Archive for the ‘poem’ Category

Home Delivery   Leave a comment

Home Delivery

Thinking home delivery
Like in, firewood, milk and meat
The man that I remember
Was the baker in the street

This bakers name was Laurie
Scoundrel bastard of a bloke
His sense of humour deadpan
When he played his cunning jokes

He drove a HQ Holden
Painted white as I recall
Inside was bread so golden
It just screamed cholesterol

The loaf itself was crusty
Inside was so soft and fresh
A high top bread so lusty
It sent tingles through your flesh

Now he knew the teachers room
At Mrs Doreen Mutton’s house
Knowing when they slept till noon
He was quiet like a mouse

Morning clear and weather cold
He had found a garden hose
Future myths of baker told
His deeds would be bold in prose

No fly screen on the back door
With the teachers still asleep
Creeping in on wooden floor
He would make these ladies leap

His laugh was so outrageous
As he let that water flow
Some people say courageous
From his screams we’ll never know

For the girls had lain in wait
They knew all the bakers tricks
He had been too quite of late
The were waiting, they were quick

Buckets of ice cold water
Full of confetti inside
It was a bloody slaughter
Poor old Laurie nearly died

His bakers coat was soaking
The basket of bread now mush
Time to give up this joking
Today he had lost the rush

Finally a truce was met
They had sworn to joke no more
No more jokes would anyone set
His exit was the side door

He thought the jokes were all done
As he walked out to his car
But the truce had come undone
His car was gone, how bizarre

“I’ll get you bloody teachers”
Was the last thing that they heard
A cloud upon his features
Laurie Boylan was now stirred

In little village places
Cororooke, Coragulac
They still talk of the chases
When Laurie hit up the craic


Words   Leave a comment


Start with
2 small words
After our birth
Mummy or daddy
In our lifeline they grow
Our conversations expand
We learn to discuss and argue
We believe that our words are smarter
Our knowledge of words peaks in middle age

Around this time our words can become vague
We umm and aah more than we used to
Spontaneous vocals are lost
Our words lose complexity
Conversations now shrink
We avoid new words
Lifeline written
We talk less
Then comes

Posted 09/05/2019 by DarKarsean in death, Life, poem, poetic, poetry, Uncategorized

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Hiroshima – A Dress Rehearsal Mon Amour   Leave a comment


Hiroshima – A Dress Rehearsal Mon Amour

There was nothing there

Did they make it up

Temporary survivor

It goes on

They did not eat
We do not eat

My memory is obvious
Do not deny the chaotic scars
Upon my back
Look upon my skin
It will be nothing
If not open

They rejoiced
The first time

This time
The next time
I am not so sure
I will not be
So sure

Do not make fun of peace
Hiroshima never does

Where the crane
Flew no more
Only paper wings
Without heart
Were found

Do you remember the first time, Hiroshima?
Nagasaki doesn’t

We thought we knew
We thought it was the end
It became a dress rehearsal
An infidelity
An adulteress affair





Choice   Leave a comment


We could
Pick the day
To be our last
Living on this earth
For the reason of pain,
In a manner of our choice
And a time and place of choosing,
Would we have the courage to say yes
With the question of euthanasia asked

What beliefs to those terminally ill
Are they conflicted in daily thought
Does their religion arrive with
False promises of healing,
Is there a right to choose
No matter how hard,
With eyes open
Do we say
Yes or

The Architects of History   Leave a comment

Behind history as written is not always the truth
bend the wind, colour pages, disenfranchise the youth

Murdering Gully, Barrow Creek where the massacres had names
and the history of land was drowned red in shame

There’s no sound for ‘Australia’ in indigenous voice
the word don’t exist in their language of choice

Yet the views of these people are increasingly blurred
When the architects of history don’t think they have erred

Hi-Lux for Sale   Leave a comment

Hi-Lux for Sale

The Toyota Hi-Lux sits on a Toorak/Rose Bay/Ascot sidewalk. The paintwork is immaculate, the rims are spotless and the tyres look brand new, although I suspect they are at least three years old. This is not Katter country! Inner city in any city is still in a city. In the three bay garage is a Gurney Super 130.3 Pressure Cleaner – the one with the under car nozzle so you can clean the salt off the chassis and under body after a day on the beach – the box remains unopened. On the windscreen are the yearly passes to National Parks, State Forests and beach reserves that have never seen the tread of the Bridgestone tyres. Time or timing was always the problem. The Warn 101145 Axon 45 Powersport winch, with its 50’ of 1/4 inch steel rope sits boastfully at the front of the vehicle – the digital corded remote has not been seen for three years. In the garage sits a restored 1967 Volkswagen Karmann Ghia which the owners admit is purely for show. Fair enough, we all have things for show, some things just cost a little more than others. The payments on the every day drive, the Landcruiser, are six months behind, the private school fees have risen 29% this year and house payments are not discussed. The decision to sell was eas…

Hi-Lux for sale. One owner. Low klms. Immaculate condition. Priced for a quick sale – $45,000 or nearest offer. Contact owner…

Posted 01/05/2019 by DarKarsean in Life, Musing, poem, poetic, poetry, Uncategorized

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Take Your Pick   Leave a comment

Take Your Pick

Shit me
Not you twat
I’ve seen your work
Those traits you exude
Your aura hides your pride
You come across as humble
When you are selling us your lies
Do we look like we are deaf and blind
Take your pick, politics or religion

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