Wednesday, November 30, 2011

squeaky wheels

I am surrounded by
Squeaky wheels
Getting greased with
My blood

But nobody notices my
Pock-marked skin
The barbs of these
Prickly bushes around me
Tear at my skin leave
Noxious residue behind to
Fester until
Coming to a head
Ichor release offends those
Who caused the

Yet those squeaky wheels
Cry out for my blood
Not recognising the
Two way street
That they travel upon

Friday, October 7, 2011


The pants of my
Are a
Too tight

In the morning
When I put it on
At work
I breathe out
Just a little
To button my pants

At my desk
Other people’s problems are
Or fixed

Demands are made
For errors to be fixed
By those who
Made them happen
Responsibilities of
Laid at

Next to my
Workspace a window
Holds a view of an
Outside world
Continuing without

When the time comes
And my computer is
Shut down
And my work day
To a close

I take off my
Suit put my
Home clothes on
And breathe in
Just a little

Thursday, June 2, 2011

An aroma, more than a flavour

My dad died in his kitchen
Collapsed in a heap in
The corner near the kettle
Vomit on the cupboards and floor

Outside a patch of driveway was
Dug up to prepare for
Inlay of nearby bricks
His mattock carelessly dropped
To one side

The paramedics and cops
Think he felt a twinge
A bit ill
While digging
Went inside to relax
Grab glass of water
Too late

But not me

On the table
Next to his armchair
When we cleaned up the next day
After the coroner took him away
Before our mum could see
We found a
Single chocolate biscuit
His evening with cuppa treat
He was making a cup of tea
Died doing something he loved

Friday, April 8, 2011

Meeting (2000)

transfixion not an option but a mandatory state of being as my eyes meet yours, as i look into them, fall into them, your soul's windows locking me into orbit around you

we talk, converse, learning of each other, every word issued from between your lips, those lips, a tiny hook, piercing me, drawing me towards you

uncontrollable muscular spasm deep within abdomen, shiver down spine, as body responds to delicate touch of fingertips on fingertips, idly playing together, a herald, a prelude to a further physical connection

lightning's fire of energy burst as lips first touch on lips, saliva sluicing pouring down parched throat at first taste of each other

and eventually, finally we are alone

and it is time

the world around us ceases to be, clothing discarded to reveal our true raiment, exposed to touch of hand and of gaze

kissing again, my fingers in your hair, arm around your body, the tension, anticipation, hunger in our bodies obvious as i hold you against me

our hands reaching touching tracing exploring stimulating every area of skin we can reach from this embrace

my mouth finds neck, and shoulders, and throat, as we continue to explore each other’s geography

in time hands gentle caress of your breast, response to touch digging into my palm and then my tongue as mouth follows hands lead, downwards

over ribs, across abdomen, tongue in navel, teeth on hips, fingers inside thigh, play with soft downy hair, feeling heat against hand from prominent pubic mound

font at which i now sup with fervour best described as religious, sweating, head swimming in your musk, momentary loss of coordination, shock waves of pleasure racking my frame as you respond in kind

and finally without cue, as if instinctively knowing it was time, we break from that embrace into another more complete, a merging of bodies, a physical penetrative joining so intense it is almost a metaphor for how much we are becoming a part of each other, you are as inside me as i am inside you

as we move together, rock together, entwined around each other, moving as one in ways so intense, so complete, so complex, as to rival the Gordian knot

until we surmount union's pinnacle at which we reach out, cry out, let go together and i orgasm with intensity greater than that of when first i held pubescent phallus in hand with curious intent, and slipped out of consciousness

and beyond, not withdrawing, not loosening in the slightest that climactic embrace, as one being we float nameless on oblivion's lukewarm sea

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

My Meeting with the Guru (1999)

At Uni as the 80’s drew to a close I met a man who
Taught me something I’ll never forget

I turned up at a party at a house near campus
Dropped my beers in the bath full of ice
Cracked one open
And went to mingle

Wandering through the familiar pungent smoke I felt slightly out of place

Having worked for a year before going to uni
I was a year or two older
And slightly more cynical
Than most of my peers

But I had a few drinks
Chatted for a while
Stopped for the occasional toke
And listened to whispers of a guest at this party

I heard tell of his genius
Of how enlightened he was
And decided to head for the room where this
Giant was holding court

As I wandered up the hall the smoke
And the alcohol
Got the better of me
I had flashbacks to Apocalypse Now
Felt like I was heading up river to see Kurtz
And I wondered what this meeting would become

I found the room
Joined the people on cushions
Passing joints, listening, asking questions
And talking to the man

He was a wonder to behold this

He looked as though someone in a lab
Had tried to cross a hippy
A surfer
And an American college professor
And had failed
Producing a look that those around me
Members of a generation with no solid identity of its own
Thought was pretty cool

But was basically a 30 year old art student in bad 70’s retro

And I with my budding biology degree
Learning how living things function and interact
Sat talking with this man of letters
This man who had spent 12 years at uni learning


We talked of philosophy
Of literature
Of psychology
We talked of many things as we
Sat in that haze of smoke and alcohol

And he showed me that he knew
A lot about
A lot of

And he blew the minds of those around him as they
On his every word

And I took something from that room that I still think about today

A decade later

As I wonder if somewhere on that campus there’s a
40 year old
Art student impressing
With the things he’s learnt

As I wonder if he remembers our meeting, the
Of uncertainty that crossed his face when I said
I know who you are

Or the smile of relief and satisfaction as he
My explanation that he was the shepherd
And these were his sheep

If he remembers me saying that he’d taught me
And that I must thank him
The glow of self-importance that
Came over him
As he inhaled my thanks

Or the self satisfied grin as he asked
What did I teach you?

But I doubt he remembers my answer

That he’d taught me never to confuse knowledge with intellect

Monday, February 14, 2011

Shelly's world

She was walking towards me
on the street
and she was beautiful
her hair
make up
entire ensemble

made me stop dead in my walk
to the tram

do not misunderstand
I was not on the pull
did not wish to talk
her into tryst
or otherwise

but when she passed
I stopped
and said
“darling, you look great”
paid compliment to
pertinent aspects
of her apparel

her reaction was one
of such indignation
and aggression
I may as well have said
I wanted to violate her body
right there on the street
when I was done with her mum

and I was displaced
within shelly's peach melba hat
except that it was the subject that
berated me
to point of calling police
for crime of simple compliment

in face of her tirade
I held up hands
confessed that while I was
my comment
was not meant to
initiate contact
I had not asked her name
and I was heading home
in opposite direction

but that i'd thought
that she was such
and obvious effort made was such
that pause for simple
was warranted

and moving on I wondered
and I wondered
we lost the simple
of simply paying

and then I remembered shelly
and the snow drop kid
so many years before

and mourned for a time
I am too young
to remember

Thursday, January 20, 2011

Big man sings my blues - for Rory

Some parts of this may be a little contrived, but if ya don't know his music, you won't get it anyway. (

The unsheltered part of the beer garden
Is near empty

There are various groups under the
Covered part loudly
Playing pool
Watching the footy
Listening to the juke box

But I am out in the cold
Slight rain
Waiting for the big man on the stage
To open his throat

He does not disappoint

He never does

My voice is a waterfall
Pouring out along with his
A smile hurts my jaw

I only notice the rabble
Between songs
In the quiet anticipation

He hits a blues chord
And two lone dancers
Hit the floor before the stage

He’s leaving again
Touring the UK where they have
The taste
To know his work

This is his last gig in
My town for a while
But I smile knowing that
Some day
Some way
Some where
I will see him play again

But for now he battles
The racket
For there
Love in
This war
Against the juke box
Sport on the telly
And the locals talking
The few of us
For him

For the music man

Consummate professional
Continuing to tell the stories of his music
Put his all too
Face to the songs

Right at the end
The crowd realise
What I’ve known
For a decade
And hit the floor
Request encores when
He stops

Now understand as I do

That when a voice a big as
His heart
Rings out I don’t need
Two feathers

I know how to fly

And I realise that
I’m not out in the cold
After all