Archive for February 2013

Her Frosted Winter   6 comments

Her Frosted Winter

She told me she would sit each day
at her desk of cluttered dreams
and place the palm of her hand
upon her frosted office window

She might not be able to see
but she could feel the reality
that existed on the other side

It was her one belief

Within her dreams and nightmares
there lay a single thread of hope
that she prayed would lead her through
the unforgiving winter her life had become

Burdened by the weight of autumn leaves,
her heart failing with broken spirit,
each day she would place the palm
of her hand upon the frosted glass

It was a sun filled day the first time the
glass softened beneath her palm
Only for a fraction of time, but it
was so real it made her soul jump

She slept that night with not so heavy heart
as deep within her body an ember glowed
Maybe, she thought, her dreams were not those
of a woman only ever told that she would fail

In time, the push of palm became easier
and the glass felt a little softer
She could feel herself reaching towards
a new reality, a new beginning

She had watched her mother and vowed
that as clichéd as the words may sound,
she would never let happen to her,
what had happened to her mother

but her wish for a different life had disappeared
into the sharps bin of many a public toilet
where the caged black dog of their lives roamed
neither strong enough to hold its studded leash

her body cried as the weight of her winter
and the cold hard fists of silence reinforced
the reality of the dark path she walked

Yet still, a tiny ember of dream spirit lived within

Returning to the refuge of her dreams
she continued to place the palm of her hand
on frosted glass and press gently, till the day
she felt the tips of her fingers, on nothing

She drew back in fright and for a moment,
a split second, just before the soul of the
glass flowed back to be as one, she saw
the beautiful space her fingers had left behind

Each day from then she sat and placed
the palm of her hand upon this frosted glass
Each day she pushed a little further into
the warm reality that lay beyond

Leaving behind the brute, the addiction,
the bloodshot eyes and hidden bruises
it was now time to reclaim the waste of her life
and to journey into the unknown

She rang me one last time and told me that
while she may not be able to control the future
that her destiny was now hers to own

She took two steps, into the frosted glass


It’s Still All Mine   8 comments

Fat cat politicians
something’s missing

That’s right
no soul
just a hole for
the money splash
no cheques
just cash
can’t have it
traced back

Sold out
bailed out
by politicians
in the pocket
of tossers
and wankers
not just American
but Australian

for the family

New chairs
for fat arses
in parliament house
and education classes on
How to Rip the Public in 10 Easy Lessons

We don’t get
what we pay for
cause we don’t pay enough
or so they say
gee that’s tough
a little rough
but do we get
what we deserve

That’s what they think

We deserve this
we need to preserve this
and I’ll reserve this little
piece of information
till I leave this

I gotta have an edge
to still get things done
when I’ve left this house
when my time has run
Gold pass travel anywhere
I’m an ex politician and
I don’t have to share
Because at any time

It’s still all mine

Posted 17/02/2013 by DarKarsean in Musing, poem, poetry, Story Writing, Uncategorized

Never Ending Song   2 comments

We go
so slow
they say
let it go

To where
up there
heavens stairs

Got guns
having fun
shooting bums
making money
kiss me honey

in the rain
stop the pain

No tax on
selling bombs
taking limbs
long swims
shark fins
whale bones
elephant tusks

Rich digs for
fat prigs
Owning time
land mines
destroying bodies
napalm fires
stripping skin
fucking the world
and murdering kids

All shrieking
fat arse
chair rocking
slave cropping
money street killers

Won’t cry
if others die
Don’t care
don’t share
polluting air
just living
their way
we have
no sway

Fuck me
I could go on
but I feel
this could be the start
of a never ending song

Posted 17/02/2013 by DarKarsean in Musing, poem, poetry, Story Writing, Uncategorized

I Talk Bitumen   4 comments

I Talk Bitumen

The bitumen calls a long journey home
From one side of country to the other
Up and down the coast, inland, overland
Never ending is the weaving black top

One lane, two lane, four lane, eight
One way, two way, this way, that

I count the white lines at 100 k per hour
Keeping together the speed of mind and car
At night time, guide posts flash bloodshot eyes
Guiding the night time highway travellers

Trouble can start with a stone and a drop of rain
A small hole you can drive around, then growing
Swerve, brake, thud, bang, clang, shudder
It ends with a fright when the tyre blows

One lane, two lane, four lane, eight
One way, two way, this way, that

Beyond the black stump, on really hot days
Bitumen melts and lizard like flicks the cars
It doesn’t matter what you’re driving, FX or VP
You all get mud, dust or bitumen in the end

The long skid marks, the donuts, they all talk
Sometimes the stories are loud and happy
Sometimes they are just quiet and sad
Country road or city street lies there with indifference

To wonder if it feels the 34 wheeler trundle
Loaded to the hilt travelling day and night
Does it hear the roar of the 350 cubic inch
Or feel the hot black rubber laid upon its skin

One lane, two lane, four lane, eight
One way, two way, this way, that

Posted 15/02/2013 by DarKarsean in Uncategorized

City Gaze   Leave a comment

Brown tide
City ferries
Crumbling cliff
Steel bridge
Impressive span
Resting on
Concrete pillars

Down hill fast
Bells ringing
Bicycles whizzing
Blue rims turning
Pedal standing
Free wheeling
Ambulance waiting

Bodies testing
Park bench resting
Rubber flip flop
Athletic shoe run
Leather click clack
Texting, talking
Uphill breathless walking

Traffic chopper hovers
Cars on bridge slowing
Single kayak with
Open river run
Unhindered trip home
The sun is sinking
My shadow is long

Apartment costs
Pay the view
Horizon distant
City noise
Renovation sounds
No children yet
The mortgage choice

Curving cliff top
Evergreen park
Exercise class
Enjoy the scene
Or is body tone
More inspiring
To the few

Posted 13/02/2013 by DarKarsean in Uncategorized

It’s Not Even Wood   2 comments

It’s not
Of wood
Or plastic
Or cardboard

It has no place
You can’t touch it
You can’t see it
But I can

It has sides
But no roof or floor
No in or out
No up or down
No under or over

But I can enter
All of me
Some of me
Part of me
I can exit

It is
Imperfect maybe
But it is mine

I know mine
Do you know yours
Can you see

It is my limitation
My comfort zone
My place where I belong
Where the world is mine
This box – is mine

Posted 12/02/2013 by DarKarsean in Uncategorized

A Murder of Crows   5 comments

She threw feathers from a roof and watched them fly
as a charm of finches dreamt and a heart cried
She heard the rain fall on the corrugations of her soul,
sounding like kettle drums when a timpanist played

She had asked of herself the strength to fly the storm
feeling small as the wind swirled the compass points
But it was the crow that awakened when she called
and murder flew on the wings of her plundered heart

Shot from a long bow straight she had not seen
the hand of her lover draw the string without pause
Nor did she see the arrow or hear its sound before
the dart of the Devils cupid split her heart in two

Where pain was measured in lightning strikes
she felt she had been struck a thousand times
When thunder roared it would echo deep within her body
and each time she feared it would explode her soul

Like creeper vine and tree theirs had been a symbiotic dream
In the sunlight they had grown together soaring skyward
At night they twisted themselves around limbs and lips
listening to rainforest night birds sing amongst the trees

The unravelling fabric of their existence began in moments
caught between careless kisses and touches without warmth
She did not see the ink of their tattooed hearts fading or
the look of distance in the eyes of her lover when they met

So sudden was the shift from friend and lover that it was only
when she heard the sound of love departing on heron wing
that her mind and eyes were called to take account and
her heart to feel the point of arrow driven deep within

Gathering together her words to put them on display
she wrote poems of love in blood from her pierced heart
To spread on wing and fly her lover back across the sky
she cried out in desperation to the birds for help

But for her there were no larks, no flamingos or wagtails
the sky was heavy, with only crows to listen to her call
There would be no answer to her plea and she was left
with only the agony of loss and a murder of crows

Posted 08/02/2013 by DarKarsean in Uncategorized

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