flirting with the barmaid

(true-ish story from about 10 years ago. posted for a friend)

eyes so disarmingly bright i am compelled

no commanded

to meet and hold them
locked together for as long as we have in these brief interludes

snatches of conversation
conspiratorial gestures
acknowledgment of existence from across the room

do you notice how i watch you
collecting pieces of you to take with me when i leave
capturing your smile in my mind imagining later that it is more than it was

wishing that
the fingers that unselfconsciously run themselves through your hair
the arms you fold across you, holding you
the tongue that plays inside your mouth
the teeth that bite gently, playfully, on your lower lip
as we steal these brief moments between drinks

may one day be mine

knowing as i leave this place where we meet all too regularly
that i must feel myself content with these friendly greetings
comfortable platonic gestures
these far too fleeting stolen moments of familiarity

Allegory

(another old DanPoets comp, where Ted set us the line "an angel black as soot")

Let’s talk, good folk, of war today
A war as old as sin
A war whose borders blur so much
Who knows where they begin

It all began so long ago
With plan ineffable
When one was cast for thinking that
His lord was fallible

Do they do right, who revile he
They call adversary
When only crime committed was
To be but contrary

And hells of fire and brimstone are
But tales told from above
And why so many children dead
In the name of His love

Threatened are we to act for good
With afterlife of hell
But foetid stench of ill deeds done
Comes from above as well

The story skewed by both sides to
Control what we all see
For both dependant are they on
Our human frailty

The powers that control each of
The camps from which they fight
One thing in common do they have
Both sides do claim their right

To do with our lives as they please
One just like another
The only goal at end of day
Win against the other

Priorities by them are set
Each judge their win, their loss
Reasons to fight are not our own
We but the fighting dross

We all of us but numbers scored
Death but a tally kept
Knowing the truth, his final day
No wonder Jesus wept

Can you be sure which to believe
Decide who’s good, who bad
The arguments for either side
Could drive a sane man mad

But if decision uninformed
Is made you may well find
The state of your immortal soul
Shall leave you in a bind

Can you this day, this time, be sure
Wherein your trust to put
A demon white as driven snow
An angel black as soot

trout fishing

bait is set
hook deep
dropped into water
now wait
tempt

first tug
interest on the line
balance the to and fro
let it play
draw the bait in

gentle resistance
entice
draw it to you with
its own motivation
resist urge to pull
too hard

line is drawn deep
feel acceptance of lure
resist a bit more
urge it to take it
complete

eagerness a hindrance
try too hard
pull too quick
bait is dropped

beautiful eyes leave dance floor
not seen again

outside my front door

on gnarled crooked
old-man-fingered branches
eucalypt leaves hang

long tapered strokes
of artist's brush

gray watercolour
trunk
pushing them up
to reach the sky

Serfing my Liege

Edward "Ted" Kidson-Lord 5/8/1938-14/5/2007

When first I come home each night
It is your face I see
Your photo displayed prominently
You behind a mic where you belong
And I remember

When I go into my study
I see the painting you gave me
A nude, of course,
Some water colour detail
A female behind, prominent lips
Of a cunt displayed
And I remember

The painter, as well as the poet
The sculptor, too
The guiding hand for so many like me
Mentor and friend
And I remember

And think of memories shared
Of butterflies and ants
Of the power of words
Of a heart so physically fragile
And so spiritually strong
A hand held out to one
Just finding his way
And I remember

That poetry is alive and well
In Melbourne
And among the reasons for this
It is you who should be forever numbered
For what am I but your legacy
Another hand to hold a torch
With your grip imprinted on the handle
In all that I do I honour you
And I remember

With thanks, with respect
And with love
And hold you within me
Always

I will remember

ships in the night, trams in the evening (1998)

Note: first poem I ever read on stage, in December 1998


You sit across from me on the tram and return my smile
I watch you

Your eyes
No cliched comparison to limpid pools in the moonlight
Just a lovely pale blue
I study your hair
Watch it flow down past your shoulders
You reach up and tuck it back behind one delicate ear
And I see the elegant line of your jaw
And the exquisite curve of your neck
I watch the play of tendons beneath the pale skin as you turn to look around you
My mouth waters at the sight of the indentations along the line of your collar bones

Our eyes meet
Understanding passes
No words are spoken

I lean forward to kiss the depression at the base of your throat
The tip of my tongue, as if a herald to their arrival
Reaching you just before my lips
I bite gently on your neck, just beneath the jaw line
Breathe softly into your ear as I inhale your scent
And finally kiss your lips

Heat, moisture
A delicate pressure
We are not as starved animals at a fresh kill
Just two new lovers gently communicating desire

We reach your stop and you leave

You had not noticed me as you read your book
And I go home

Alone in my timidity

valedictory

I am wondering how to
Reach you
I am wondering how I
Poet
For want of a better
More meaningful
Word
May hold your attention

And then I wonder
Why
I should do so
And how to make
Myself
Deserving of it
And what I will
Do
When I have it

I can entertain
I can spin tales
Love, hate
Life

But how do I make
This
Mean anything more than
Time
Spent politely
Listening

To me