Mel From Melbourne - Music & Words

  The cold penetrating the glass   The cold penetrating the glass the heater giving up the ghost descriptive writing with no inner voice written by an automaton our age’s grand myths as the poor increase few can read few know the thrill pizza from a freezer mass produced tv nowhere true delight or the acknowledgement of terror of real intimacy & the bravery to continue   Published & Copyright Malachi Doyle 2024.

  Anthea   I give thanks she said for the Winter nail gun & glues & warm shoes & this cardboard box that makes my miniature bed she was only a toy animated like a poem in a poet he knew he had to clear his mind & to do so only must he purge first anyway, this animated toy Anthea like a nativity Mary in a department store window it kept her warm this Winter else she would live in the trash heap naked to the elements & so in this commercial world a bit of wealth is key k9 etc she dreamt of her dogs last night “I miss the cosy bedroom with animals around the bed all the pack united I miss the 4 of us my wife & I before she became my ex I loved when she would put her arm around me before I fell asleep that was golden hours to borrow from Wordsworth & life will never be the same I am cold now & sleep alone no embracing arms & death is on the horizon accelerating old & age & gone”     Published & Copyright Malachi Doyle 2024.

  Cordelia   The thread’s broken I no longer remember What it felt like When I felt it so intensely As alone & wretched As I ever have 3 nights before he died Just him & me As it had been for years Eventually the cavalry arrived & I was back To my role As the youngest But now even that’s gone I feel numb Still again when his ashes Are scattered It’ll just be me & him.   Published & Copyright Malachi Doyle 2024.

  Give me a block (after Djinn)   Give me a block of stone to carve my bubbles of air I cannot lament what I am not imagination is to the tropics & birth by a chainsaw swung about in a room will tend to make people see your point of view so maybe I should continue writing in a forest shocking the birds & violating the sanctity of the animals as man doeth even the concert hall is rooted in concrete whether or not Mahler required absolute silence to build his pleasure dome enfolding sunny spots of greenery all gated within caves of ice another game for the chainsaw this poem is violent really because I don’t feel much alone I will scatter my father’s ashes in a few days & I cannot feel lest I leak at sea.     Published & Copyright Malachi Doyle 2024.

  To a Beauty   According to Baudelaire, the only rightful person to accommodate a beautiful woman is a poet, who will compose countless paeans to her & become her slave. She will torment him like the fallen angel that he is as he seeks to redeem man through Eros & there will be several poets amongst the sideshow of veneration & her contempt for them. The tragedy of the beautiful woman more so than any other kind of genius is the degree of unnaturalness about it. That merely by her appearance & bearing the apple cart is upset. The Heavens must intervene as they did when they composed her. People will become menaced & on edge. Men captivated -- both overwhelmed by desire & intimidated into quivering messes. The only men who stand a chance are the psychopaths who plot to destroy her spirit by negating her, mocking her & setting about trying to make her ugly. She will not be able to resist, desiring to feel less foreign to her humanity. The poet is the only

  3 stanzas   Over it goes the words we speak & who knows how it lands my ladyman? & then you know you’ve just gotta write because life is sterile & few people call & it’s busy like early Mozart on the piano like Italian bureaucrats like Banksy brats like deep fried salty sprats I would do with a leafy green. You didn’t laugh with me today there was a tension in your spray I was drunk I wasn’t thinking but you were seeing patterns & I merely blinking my voice is loud so I sound assured though my heart is full of doubt & god knows who’s in control? Poems work best in 3s though Byron’s Manfred has 4 that’s why I struggle with narratives coz I’m too much in my head Victor Hugo rarely went to bed he paced & laced in inkblots his grief & madness & what great men don’t admit to his perpetual sadness.     Published & Copyright Malachi Doyle 2024.

  Sweet Outside My Mind   Proud: The adolescent Autumn fairy wren Now has a blue tail! –-- (His first mature erection) His body yet to catch up --- ̶ Plump & furry & fawnish-grey. Chittering & fossicking & OFF! Again His boom box was spraying 50 Cent & he spoke words to me only two: "Oldskool Nigga!" & fucked off this place, too lame     Published & Copyright Malachi Doyle 2024.

  Autumn Haiku 2024 Yesterday I capped My longer work it was time ---- Now like butterflies   Published & Copyright Malachi Doyle 2024.

STICK WITH HEMMINGWAY or NONSENSE OF AN ENDING   1. A novel idea about oh I don’t know remember as Mallarme warned Degas poetry is not about language it’s about words oh the reclining nude of Matisse the artist’s studio far from strife lest the bombs fly overhead then really it’s hard to pretty picture but here the flies bomb upon my head & my struggle is with boredom another bad idea for a novel but remember words not ideas the more you think about it doesn’t make easy sense but of course when you have whiplash conversation you know is the crackle of the craic & the ideas generated oft forgotten quite soon after of course we do remember somethings generally is deep emotions are raised or felt what do we remember really? & it will make a capital no?! now it will no word is well behaved so what’s happening? Ah yes that forces the capital to bear on things & I can live with that because we want to get beyond mere text Marvellous m was a horny fellow mad as a hatter I real