Mel From Melbourne - Music & Words

  55 & counting "greed will eventually consume itself" Kev Carmody & a new epoch ----- limited resources unquenchable wants to want means to lack what do u lack? do u know what u want? no u don't u turn to the latest fashion ----- i just wanna smoke drink eat music books & write poetry & a bitta sugar would be the icing on the fuckin cake ----- this is a poet i am poor but ok ---- i feel passion  intrinsic driving me not fame poets are not famous ----- but to write a great fuckin poem like an anonymous medieval artisan building his part in a cathedral honour faith doubt work ----- bout time u respected me i'm as good as anyone else in any job & the job of a poet is to rejuvenate a badly damaged language & unscrew competing masks of war ----- i seek to remove persona i is a pronoun a construct of language ---- the self is socially constructed instrument of discipline & punish Published & Copyright Malachi Doyle 2026.

  the night of the cannibals' laugh the night of the cannibals' laugh thst strikes terror into every loving father & mother which one one of them will be taken? maybe all? the night of the cannibals' laugh & behind darkened doors women & men eat up time squabbling about the price of the latest school excursion "she can tell em she's been sick" the night of the cannibals' laugh dressed in the latest fashion straight from the spa & indulgent conversations as to which one is cuter the poor, the striken hide at home in silence in the dark unable to distract themselves the night of the cannibals' laugh Published & Copyright Malachi Doyle 2026.

  waterlillies some blue peaking through the clouds the sun comes out lightening my conclusion or is the Shostokovich banker's lamp? the political map on the calico cat echoes the clutter on the poet's desk railed inside the general's mind as the advisors discussed overpopulation heads will roll hands up for sportsmen earning more than Mozambique? & may the best team win Published & Copyright Malachi Doyle 2026.

  grease chairs & screws flying through the bars into the fruit salad on the table what a mess! with sugar chilli & salt it bleeds dropped to be tossed picked up in tongs left for the flies & ants & slugs how slugs like salt seeking orgasm dried stiff dead the forks pick up canteloupe & watermelon icemelon has rarely seen the point our humble everyman redheads redden in the sun & people bask not befuddling the mind between laugh & gasp we walk the jail asylum resort island modern man's maps are profane lawful only through thievery & possession what room for the sacred? sport? games follow rules but in improvisations imagination follows no rules other than would you care to dance? see that's nice a bitta romance to hold her small soft hand between my nicotined mits is this lust or love? profane or sacred? who gets to judge? proof is how we feel the spirits watch i can see them just out of eyeshot northnorthwest u undo ur blouse i put my kiss to ur...