I stream déjà vu, night after night, day after day
repeating every 24 hours with a why in it
and a dull familiarity of repeating monotony,
there is a belief that this is not the first time
do I care what happened the last time
There is an intimacy to this path
but I cannot remember where it ends,
though I have a thought to it’s beginning,
have we met, I’m sure we’ve met,
have we met, we made…
I can never remember the ending
but we have met, day after day,
time upon time, lifetime on lifetime
is this illusion or déjà vu
is there a difference
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Charlie Mingus blows my mind
I’m up to night four of How to Make Gravy
Harley’s cruise in an endless parade
ridden by Main St bikers, not backstreet bikies
The sun is burning, as are our pale legs
Some people are never happy with skin colour
Blue sky, green ocean, white sand
Colour is everywhere on this beach, well most colours
I will soon find my feet to find my car
On Sunday’s I drive from nowhere to somewhere
I wonder if I’m searching for something or nothing
I will drive from old suburb to new suburb to unfinished suburb
All of them, at some time, will once have been “the” place to live
Nothing lasts forever
In the meantime I’m up to pages 496 and 497
There’s sort of a list, an I did this list?
Or so and so came from here list
A words list
Do people repurpose words, does he?
I’ve seen young men clustered on street corners
I’ve walked a city in 9 degrees
I’ve read Walt Whitman
A very straight Aunt once asked her nephew
“Did you enjoy your honeymoon”
“Auntie”, he said,
“I would have enjoyed it in a ploughed field”
She blushed as Woody Guthrie played
Monday’s to Friday’s are busy days at cemeteries
Saturday’s not so
But every Sunday is a big Sunday
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The Endless Wheel
Why do we dream of the nature of things
Dream of those failings buried deep within
Where life begins and ends yet on a whim
Why do we dream of the nature of things
Is creation is as creation ought to be
Where new life begins with you and then a me
And where children born to a prison refugee
Will know their life depends on our united plea
Time is like the wheel as time does turn
Important to those without much time to burn
Cyclical to some a monotonous yearn
Linear to others as many wait to learn
Cremated on a burning funeral pyre
Is this the only life to which I will aspire
Or do I rise again from deep within the mire
To live another life empty of desire
I’ve read the books dictated by another
I found their only purpose was to smother
These words of men no room for gentle mother
It’s war or death instead of loving other
To say it’s faith in your belief that makes you strong
I won’t argue with your words if that’s your song
But do not tell me you are right and I am wrong
For you know not my contemplation within this throng
Why do we dream of the nature of these things
Dream of our failings buried deep within
Where life begins and ends yet on a whim
Why do we dream of the nature of these things
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Climates Walk Governments Talk
The banana leaves cannot be used, they have been tainted by rising sea water – there are no bananas. The coconut milk is curdled. The fish are dying before us, the evidence is the lack of food on our plate. We are the cockerel that has crowed more times than three, yet you still deny our obvious truth. You don’t know my island name because I have almost disappeared. You certainly won’t know me when I am lost forever. It will only take a small rise in the Liquid Natural Progression, before we are all gone. We are a family of islands, brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers, we cannot swim and there are no lifesavers. Our people are an ocean people, a boat people, but they have been sabotaged like the Rainbow Warrior. It was not necessarily the French. We were told a truth that we believed, but it was nothing more than a cold call scam. Our richness was our people and culture, but the rich and greedy stopped noticing us when slavery was outlawed. Why help anyone when there is no profit. We would welcome you to our home with leis and kind words, even when you thought of us as ‘quaint’. Our hearts were big. We have asked you for help, but we are not too sure – we have seen how you treat others. We have history with the custodians of your land. They welcomed us, as they did you, but you return no favour. Rising from our bed each morning salt water laps around our ankles. You tell us, “just move your homes”. Your ignorance shows, you can move a house but you cannot move a home. You, with your harbour side and mountain views, you, just live in a ‘thing’ – with no heart and no soul. As the water rises, I can feel the cold of the ocean – I pray it is not the coldness of eternal death.
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Would I Lie to You
When nothing is written
nothing is gained,
we’ve seen the devils avarice
consume the soul
of a closed minded man
with a button dick brain
Assaulting our senses
those crowing stories of
vaginal conquests he, feels no pain
thinking smarter than the rest,
reality says he’s a geological flat top
with a tiny closed brain
It’s what men can do
what all men could
and too many men do,
they obfuscate truth, befuddle
the masses, ignore the evidence
then ask the question “would I lie to you?”
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In the End
I was laid on a bed
Because my muscles ached
Because my bones creaked
One day they will be as white as the sheet I rest on
Smoke fills the sky
Ash floats on breeze
Afternoon sun draws through cotton
This bed is warm, this bed is not a bed
After the fire
After the tears
Before the rain
To see a funeral pyre from the inside out is strange
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Calavera
So now is the time of the ScoMo
A fair dinkum talking guy
His calavera as thick as his waist line
Rational thought turned to fungi
In the world of political leaders
No one leads a long life
For la muerte will be unpredicted
At the end of a political knife
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