Archive for February 2014

I Even Count How Many Times I Stop Counting   Leave a comment

Grind teeth, count, one – grind teeth, count, two

obsessive, I’m not obsessive, obsessive – three

I used to count white lines on the road at 60 kilometres per hour
four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten
eleven, thirteen, seventeen – bugger

when I got good, I put the foot down
at 80 kilometres per hour it became more exciting
at 100 kilometres per hour it was a little dangerous
at 130 kilometres per hour I stopped

not the counting, just the speeding
I started adding guide posts to make it interesting

one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten
plus twelve guide posts, plus three light poles on the left
side of the road and 1 pole on the right side

twenty six

I’m fifty seven years old born in nineteen fifty seven
one hundred and fourteen

five plus seven equals twelve plus nineteen or one and nine
or ten and nine and fifty and seven
equals one hundred and seventeen

or one plus one plus seven
equals nine

at the railway station
it takes thirty two steps to get to the overhead bridge
the first step is always with the left foot- it is always number one – always the left foot
on the other side of the tracks it is thirty four steps
is that way it is on the other side of the tracks?

left foot – odd – one
right foot – even – two
walk – two steps per square
grind teeth – three hundred and twenty seven
eight steps sixteen tiles from the bedroom to the kitchen

counting my loves
one, two, three, four, three, four, five, four, three, two, one …

counting my lives – one

counting friends
one, two, three, four, three, four, five, four, three, two, one …

counting the number of times I have stopped counting


Posted 27/02/2014 by DarKarsean in Uncategorized

I Just Can’t Imagine   Leave a comment

I Just Can’t Imagine

I look for smiles on the dials on the faces of places where joy should live only to find in the grime of facial lines the story times and other signs of wasted minds and family and religious crimes in the sands of warring clans where genocide and patricide and matricide reside alongside depression repression regression aggression with broken knuckles belt buckles busted lips broken kids truths hid dragged up hit up fucked up fucked over fucked again by hidden sins hidden away hidden from sight of day not spoken trust broken laid off paid off sent off told again to fuck off to where they cannot care cannot share cannot find the time to embrace engage enjoy grow up grow old just grow to show they have a mind to be kind to turn back the years to replace the tears and ongoing fears with a caring and sharing living without scarring or marking using or abusing lives too young too weak to stand up speak up show up show down a religious clown with his pathetic sounds of protection of church not state showing no love only hate for those who dare to speak to entreat justice not rough but justice true fuck me fuck them I just can’t imagine.

I Hope He Dreamt In Colour   6 comments

I Hope He Dreamt In Colour

I have this picture in my memory
where my father is standing on the
front verandah of our house and he
is dressed and ready for work

In the corner of his mouth sits
the unlit remains of a hand rolled
Havelock, Fine Cut, cigarette, the
tobacco rolled in a Tally Ho paper

It is 3.30pm, he starts work at 4pm
and he will work through till midnight
he is a hard working boiler attendant
at the local dairy company factory

On his balding head, slightly askew,
sits a clean navy blue cap, it is the same
colour as his overalls, both will soon hide
the thick coal dust that will blacken his face

Matching his clothes, but not by design,
the blue frames of his glasses sit on a
face that shows his love for wife and
family in every single crack and crevice

His blue Hillman Minx sits in the driveway

Hard life revolving around work and family
and the ever present obligation of church
occasionally he gets to go to the football
but that depends on whether he is working

Dying just after I turned fourteen, I look
back and wonder what were his dreams
did he dream for himself or were they just
the dreams of a loving man for his family

I remember a present, a book he received,
for he would not have spent the money, on
how to develop your own photographs, looking
back I realise, he had at least one dream

Yet it is the only dream that comes to mind
for he was not a man to spend his time in
idle thoughts, forever he was a man of family
whose actions spoke in volumes of his worth

I do not know my fathers dreams
yet I have no doubt he dreamt
and for all the dreams he had
I hope he dreamt in colour

Driving   Leave a comment



misty rain
greasy road
I drive on


cars at 110 kph
coffins at 210 kph
I still put the foot down


the tail kicks out
he accelerates
steers into the slide


the road seems
too good for here
politician nearby


a straight road


tree jumps onto road
sure it does!

Posted 09/02/2014 by DarKarsean in Life, Musing, poem, poetic, Uncategorized

Writing at 4am   3 comments


the sounds of birds
an hour before the sun
shotgun ownership
sounds so right


coffee at 4am tastes
as good as the one
I will have at 10


a three hour sleeping tablet
I could only ask for half my money back


love at 10am
love at 11am
love at 12pm
love at 1pm
love at 2pm
love at 3pm
love at 4pm
love at 5pm
love at 6ppm
love at 7pm
love at 8pm
love at 9pm
love at 10pm
love at 11pm
love at 11.59pm
through to, woo hoo,
love at 12.01am
love at 2am
love at 3am
love at 4am
love at 5am
love at 6am
love at 7am
love at 8am
love at 9am

from one day to the next


ghostly foot falls
at night fall
in darkened
country halls
make girls ball
and stomachs tall
become wastelands small
when in fact if they had called
those mysterious foot falls
would be known to all
by their mothers call

“I’m just looking for the light switch”


top of high wooden fence
on property next door sees sunlight
before my bedroom window


it really is coldest before the dawn – I know why


eyelids droop
dreams beckon
I have already seen
the nightmare

Posted 08/02/2014 by DarKarsean in Life, Musing, poem, poetic, Uncategorized

Age is Never the Barrier   3 comments

too young
too much of a child
not really an adult
just a teenager
mid 20’s
early 30’s
40 is the new
late 50’s
old man
how old is old
it doesn’t matter
it’s all in the mind
age is never the barrier
you are not that young
I am not that old

Posted 04/02/2014 by DarKarsean in Uncategorized

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