barking ducks


bullshit
February 1, 2009, 5:01 pm
Filed under: Australia/identity, fremantle, Hazy behaviour, philosophy

Bags of pulpous gas floating on an ocean
of bricks and mortar.
Dressing and re-dressing their facade for
exterior devotion.
Stand up, perforce, deliver with emotion, you hardened bags of pulpous commotion.
Awakening for yet another repetition
of the fastidious rendition of life.

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3
January 29, 2009, 7:13 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized

And a cloud performed a drawing
in my eye.
Before me stood a sky of incandescent flavour
and a correlation of stormy graves,
as if some time perverted truths had upset them.



2
January 29, 2009, 7:10 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized

The birds flitter amongst the midday sun
contriving and controlling
as if one.

The church bell tolls, engulfing midday air
rolling and consuming
as if one.



1
January 29, 2009, 7:05 pm
Filed under: Australia/identity, poetry

Today we travelled through time very
slowly.

Conversing and chewing through the roadhouses
on offer on the highway.



ephervescent towers
August 12, 2008, 10:44 am
Filed under: Australia/identity, poetry, urbania

The world of ephervescent towers
sways above us
like salty sea torn
sails
on a Spanish galleon.
Only now we’re stationary,
halted, faulted,
by technology bred from
beams of
great ships.
Great ships that floated on the ocean,
tides that swept,
now sweep around our
headsĀ 
in virtual form.
While we stand still-
just hit google,
and ogle at the answers
in our world
below
these ephervescent towers.



The long walk home
August 12, 2008, 10:39 am
Filed under: fremantle, Hazy behaviour, poetry, urbania

The bomb site’s displaced
the blonde tipped pink
shirt soldiers clutch hungrily to their spoils,
the casualties disperse.
Lumbering, stumbling down
the road to Zion
their hazy brains clutching at
recollection
and spent ammunition;
their war was lost tonight.

Victory bathes itself in champaigne,
in sweet perfume,
insensuality,
in conquered
desire,
in blank minds similar
to the conquered

only theirs from a lack of question,
and those an overwhelming abundance.

Wheres the middle ground?
Our life is not a war
not here, not now.
But still the parties face off
under the sweaty sky of
bulging neon lights
that turn the sight into a spectacle,
the spectacles into a monacle
of tunnel vision.



ASBO
August 12, 2008, 10:32 am
Filed under: Uncategorized

The sorry excuse for a man;
promiscuous
defecating profusely
sycophantic, pedantic and wondering on the face
of a page
explaining his rage through ‘anti-social’ behaviour.
Down the pub
down that pint
lets get wasted,
forget the things you never knew
or wanted, could possibly
care for
or even show the slightest inkling
of a suggestion of a wink towards
something akin to care.
Nah.
Down the pub.
Sycophantically engaged with his enemy
Himself