Abstract moon

We are planets. Some endure. Others
melt, or spin off course, like tops. I'm
one of those. This poem is my brand
new abstract moon, a satellite whose
strange attraction causes moods to
rise and fall like waves, abstract tides.

The truth is, by the wooden wharves,
even fishermen are gods. Inside each
plastic bucket, offerings to the moon.
Each hook's a hope or prayer; every
cast an arm around the shoulder of
a tearful stranger. I'm one of those.

Lightning is a kind of poem, a song
sung by clouds as they rub together.
I'm one of those. Shoes on cobbles,
words on the wind. Ask somebody
if they'd mind walking slowly. Who
knows, they might just say goodbye.

We're abstracts in each other's eye.
That's okay. You'll find a flower in
the smog; I can already hear little
white trees. Hands hold onto us.
You're the kind of person who sees
a single moon. I'm one of those too.

We are living


Once I disappeared through a window you
Left open. I went back to the space where we
Once lived. You said don’t come back. 

We returned after dark to the place where
Lights were kept. You lost your way amongst things
We had forgotten about. I said don’t worry. 

Are we living or just walking around? You
Perceived the darkness in my words. Perhaps we
Are only pretending to breathe, I thought. 

Living things flew around us. Somewhere
I could hear singing. The lights came on like a 
Living, breathing eye. You blinked, once. 

We closed the window. Sounds switched 
Off like eyes or lives. Then in that darkness 
We held out our hands. Where were we? 

Are you listening? Can you concentrate
On this final instruction? Make sure your eyes
Are open. Can you see the way ahead?  

No thing answered. Sight disappeared.
Drawing cryptic crosses on the invisible walls 
No human hand had touched, I breathed. 

Longer than the night, our journey was
Repeated under stars. Your sighs were even
Longer than lifetimes. We didn’t breathe. 

Dead as a frosted bough, or the bird,
Your footsteps ceased. The silence, like a 
Dead bell in a building. I didn’t worry. 

Once we are living we are no longer
Dead. I whispered these words to myself.
Once upon a time, you still breathed. 

“While your children are still small”

I'm dreaming of a nineteenth century Finland
Where we skied to school & my lunch was free
Prior to my birth even the birds did know it
I was smaller than a grain of sand inside you

Mother said I wasn't even thought of then yet
She could feel me stirring inside a tiny bell
Pealing against the walls of her silent womb
Wondering how big I would get or if not when

While your children are still small draw bees
Skate on ice and lead ponies through the snow
Go to sleep each night and dream compulsorily
They say it helps when the sun doesn't come up

When the good morning kiss you once expected
Has evaporated like autumn mist by eleven am
Your children are no longer small but dwarvish
They remember your name & they call you by it

No more stacks-on of a weekend or at any time
An end to giggles & those silly little jokes
You'll remember them all when your time comes
When they call with the sponges to bathe you

Though our pyjamas announce themselves glow
Warm as Santa's sack of rhymes & candy teeth
Remember to cross your hands before sleeping
If you die at night they'll know you prayed

Recognising a father or mother in your pose
Long-imagined though blurred in the passing
Remember forever your child's tiny red lips
Listen to what she says before it's too late

Let’s fight the pop-ups!

meddling kids with their internet
pop-ups planting jitches in those
unexpected drum /fill up my crevice
moments inevitably doomed to fall
between their terminals of thunder
& the beginnings of the jaundice /
plague its down on hands & hips
& back to feeling aghast my baby
lives on a pop-up page we shudder
tho my slax stained with mustard
tell me sadder tales – its possible
avoid computers made entirely of
mould dont mention mousetraps
in this house a typewriters warm
key tapped a la morse plastique
i dont know french but i louvre
what youre doing with that jim
& please consider joining me for
a snack yes or a mid-morning TV
advertisement you know at least
they dont pop up like some brat
on amyl well i could go on but i
dont want to mention the names
now that my password has been
hijacked by a kid with two brains

A veteran of the club scene

panic on the streets of south
yarra geez they shut us down
when im peaking its a ripoff
shits been cut with something
maybe brain juices? not mine
got the tipoff said get rid of
em ages ago i loved to dance
though dont seem to have the
energy anymore im still here
propping up a legendary club
foot & nose patches stop the
bleeding bring on peace man
& another buggered recovery
whatever that means i forgot
my own name monday what a
bore youse young freaks just
dont understand we all need
a little helping hand to the
hot water dispensers if only
theyd mix it with cordial ah
those good old halcyon nites
hiya girls! ok sure hop in its
back to mine just let me say
you are you are a wonderful
repeat wonderful person yeah