Lifted

It feels all kinds of wrong when I see the moon during the day
There are just some things that should not be this way
I know to every thing there is supposed to be a season
But to me, some of them just do not stand to reason
Why do we call it milk if it does not come from an animal?
Why do people who do the most get paid the bare minimal?
When I look up above I get the same sense of unease
when flowing and blowing in the sky blue breeze
I see a balletic plastic bag fly and freeze
It looks so beautiful, but then I think “jeez,
It’ll take 500 billion years for that bag to decompose”
I don’t suppose
It just goes
forever
Never causing any harm, just acting as a balm
to sore eyes
No, it’ll probably land in the ocean
No more poetry-in-motion
for it
Probably strangle a dugong
See, like I said,
All kinds of wrong

Bibliotheca

The effect is instantaneous
Outside its door I’m anxious
Nervous, most of the time
But when the glass parts and I’m cosseted by the familiarity
of the rows and rows and rows of paper and ink, I think
“ah, peace”
Nothing worries me while I wander its aisles
with its piles and piles and piles of other people’s thoughts
most of which go over my head while I trail my fingers across their spines
full of lines that I will never read
And although the nature of its business has evolved, it is consistent
and resistant to becoming hipster-cool
Oh sure, it has a DVD rack
and stacks of CDs for people to hire
Loads and loads and loads of André Rieu
who seems to be so du jour
at the moment
But still, as well, its taste is timeless, if not faultless
I’ve been coming here since I was able
to stock my bedside table
with something for free
Imaginary
Tales long forgotten that have left their mark
To spark a young girl to want to write
I wish I could bottle its Zen
and when I needed it, dab the liquefied relaxed calmness
onto my main pressure points
or drink it straight into my system
But I can’t
So I’ll keep coming back, through those doors
to explore someone else’s world
in the hope of leaving mine for a while

I Am Too

I know. I know.
You’ve told me before.
She’s the one for you.

She grows, and shows
so much more
than I ever do

and I have hitherto
not revealed my ability to be, like her, so gosh darn enigmatic
But on this I am emphatic
I can be deep.
I can be meaningful.
I can be so amazingly mystical!
“My word! … You’re captivating!” you’ll say (about me)
It’ll be like the intellectual revelation equivalent of when the dowdy secretary
whips off her glasses
just as her boss passes
her in the hall
also just at the same time as she lets out her hair from its tightly wound bun
and down her back cascades her tresses
and then he confesses
just how much he now realises he cares for her
“My word! … You’re enchanting!” you’ll say (about me)
Or hey, you might say
“enchanté”
All, like, the French way

(Sorry, where was I ? ... oh yeah)

And when you do
your mind will expand to include the landscape I introduce you to
and you’ll bestow on me more attention
and affection
than anyone else before has been blessed to receive from you

You Didn't See Me, Right

I’ve got my cap pulled way down low
and my sunglasses shield my face
I’ve scraped my hair into a tight chignon
Not a loose tendril out of place
I am so incredibly incognito
I barely recognise myself at all
Such a simple disguise deftly donned
Surely ASIO will give me a call
I walk by a bus stop shelter
and see my reflection in its glass
I give myself a deliberately shifty look
and then an elaborate wink as I pass
I could be anyone right now
The Saint or someone of that ilk
And then I ask myself “what is with you?
You’re just going to the shop for some milk!”

Off Your Chest

I approach you in the hallway
I put a hand to your chest as we go to pass
Just as a way to say “hey”
But it stops me dead in my tracks
Your beat freaks me out
It seems to be thumping real hard in my hand
I say “wow, it’s really jumping!”
You say, with a shrug, “well, I guess it’ll wear itself out one day”
All, like, c'est la vie
And it occurs to me
that it will wear itself out, but just not on your sleeve

Cheer The F#@k Up, Mel

I am exactly where I thought I’d be
I’m a self-fulfilling prophecy
Well, not fulfilled, more like almost empty
Yeah, self-depleting, predictably

I could have told you, right from the start
Could have plotted it for you on a chart
Shown you the result straight away, truth be told
And now it’s too late, I’ve gone and got old

Maybe if I’d predicted some other conclusion
I wouldn’t be in this zone of exclusion
Maybe if I’d imagined a different result
How it turned out would not be my fault

But I’m not disappointed or even surprised
This is exactly how I had it surmised
A crystal clear vision that’s now come true
I called it from the start, well what can you do?

Tense and Waiting

I am way past tense it’s belated
that I now move on to aggravated
You see, my participle is so outdated
that it has made me quite irated
I know that’s not even a word
It’s just that I’m trying to be heard
above the din and cacophony that occurred
and the shock and the gasps that were stirred
when I used an irregular verb
It’s a habit I'm unable to curb
And it does seem so to disturb
Even sometimes to annoy and perturb
But we can’t all be in the here and now
You must at least, just this once, allow
some time for me to make this vow
My participle will be present and perfect some how

Just Off The Top Of My Head

I’ve cut off my nose to spite my face
Of my olfactory system there is no trace
I’m minus a sinus, a nostril or two
An appraisal of my nasal will show this is true
I’ve turned a blind eye and the other cheek as well
But I got my tongue tied so I just couldn’t tell
My lips were sealed and I didn't make a sound
But I kept my chin up and an ear to the ground
I won’t be brow-beaten or stick my neck out instead
Because that’s all I’ve got, off the top of my head

The Score

I won’t play second fiddle
if you blow your own horn
You better change your tune
or face the music and my scorn
Your harping may strike a chord
with those others less well-versed
in your song and dance routine
that you continue to rehearse
When others sing your praises
you say “We’ll play it by ear”
Well, on that note
I’ll leave you my dear

Motherchompin' Termites

Even if they eat the house right down to its core
Even if your feet fall right clean through the floor
The termites can’t munch memories

Even if the walls crumble as you sit in your chair
Even if they reduce to sawdust each and every single stair
The termites can’t munch memories

Even if the roof has a hole you can see through to the outside
Even if the bedroom has an unexpected water fall a metre wide
The termites can’t munch memories

Even if the pergola falls and crashes down on your head
Even if a beam breaks, knocks you out, kills you dead
The termites can’t munch memories

Sign Language

An index finger points the way
My thumb extended says “All’s okay!”
A band on the ring finger says “I got him to stay!”
The pinkie really has no part to play
The remaining finger says “Have a nice day!”

Consumed By Love

You’re food for my thoughts
The apple of my eye
I’m drinking you in
The tea leaves don’t lie

Your smile is my bread and butter
Your laugh, icing on the cake
But you never even call me
How much silence can I take?

What am I, chopped liver?
But I just saved your bacon!
So you don’t want this jelly?
Well, that’s your mistake you be makin’

Galaxically Desperate

You are the world to me
but I’m not the world to you
I would never presume to be so planetary
Maybe you think of me as a supercontinent, like Gondwana, before all the land masses broke up.
No, I guess not, I would never presume to be so tectonic.
Perhaps you think of me as a country
No, I would never presume to be so topographical
Any chance you view me as an isthmus?
No, I would never presume to be so hard to pronounce
How about a nation state or a principality?
No, I guess not, I don’t really understand what they are
Maybe an atoll?
Hmmm, too radioactive …
But you are the world to me

Untitled

If the cat’s got your tongue
and the tail wags the dog
is a bird in the hand
as easy as falling off a log?

If your present is a white elephant
don’t look the gift horse in the mouth
or the early bird will get the worm
when it starts heading south

The best laid plans
of mice and men
may result in the lion’s share
but not its den

There’s something fishy
when your goose is cooked
You’re as blind as a bat
but still overlooked

Independence Day

As I pass other people I exhale
I avoid any inhalation
I have a goal I am sure to fail
I want to live in isolation

I don’t want to breathe them in
I don’t want to need anyone
So as from today I’ll begin
to continue on as I’ve begun

No man is an island, they say
Well that’s fine, I’ll just float on the sea
And as I pass you by on my way
You’ll be able to see I’m free

Beholden and holding on to no one
From within will come my satisfaction
And if I look particularly lonesome
Don’t give me your pity or compassion

Please.

Burning Need

I spoke to a Barbara Sparks
and this left me with a desire
to have a surname that was a verb
with connotations of fire

Then I conversed with a Connie Burns
and this desire turned into an obsession
It grew in strength like flames in a forest
And here’s where I make my confession

I wanted to marry Fred Sizzles
Just so I could acquire his good name
But our courtship eventually fizzled
I think he worked out my game

I fear he discovered I was cheating
Two-timing him behind his back
I was also seeing Jim Scorches
My mind was on a one-way track

I had to have an awesome surname
It was turning into a real crisis
When it didn’t work out with Wayne Singes
I changed it legally to Cauterizes

3rd May, 1969: A Few Words on Forty Years

Once again, like all those years ago, there you are, a vision in white
Only this time there is no lace, no flowing veil, no flowers in sight

Just a stark clean sheet covering your far too familiar face
And though I walk right beside you, between us is an impenetrable, infinite space.

It lies between us now, forever gaping, I must remain here as they take you away
From the house where we were united since we vowed to love, honour and obey.

The same threshold I carried you over you must now travel back across on your own
For love never comes with lifetime guarantees, it’s only given to us on loan.

It doesn’t seem so very long ago that we were young and starting our life
You were my partner, and though I never said it, a soul mate, as well as wife.

You took your last breathe on the same date as your first, quite a circle you created there my sweet
And eventually one day, as is yours, my story too will be complete.

You never made it to your Winter, but then again, you never did like the cold
So I’ve had to make up news plans, discard the ones of us together growing old

Then the rain comes and the lily blooms and we who remain believe you’re back for a while
And it keeps you alive, a part our ritual, to make sure your memory makes us smile.

And our youngest, who has my eyes and your hair, asks “Is it better to have loved and then lost?”
And I tell her truthfully that I wouldn’t change a single moment even if being alone now is what it cost.

A Few Words on Five Years

“A very windy day,” you write to me
And you sound all right thankfully
“the clouds belting across the blue sky are wispy,”
You don’t know it, but you just wrote poetry
You and I, we’re mates you see
Unexpectedly, but that is how it be
I worry all you have is rear-view memories
but then you send me mail electronically
full of tales of no food or electricity
but plenty of cold beer miraculously
and I can tell you’re getting on with it bravely
and she’d be proud of you, her Neil Stanley

Crab Bait

Separated from the river by a sliver of shell
the boat glides as the girl guides it along
From water like glass the sun shoots glistening sparks
She listens as the ripples play their own special song

Propelled by the power of oars, arms and legs
they skim along as if they might fly
The curtain rises on a morning, the city stretching and yawning
watches on while as one they slide by

She controls each push and pull with short, sharp, simple words
that are condensed by the cold into vapour
No one else exists, except these girls and the winter mist
When wistful, this moment she will savour

When they win she feels she could walk on the water
Hoisted aloft and thrown into inky iciness in victory
And they laugh, and they’re young and they’re confident and its fun
She remembers the smell, the sights, how it used to be

She wonders what happened to that girl with the presence
and the passion and the poise, have you seen her?
She was going places, she would light up faces
When she was somebody, a contender, and a winner

Passport Picture

“Look happy,” he says “but don’t smile”
So I clamp my lips tight
and try to show delight
just by using my eyes

Harsh lighting doesn’t like me
For under my eyes is baggage
They’re sure to charge for excess luggage
If I show this face when I fly

A corpse-like complexion stares back six-fold
Black hair, strange glare
Oh my gosh!, I wasn’t aware
that I’m an emo. Wherever I go, this will come too

Mother's Milk

The bottle of brandy stands empty
A hollow, vacuous vessel
Last night its fermented fruit was my friend
Today, only the aroma remains
Oh, sweet lovely, motherly brandy!
Drunk neat without the dry
You brought a tear to my eye
Your powerful potency was like liquid lightening
Distilled, medicinal electricity
Amber numbness from a tumbler
But alas, no more goldeny goodness will flow
To the bottleshop I must go
But hark!, never fear!
Another awaits!
Like a silent sentinel seeking a call to arms
to fight a war against sobriety and reality
A back-up battalion of brandy (well, just one bottle really)
sits on my shelf
So I’ll have a drink, and think
of you.
You old soak.

Tunnel Vision

My wandering eye
won’t see a wider view of the world
It’s because when I
was a child they cut the muscles
My vision free to see only what could go wrong

My mirror mirage
reflects a stare both direct and distorted
A memory montage
of what went before and what will be in store
Repeated transmissions projecting the future

A squint is a smile
where you swear you never see my lips move
It is not my style
for my face to show false emotions
The lines are etched too deep

Blink to refocus
And all that is blurred is brought back to clarity
All this can show us
is that chance is not a charity
where the needy get priority

Long lashes can’t veil
a gaze that glazes over with alarming frequency
I am sure to fail
to control what map my mind decides to follow
It’s a safer path to predict

And there could go I
But by the grace of God I am spared
And it will be my
cross to bear that I am never happy,
only relieved

Submerged but still surviving

It’s almost ten years since my twenty-first
Time has neither flown nor frozen
That was the day I first saw your face
To be honest, you’re not the one I’d have chosen

I specifically requested you be easily understood
Not be large, Roman or minimalistic
I wanted your hands to be plain and precise
And also artfully simplistic

Sometimes when it’s very quiet
I hear you tick despite my tinnitus
Sometimes you leave a dark mark on my wrist
But black dermographism will never divide us

For now I can’t imagine you not by my side
Informative, reliable and consistent
Your gold gleam may have dulled over the years
But at least you’re still water resistant

So here’s to another decade of dates,
Meetings, greetings and goodbyes
Through it all you’ll get me there on time
Unless your battery dies

Turner’s Girl in a Spin

The creation of a life, the potential, and the gamble
Countless particles to be put right, all elemental, so fundamental

A game of noughts and crosses, y’s and x’s, battle of the sexes
Gather the genetic information, form a plexus, but then fate flexes

Missing material from nature’s recipe, still an entity, she was met to be
Such a fluke of fate just to exist, aren’t we all uniquely, and genetically, freaky?

And they bottle her blood every birthday
And scan her hand right down to the bone
To gauge how much growth she has in her
So she shrinks back to her comfort zone

And if science has its way, will she be terminated, eliminated?
Would these chromosomal quirks be eradicated, obliterated?

Would you choose not to be, if the choice was yours, if you could press pause
Or would you decide to proceed, with all your flaws, and the complications they’ll cause

And they bottle her blood every birthday
And scan her hand right down to the bone
To gauge how much growth she has in her
So she shrinks back to her comfort zone