Solo Christmas
Vacation 2024
One
(Christmas
Eve Afternoon)
Checked
In the
suburb
Pink &
full folds
Of
Repeating
tapas
Breaking the
dish
Needed for
Christmas Dinner
Nuke it
instead
Just mass
The priest’s
crisis of faith
Dreaming
sheep
Lost shepherd
Two
Paper spawn
On a pond
Of ultra
smooth ink
Tea cup
umbrellas
& giddy
up
Broken
arrows wherewithal
A sliver of
orange
In cloud
dust
An emu chick
On the road
Or thinking
Is that what
I think it is
Or have I
just not woken fully?
Three
(Christmas
Morning)
The wise
water
Slow &
immediate
Expanse
On the beach
Which feels
Miles away
A man
With his
knickers
In a knot
About an
Off leash
dog
His back
To the water
Endlessly
complaining
Like
Sisyphus
But as I say
I’m miles
away
In Heaven
The
elemental womb
Of salt
water
Lacking
nothing
All is calm
Quiet
Perfect
Four
(Christmas
Day)
Listening to
blues radio at Christmas
It’s
soothing to have the company
Of a live DJ
Something
streaming doesn’t recognise
Today is
best expressed through nothing definite
But I’m ok
Had a swim
in the sea this morning
Which is
always a good day
& I was
fortunate to have company last night
So I’m less
longing for people
I guess
today is best expressed in negatives
Like it
doesn’t hurt too bad
In fact I’m
quite content
A pleasant
meal of smoked chicken, serrano ham & salad
A few
Coronas with lemon
I’m happy to
stay in
Might go for
a walk later
Missing
those who aren’t here
But even
when they were here
Didn’t I always
have a melancholy smile?
Or is that
just today’s mood
Projected
onto all time?
As I say
The feeling
is nothing definite
Five
(Christmas
Afternoon)
She might be
out there
But I’m not
ready
Sitting
alone in some restaurant
Waiting for
a little conversation
It’s
happened before
It could
happen again
She’d have
to be pretty unusual
I know today
everyone thinks they are
But trust me
they’re not
I need a
freak with a mind & a sense of humour
&
importantly a sense of humility
The latter’s
rare as hen’s teeth
In this
competitive consumerist world
She might
not be ready
That would
be splendid
Then we
could follow a super slow tempo
Indeed
perhaps without an audible pulse much of the time
That only
flickers to flame
On a super
moon
Six
(Christmas
Night)
It’s been a
pleasant Christmas Day
But it
lacked the chemistry of socialising
The swim was
amazing
As it is
I enjoyed
seeing people on the beach
Phone calls
to siblings also fun
The dinner:
most satisfactory
With the
addition of baked potatoes & sauerkraut
To the
smoked chicken, cherry tomatoes, pear & lettuce leaves
All prepared
in the hotel room kitchenette
Wrote some
poems
Watched a
rerun of Anthony Bourdain
Community Radio & Jamaican reggae mix
At one stage I braved a walk
& felt like a loser
For being alone
I’m looking forward to tomorrow
& visiting friends
But also it’s an acceptable day to be alone
“The lady doth protesteth too much methinks!” Haha!
Thanks Q
For last night
Singing & chilling outside in the lovely evening weather
BUT I MISS MY PARENTS (RIP)
& MY EX-IN-LAWS
A day to SURVIVE
But ok
Not the worst day
But man it’s NOT meant to be celebrated ALONE!
It is a shameful
Shituation we live in
Am I so dangerous
That my friends
Can’t include me?!
Oh the joys of mental illness!
Still frankly I don’t want to be around people
Who aren’t enthused to have me around
& so I spoke with a man on the street
Who was crazy with loneliness
But I chose solitude
Over inviting him home
So this is middle class Australia
Phobic of others
Island nation that votes to “Stop the Boats”
& locks up refugees like prisoners indefinitely &
terminally
Refugees like Jesus Christ & his parents
We would prefer
Xmas to Christmas
Seven
(Boxing Day Early or Late Christmas Night – bit of a blur!)
One Christmas
A Catholic (celibate) priest (for you neo moronic generations
who know nothing) (my dad)
Had a crisis of faith
He had developed a deep friendship
With a woman
Single mother of 3
Fleeing an obscenely (beyond being allowed to be depicted)
violent man
On the skids
& couldn’t go through with Mass
He said, instead,
To the woman
“Let’s get the fuck out of here”
My origin
Too big a story to tell
& my dad more a panty wetter
Than my honesty
In short a winner to my loser
My origin
Too big a story to tell
Let’s just say the whole town
Descended on them
& vilified em
For showing the parishioners
To be wolves in sheep’s clothing
I was brought up
To be suspicious of the crowd
I didn’t suffer under your illusions
& so I pursue as I was brought up to
DEFIANCE & LIBERTY
& I’ve seen you
All come for me
But fuck ya
I will remain defiant
& you’ll have to kill me to silence me
& that’ll be on you
“FREEDOM!” we sing
Eight
(Boxing Day – Hungover)
Lead pilfered from building sites
Copper pilfered from building sites
To buy drugs
Wildflowers & spinifex
Swimming in the sea
Bibles in the room
Printed in China
A dollar’s a dollar
Nine
(Boxing Night)
I speak a different language to my father
Who speaks a different language to my mother
So my relationship with English
Doubly colonised
Learned English from my Irish father poet
Who spoke Gaelic
& was forced to adopt English
& so born in Australia
Australian English
Via an Irish ear & heart
In a Church of England school
We Australians are drier here
We don’t have the wet reverb of the Irish
We have the desert wind
Which is an Aboriginal prayer rage
& so I’m what the Americans call
A mutt
& what working class Australians (when Australians existed,
before the multinationals under Neo Liberalism took over)
Called a mongrel
& so I sing love songs
Divine & profane
& I mourn my mother
Who introduced me
To her Depression bread winner mother
& my saintly grandfather
Homerically blind
How do I begin
How do I speak of Keats universal
Not Britannia’s truth & beauty
As the ancient Griot sang
& then there’s my Fijian-Tongan-German mentor
& my Jamaican Canadian best friend
Not to mention my wives - one Japanese, one Creole Mauritian
& so I talk
Some may say
It’s unpoetic
But I’m no uglier
Or prettier than you
Me Lord
Ten
(27th December — under the influence)
Last day of Christmas
Hi Grade in my head
Feelin mellow
I feel straight up
I know how I am
I ain’t overcompensating
My heart hurts
I’m content but I ain’t happy
The dead
The divorced
I used to love going to sleep
With your arm around me
& I’m thinking I’m glad we tried
Out of our 11 years
It was worth it
A good experience
But in the end
We were pulling in different directions
But yes my heart hurts
& if I stand a chance with another
They’ll have to know utter misery
But also know the incredible
Ecstasy of existence
Richard says “at the same time”
But personally I don’t think it’s necessary
For me it’s just the knowing/feeling
Published
& Copyright Malachi Doyle 2024.
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