WHAT GOD ONLY KNOWS
03/04/03 (Krausie’s Place, whie Jus having guitar lesson.)
We gathered our folks to talk about,
talk about,
God knows what.
And
we went
away
having said
what God knows
and we know
better
than
frangipani petals on ground.
BIRTHDAY PSSING THOUGHTS 030913
What a birthday this day foretells.
Promise full.
01/09/22
But I hope my death is not too sad for those around.
Funny to think of on such a day.
But bears thinking to take away some of the sting.
‘We are stardust, we are golden … a billion years of carbon…’
Carbon, never created, always was, will be.
Where is death if there is no beginning?
No ending to behold
if you’d don’t hold too tight.
If you let things,
people,
places slip away,
if you don’t try to grasp the moving blade.
I sleep in peace,
You who are left, awake in peace.
I was too young
to be a hippie.
Free!
Free of what?
To be free of me,
of longing.
I would have made music, made love.
but,
‘Too young to really be in love.’
What is this wondering all about?
What might have been,
What I might have seen.
So complicated like tangled string.
I want, I need simple now.
I’m over the hill
But
when you’re over the hill you
pick up speed.
10/01/13
I can find south
from the Cross.
At this time of year
it’s strange to even see stars.
But what does it prove
for one in the city to see south?
To see stars?
In still, quiet of morn.
The moon is sleeping in shadow.
Her light wrapped
in clothes of cloud,
the more
to let light shine.
But why find south,
or north
or either?
A need
to know the way?
City dwellers know
more the ways
than the way.
HANGING AROUND 18/02/22
Igloos are gone now,
Igloos in the tropics,
could you explain that?
Or tales of treasure buried in their shadow.
There they were, haunting my childhood.
Like pyramids of old
they stood testament to a time,
a world
now gone.
A world gone mad with bombs and bullets.
These igloos never melted in tropical blaze,
curved to throw a shadow,
silent silhouette from above.
How many ghosts sheltered in shade
of these crazy cathedrals?
Men killed in fire by foe or flow of white-hot tracer.
How many departed souls waited?
Not knowing their bodies are no more.
Not knowing the conflict is over.
War is won.
No more drone of engines from Igloos’ shade.
No more scurry and scamper to repair war birds.
Igloos are gone now.
Only celluloid and print hold their image.
Move on,
move on.
Lost souls,
move on like the shadows,
like igloos of old.
WASTELAND (Apologies to T.S.) 03/02/22
Having read in the poet’s own voice,
having travelled wastelands of regret,
he laughs.
What is the purpose of these musings,
these lives,
ghosts of thought.
Having travelled the wasteland of regret
he recalls lost memories,
found in the fondness of time.
Are these real,
these recollections?
Did they happen or is mind a trickster
who, for want of something to do,
creates spirits to haunt the present?
The questions spawn questions,
spiral round, round and down
into a wasteland of regret.
SILENCE RECALLED
I wish we’d talked,
so much to say ‘bout so little.
Life is little
bit of this,
little bit of that.
So much to say ‘bout so little
and still
I wished we’d talked.
So much to say ‘bout so much.
Life is brittle,
break off this,
break away that.
So much to say,
it’s hearsay.
Backstage,
Black,
Quiet.
Nods and hand signals.
Ropes,
Black figures,
Actors.
Anticipation,
Nerves strained to remember.
Backstage dark.
20/02/20
Back mind
follows in concert the
action,
real or not.
What is reality?
This fabrication unfolding
more real than reality.
Each line rehearsed,
known,
certain like the workings of giant clock,
moved by watch spring of anticipation.
Front of house voyeurs,
peer
penetrating the fourth wall of reality,
suspended in disbelief of disbelief.
Side stage,
watches,
counts,
calls the scenes,
omniscient.
On cue creates another scene,
seen but not heard.
But this is not the time,
but still you call.
You know this is not the time
inclement times persist
but still you call.
What is your caper?
Insanity in your whisper.
I want to go to you
like a sailor to his lover.
Can we reach an understanding?
I will visit when the sun is full above
the mid line of earth,
on its upward course.
Will you leave me alone now?
At the appointed time
I will rush to your arms,
heart pounding,
besotted at the sight of your canopy
freshly tinted in lush green,
light headed from your perfume of
musty, moulding leaves.
But just for now,
will you leave me alone?
281021
The world needs righting.
It has strayed from it’s course.
Who knows where it will end.
Who will save us from this,
from our selves mostly.
The answer roars loud as thunder,
lightning like signs illuminate sky.
But we don’t see,
don’t hear.
Will our children see,
tell us?
‘Mummy,
can’t you see,
can’t you hear?
So bright it hurts my eyes,
so loud my ears ring.
Look,
look there, it is.’
‘Where child, where?
Am I so dulled I need borrow a child’s ears?
My eyes so addled I cannot perceive.
Tell me child,
tell me.
Show me.’
‘Mummy, reach out your hand – touch,
if you can’t see.
There is nothing child,
Nothing.
I knew your world once, but now I dwell in a different place.
Stay child, stay.
Your world is better by far.
poetrytownsville 