Skip to main content

Journal from a hike to the Gardens & back

 

Journal from a hike to the Gardens & back

 

The following was written at the conclusion of a walk from my home to the Castlemaine Botanical Gardens & round the gardens’ loop. A distance of some 9 kilometres. I have become fat after my marriage breakup & the death of my father, the end of my teaching days involving a flare with my psychiatric condition. Blah blah. Anyway, it’s Spring! & it’s delightful to walk, following on from some of my literary heroes who walked a great deal – walking also promotes a fecundity of mind. The following was written in sequence upon returning hot, sweaty & liberated; & concluded with drinking 150 ml of Japanese vodka, which combined with the endorphin hit of the walk has left me happily fallow for a moment. & so I am typing up what was hand written. Hack work.

I write after the greatest Haiku poet Matsuo Basho, who trekked in rice sandals thousands of kilometres through often mountainous regions in the 17th Century, promoted by his Zen-like wish to become a “weather exposed skeleton.”

I write haiku, tanka & prose (poetry sometimes).

 

--

 

Here we begin

In order

The conclusion

 

--

 

How long

After each stage

Of his epic treks

Did Basho wait

To compose his haiku?

 

--

 

Gangsta walk

Chafe

Bloody toes –

Electrified

 

--

 

At that very moment

The men from the

Nearby prison

Raised their voices

In a war-like chant

Over the scape

 

--

 

Blood chilling cry

What a brutalizing process!

Steel bars

To a once child

 

--

 

Next door to me, two small children were playing under the supervision of their mother, oblivious to the cries of the men just down the road.

 

--

 

Children raising

Their voices

With their mother

 

--

 

What is tone?

How/why does it affect us?

 

--

 

P.A. announces LOCK DOWN

At H.M.S. Lodden

 

--

 

Feelings are rarely

One thing

 

--

 

Having loved each of the school students I taught in my former profession, I well know that some of these children by now have already, or will serve time in prison. As a recent teacher disillusioned with the institution, I am well aware of how important early intervention for a child on a certain trajectory with someone with whom they have rapport with is. Teachers spend roughly 1000 hours with each of their students in the course of a year, however, policies are such that experienced & educated elders are forbidden to make those key REACH OUTS to identified children. Generally, these children are victims of family &/or social conditions, psychological factors, & a gutless education shitstem leaves key personal learning too late when the maladjusted now adult runs into ‘The big boys from the law’ or indeed organized crime. The cost is terrible. Often spanning generations.

 

--

 

If only I had’ve been able

To have a coke

A game of pool

& a straight talk

With ya xx

 

--

 

Haikus fail damaged people –

Too simple

 

--

 

 

Published & Copyright Malachi Doyle 2024.

 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Apology for an evil word (draft)

  Apology for an evil word   by Malachi Doyle   I wrote/drew/painted this art book in Respekt for the child soldiers in Australia the British Empire AmiKKKa & of course Momma Afrika The French German Italian Dutch Spanish Empires Jesus Asia The Middle East South America Central America The Carribbean The Pacific Islands The former USSR countries The former Yugoslavian countries… My Nation’s & the world’s Asylum Seekers Child Detention Centres & the World’s poor country city neglected homeless  abused persecuted ignored ridiculed dismissed forgotten the murdered & raped mutilated totured  the beaten those who suffer the effects of Authoritarian & ‘soft’ Tyrannies skooling shitstems & other corrupt institutions Corporations in short the Vampires who suck “Earth Mother’s Women’s Child”rens’ blood,   I can’t express how I don’t wanna eat I have lost my appetite I wish ...

Win ugly

  Win ugly I win ugly for some bloody reason I win ugly Life’s like footy Playin into the wind Some days you act like you wish it was over Some days you get the word from the coach & you take it in your stride Though you know ur only D grade Who thought you could play ruck rover & play a ruddy blinder Who thought you had it in ya? Not even ur mother Where did that come from? For you to walk like a king who knew you could sing? About pawning ur weddin ring When ur alone You ain’t nothin but alone Just don’t scam yourself Though u can’t get any help Yes I win ugly I like it in the wet Like a 10 year old boy Drawing with a stick in the dirt Go in hard & you don’t get hurt But a wise man once scribbled The hard is overcome by the soft Like stone in water Like watching a child’s first steps One day in the sun Feelin so privileged to have been there How’d you get so lucky? Ya win ugly Ya win ugly Ya win ugly Worth the price of admission To this valley of tears Coz every now ...

In short, sharing versus selfishness

  In short, sharing versus selfishness   I have heard about The Yolngu people & gasped & sighed & dreamed & with my kite Tacked with & against the wind; Here in Dja Dja Wurrung country, Returning, Solitude for the Yolngu people Is prohibited It’s reason of ‘sorcery’ Offered Pride & closed heartedness Stunting & ending wisdom Without love, So much the better is Living communally on Country, The sounds of Nature: Birds animals water frogs Wind trees & bushes Yarnin & laughter: Relaxed, Part OF country, Not straining adrift to Examine & stand apart, & so, I write here Amongst friends, The sounds of The sitting room Food prepared, The birds the frogs A rabbit to be Air rifle shot & eaten People walkin & talkin & A sneeze The click tick Of finished oyster shells In the fireplace Chewing noises Pottery, Life in good Company Cooperation ...