That which was yours
Is now public.

Verso Recto Inter alia

Verso
Recto
Inter alia.
Cryptic signatures from my intuition
Extend their threads outward bound
Leaving their indelible mark.
Four months I have sat here
A lament for myself
And by myself
Nary a goon box
Or a dash of weed
Be required
Lack of originality means I could
Plagiarise.
But meh,
Whatever
Much easier to sink into lassitude.
Verso
Recto
Inter alia.
The opportunity for help
More than once did arise
Not so much a dilemma
But a quandary trying to fit multiples of  nothing in.
A guide did come along
Let's say we name him
Bob.
With implements and tools
Not once did I find  a spandrel
Discombobulated  at every turn.
I could have been at a sweatshop
But rather I'd help
Where help is most deserved
And here we are again,
Verso
Recto
Inter alia.
A fixin and a paintin
A chuckin and a tomahawkin
Scrappy knees
And daily bruises
Mind you OH&S please.
I told you where it was
Its that hammer over there.
That's a kanga to you, sir
One needs no haiku here
For the idea will surely stick
Verso
Recto
Inter alia.
For four months that help kept me fed
Did not ask for a hand-out
But when you come to depend on the help you thought you were giving,
Time to step away
And get back on your feet
Through other means.
It only took four months
To put prejudice aside
For soon enough
I'll find
Another complaint
No sooner than did I walk into
That centre's door
Then finally my previous charm worked its tricks
Now to find something
Suitable
For 9am next Monday sharp,
For soon enough
I'll find another complaint
This chance is short
But what in life isn't
Verso
Recto
Inter alia.

The Infinity of Irrationals

The infinity of irrationals
Is greater than the infinity of fractions.
Which makes perfect sense
Really,
For your tirade
Seeming always infinite
Was characteristic of such a temper
Neither fair
Or dour.
Epic sagas full of spittle
And volume.
You were so angry,
Disproportionate,
It seemed
To the issue at hand.
And how funny is it
That mathematicians
Can quantify
Your temper with a simple truth.
That much of what your breath was wasted on
Was disproportionate,
In all senses
Of
Space and time.
I couldn't argue back
Those shifting goal posts did not conform
To reason
Or logic.
What was the use.
Hand me a continuum hypothesis.

Baggage Claim from Sparta

Knick-knacks, items, ephemera and stuff.

A spotty ooze,

Goop goes mouldy.

Acquisitive natures habitualised

Ritual.

Please bow down at the altar of commodity.

Something is missing.

Needs no adieu.

Consecrating the urge

to marry into something Deeper.

Significance at the bottom of a glass.

JD for him

Where's my goon box full of liquor?

Something's missing

Neither money, booze or medication can prescribe.

How can the nurturer

Nurture

When to drop down to the well looking for love

Brings up a bucket that constantly remains dry?

Yet,

Disciplined we are.

Determined to repeat our good little habits

We lower into the well

And search.

Believing we can change our luck.

If it can't be bought

If we can't change the other

If we can't demand to be given what we want

We can tell ourselves lies

Because we're afraid to let go.

WE

lower into the well

Much preferable however,

Is to raise onself higher.

We wish to Inform you - Australian Idle

We wish to inform you
That we have no intention of honouring
that promise we made
to you.
You know.
That one.
Over there.
We said sorry.
Even looked contrite
Shed a tear or two.
Look at Tom
over there in the crowd
Tom, could you shed another tear or two for the crowd?

The times judge and call me opportunistic
Hey, at least I had a go
before the knives came out
away from public view.

Our party machine is sick
But the alternatives aren't any better;
If we have no sense of value at our core
We can at least put on some make-up
And do a pirouette and perform the encore.
The advice is not so good,
and the polls,
they twitch like nervous rabbits
Where's Tom from that crowd
We need to borrow him to make a good impression on Australian Idle.

Slam anybody for being honest
Do so at your peril
for you'll soon be out of office.

What's this idea called multicultural?
Be it an 'ism?
Perhaps it was swallowed
inside the pot belly
of someone else's XXXX gut.

Can somebody hit the Escape button please
And delete all this evidence.
Let's not get all highfalutin now,
We're in Australia
where education is for kids.
But in the real world
We do not want a population that knows we tell lies.
Moving forward, anyone?

Of course it could be much worse
For I did not come here seeking refuge from war
I can fire diatribes from my armchair
And hide behind a safe Firewall.

Is a flawed democracy better than
a benevolent dictatorship?
Be careful what you ask for.
Think what you want.
Express what you want.
We are free to be
Individuals.
Whatever that may be mean.

Fuck up all you like,
Please,
You go first.
I can still have manners at a gun-fight.

Erudition and discernment
A pen no longer requires ink
Perhaps we are in agreement.
Ignorance is the choice
To put the word ass into class.

We want bettter choices, you see.
Yours truly,
The Election-voting class.

Ecclesia

Like many things
You may claim superior knowledge
I share my technology
together we embrace in virus.
You litter my page
And that of others
with thoughts and opinions spewed forth
Who is spewing forth now?

Sifting through the trough of images
Distortions and soundbytes
Defamation is so easy
Though you and I would never know
Just how ignorant and compliant.
Sedition and self-censorship
Unknowingly participating in someone else's agenda.
It's a wonder academy still stands.

How's to getting off that soap box
Would you like a verbal joust?
Or will a fist against education
be enough to intimidate you.
Freedom of speech
Dystopian malaise
Cryptic mazes
while polemics from those above do not change.
Say nay, all that you like
The Ecclesia may yet fall from its height.

A Posteriori

Dispossession, displacement, disapora
By virtue of tectonic shifts.
Humans divide
into clusters, groups, clans and tribes.
I blame you for my current state,
though my cell is outside
And soaking in Vitamin D.

Loss has many a facet
You say our grievances are different
but aren't we mourning the same thing?
Not always, I know.
But ultimately recovery requires forgiveness.
Whose path do you chose to tread?
The bile inside you is cancerous
If you make way for its scorn.

Estrangement has no border
A choice to discriminate for ignoring my orders.
Matrimony guarantees security for a little while
Ask that insecure spouse,
You'll wonder
If they got together under a cloud
And raised their children under a storm
Unrelenting.
There are no defenses from harsh words
to a child that are spoken.
A broken home
Needs no passport to feel alone.

A Priori

Land free from sin
The dispute of generations
Continues to rage and bellow;
Hell may have existed
There
In the past
Locked away.
The mind is both the prism
and salvation
for denial and subterfuge.
An inferno we place external
to mundane reality.
In our minds we are all benevolent;
Aesop lives today still.

Whose land are we on
And why does it matter
To say sorry, and acknowledge
Claim?

Neither sovereignty or disunity
May right past wrongs.
Words are Shallow
If followed by another message in a gun.
Secret, sacred, spirits of the land.
Wherever we got there are secrets
But unity helps us understand;
Divsions made of malice and greed
Be damned!
They were here first.

He means If - Pas Deux

He means If.
You don't comply,
The don't comply,
We will sanction you.

She means If.
You do as I say,
Ignore what I do,
I will say I love you,
Never mind actions behind closed doors.

A fledgling.
Humanity.
How do we love
When its so easy to judge.
Your point of view is disagreeable
To my learned sensibilities.
I am righteous
Too righteous to deign
To talk with you.

I know my ignorance
I know where to get my pontoon.
On it I pontificate.
Alone
In private
To an audience of one.
But in my mind
I say aye.
He means If.

He Means If - Part 1

He means If.
It's not always his fault
That things don't work out
Sometimes it's about you too.
Menstrual flows
Synaptic sighs,
Be it just a chemical high.
Why do we seek to blame
When others at times
Only innocently mirror
Our ugliest self?

Why be down when what we see reflected
Is but a part of us
An ever-evolving charm
Of Nature.
He means If.
You got your act together
Start to make sense
Get your head out of the gossip reels
C'mon girls! There's a feminist movement out there
Why do you pity yourself still?
No -isms, no -ology
No epistemological, ontological or empirical devices
Are justifiable excuses
For blaming someone else.
Its ok to be slothier than a sloth.

He means IF.
Love came along before Hallmark.
How can he mirror what you want
When everyday
What you want is changing?

And that's the joy of Mercury.
And that's what we love most
He means If.

You become someone other than who you
already are
Then you have lost only yourself.

24.10.12 Poem

Benevolent Despot
Socratic knave
A tyrant's despair
Another label these days.
Who uttered the word misogynist?

Jostling for power
Embraced by Ego
The City-State's knowing wink.
One Empire rises
Another one sinks.
Is it better when we rejoice in your suffering?

Sufferance for pleasure,
Pleasure for profit,
But who profits from oil
That changes hands and is corrupt?

Knave.
Fools.
Short-sightedness is not overlooked by history.

10.10.12 Poem

Browned, and freckled
digging deep the earths rasp
Vice, avarice, despair
All be found.
A shovel,
A clutch,
A moment's passed.
Be of good cheer,
Never mind the stations
lost.
...

Gone for now,
The illusion matters not.
Weary thoughts, weary heart, weary soul
Prematurely old.
But why bother?
Be of good cheer!
These spirits pick up.
Tis one thing to be of the mind
Another to live outside it.

***

What does it mean
to be here, now.
At a loose end.
Some time to think
Too much time for others.
Absorbtion a-plenty
Passion, where is thy drum?

A fetal curl
Not out of bed yet.
Some say its anxiety
Maybe a little depression.
More insane job cuts
More insane wars.
I'm feeling sorry for myself
What about the world.
Time does not bring back youth,
But time exists to change our attitude.
Who's afraid of the Tall Poppy?

***

These days grow long
The summer's sun stretches beyond
Pessimistic clouds
Death, resurrection
False hope
And Illusion.
Gone.

Perhaps never far.

Pens, they say
Mightier than the sword
But is there much truth
Inside a heart that fears
A mind that is closed.