That laundry is still on the line

 

That laundry is still on the line

 

That laundry is still on the line

Like the Wichita lineman

Rocking back & forth

Shit another poem about the weather

What should I be writing about?

So out of touch with my nation

I feel like an exile in my homeland

I’m obsessed with the changing light

I don’t care about politics

It looks to me like a game

That the left & the right are all part of the same club

To do the corporates’ bidding

What would Australia be without mining?

Would we survive?

How would our nation change?

What other industries would emerge?

Let’s be honest, as the Aboriginals proved

You don’t need much infrastructure to survive here

We don’t have Siberian winters

A lit fire could warm a lot of us

Then we’d have community

& we wouldn’t need to buy much

You don’t have to buy a lawn mower if you’re mates with next door

Oh no! 30 year olds want fathers & babies

I’m 53

Spectacular ariel show from the flock of pigeons

You can say what you want of them

But their flying undersides in the sunshine is beautiful

Incredible formations

Give me one over an ancillary brass band

Then we shooed off the kangaroos

Coz they’re phobic of people

Black or white

Just me & Pepper choosing the grass for the sake of our aching feet

People are easily scandalized

& it could be because they’re titillated & need to retreat to blush & wonder

What did he mean by that?

Not realizing that the vast majority of the work is being done by them

The middle of the lichened bark trees starts swaying in the breeze

Those stiff branches

The clouds make a perfect upsidedown z or s

She’s actually very pretty

Our lives have nothing in common

She’s a teetotaller, I’m a drunk

She’s vegan with food allergies, I’m omnivorous

Mozart 20 piano has a great slow movement

The fence doesn’t move

Locking life back in its green tin

& nuts & bolts

But my heart is fuckin in midair

Out into clear space

But there’s no takers

No one “appropriate”

Retirement village town

Serviced by teenagers who can’t afford rent

When will the young add up the numbers

But of course they’ve all been medicated to please

The ageing population

So they’re mild mannered

& in inverted commas “well adjusted”

Shorthand for docile

Where’s the fire coming from

A world without all the elements is doomed

An unpoetic generation

No fire, plenty of water, poisoned air & concreted denuded earth

So the old don’t trip

Anyway, sounds a bit angry this poem

Yeah I am

I am angry

I’m frustrated

Coz I’ve been a pin cushion all my life

Because I learned not to flinch early

People think I’m invulnerable

But some dreams have me waking pissed off

When I remember the hundreds of times, by now, I’ve been betrayed

Man Jesus was only betrayed once

& they’ve made the last 2000 years crying about it!

People are cruel

I really try not to be

Money is God

I try not to think about it

All I know is this hot water bottle feels good behind the small of my back in this winter

& I need another wine & a cigarette

Quiet not silence

Mozart low on the stereo & silence from outside

The cold protects the ear

 

I might even keep going

I though the thing was cooked

But tasted too fleshy

I cut a fine line between medium rare & medium

I guess we need a god to enter

To empower this doggerel

But I’m not feeling particularly votive today

So maybe we’ll bring out the chainsaw in the machine

& rattle it

Let it ring out loud & clear

Like what Neil Young alluded to in the 90s with his electric guitar solos but never took it far enough

Sounding like a guitar being taken apart

The chainsaw somersaulted through the air

& sliced down the tin fence

& the horizon was at last visible

In this suburbia of the country

Which is town living

See this chainsaw could be peace loving or war loving

Depending on my mood

The two of us are in sympatico

Personally, I like the rat in the roof

He’s not bothering me

I just thought I’d let the landlord know

He might be worried about his wiring or insulation

I don’t want them to get rid of him

Now he’s passed it onto the estate agents

Typical middle class

Not wanting to make a moral decision

I guess they’re gonna kill the rat

Why do I always get tricked?

The rat’s me mate

We can co-habit

Fuck the middle class

So euphemistic

Trust in “the process”

I should never have said nothing

I though he was for real

& would trap & release

Can’t trust the middle class

What do they call em?

“swinging voters”

No backbone

I don’t wanna diss overly on Baby Boomers

Just have to say “they’re pretty spoilt”

The whole Mahareshi “I’m happy, therefore the world is ok”

Kinda shit

Is a bit hard to take

When they’re in expensive homes

With expensive cars

& I can’t afford a house

& they’re still hogging the mic

Still my generation produced Sco Mo

The Ad Man

No faith

All religion

Mammon

Cynicism

Either way we’re fucked

I’m trying to get a poem in a Nigerian Journal

But they don’t know me from Adam

“I’m bona fide, I’m not from London”

Actually I am from London

My years in SE were the most precious years of my life

I’m just venting

Coz I’m sick of being a pin cushion

But it’s taking away from the silence

The beauty

Like a bourgeois in a boater in Renoir

I’m almost breathing

I like people in their prime

Who are still fighting

& I don’t want to lower my voice

For the retirees

Oh man

I’m twisted

Tight

Tight

Tense

As we know from Hardy

Country silence

Harbours repressed rage

Anyway, I’m back

The breath of life

Exhale twice as long as your inhale

& return to silence

Amazing how emotions overwhelm the body

The new poet accepts neurology as a rival to psychology

We get overtaken by our rage

Our mirth

& it’s more than the mind

It is the visceral brain

How do silence & the still quiet

Calibrate with the blood charged brain

& then the human

Overcomes the natural

For the human

Non human nature goes on & on & on

Freud said SEX

There’s that too

Drives

Imprinted on the mind from the body’s brain

That girl is so pretty

I know these days you’ve gotta say woman

But I belong to another era

& poetry is the internal voice speaking

I won’t name her

Ok she’s my social worker

I don’t wanna shame her

Why should desiring someone be viewed as shame for the other

What kind of twisted Neo-Victorian morality is this

Codes of conduct etc

I fancy her

There

I do

She’s really beautiful

In a desert of mealy mouthed malakas

I don’t even like many white women

Apologies girls

I like her empathy

She’s obviously near burn out

Just wants to paint

A good state school girl

An honest soldier

Too many of my love interests have been private school girls

Oh shit

I’m getting a long way from silence & the quiet light

It’s night

I should stop now

I’ve crapped on enough

I’m miles from poetry to borrow from Hemmensley

I’m miles from where I wanna be

I wanna sound as fresh as Beach Boys harmonies

Elipsing into silence

Calm

Rest

If only I had some spliff

I’ll have to come back to this tomorrow

But I’m off to the city

So maybe this silence trip will take an unforeseen turn

It was only meant to be short

“who you calling short?!”

I went out for a smoke

& I could hear the cicadas against the silence

Punctuated by the trucks on the Highway uproad

& want to say

I love 8 miles high by the Byrds

Better than anything today

Baby Boomers

You had good music

Which we don’t

Because no one is willing to cough up studio time

& this age 2024

Is one of growing poverty

We can’t move to Laurel Canyon anymore

“Coz it was really cheap”

I can’t even afford the country

It’s hard to be open

When you’re vulnerable

& all the Eastern Mysticism

Doesn’t prepare you for it

A Russian approach would be better

“There is nothing” or whatever Joseph Brodsky wrote

& so silence is as terrifying at 7pm

As noise is

We just want a roof over our heads

We think Maslov

Haven’t had our basic biological needs met

How are we to attain for self actualization?

No food

No home

No security

No water

I’m not making ends meet

& soon it will end

& you POETRY AUSTRALIA

Will demand I write

Something uplifting for the minorities

When I am now one

& I’m just saying

It’s fuckin cold

& my foot aches

& all I’ve got is misery

Because all I want to do is enter the silence

But there’s nowhere safe to return to

& what I’m saying is

There is no silence

When people are starving

There’s only groans

Of hunger

& groans of the desperate

& so I say to the Impressionists

I love your paintings

But I can’t believe in your light

When the world is affright

I can’t believe in your light

When the world is affright

When the world is affrighted

I can’t believe

In your beneficent silence

Lord I wish I could

 

 

Published & Copyright Malachi Doyle 2024.