Mel From Melbourne - Music & Words

  We must be pied pipers   I never thought that “the piano has been drinking” was very clever. It’s kind of nursery rhyme stuff, when nursery rhymes were a bit ribald, so I won’t do the “the lap top has been drinking.” I’ve been drinking & smoking. The moving house stress, particularly as I’m shifting from country to city, quite a stress. I’m also moving from a big house to a tiny apartment, so I need to cull. Then a shift, a phone call from a friend in Europe. More beer & ciggies. So I’m on another trajectory now. There was even a hint of herb leaves. I have no idea what I was saying. I think conciliation is necessary to bring on the middle. When I learned to teach school, I was taught the use of positive language as a way of leading. The combative stuff doesn’t work. It plays into the hands of the thugs. Coz military, the tide is on their side. We must be patient. We must be pied pipers.     Published & Copyright Malachi Doyle 2025.

  Two things & the impossibility of writing a great poem in a settler society, or at least me   Two things:   My poetry became more prosaic When I became a school teacher I had to make myself understood by all I had to be ultra accountable for my words Like living in fuckin Stalingrad However, also A moment arrived When I recognised what a miniscule audience High poetry has Half its own fault For disappearing up its own arse But also the dropping of literacy standards Amongst the community Also the recognition that I wish to speak with people Beyond the Anglo-Saxon Who speak English not as their mother tongue & also Having lived a close to the bone life At times I’d tired of parlour games That no doubt ties in with earlier statements This piece has been hastily composed Little thought given to structure Oh yeah, & I was put on anti-psychotics A ‘prison for the middle-class’ Which slows down the angels...

  On not having a child   I never found a woman to have a baby with But when I see animals with their kids I melt They’ve always been too volatile, too needy, too old, too angry, too sick I never found a woman to have a baby with   It’s big thing having a child I’m not just a hustler, not just a dude I understand why my mother tried to abort me Victim of abuse, violence, who’d blame her?   Somehow I survived I’ve put on audio what happened But it’s not fit for print I wanted a happy home, else no more players introduced I never found a woman to have a baby with   No child conceived to complete a woman’s portfolio I wanted a child I could teach to about the movements of the tides I wanted a child who’d know they were always home on Earth But it never worked out, it was always perilous, no love I never found a woman to have a baby with     Published & Copyright Malachi Doyle 2025.  

  Assorted short ones post long walk I prefer licorice twists to all sorts   Taking too long Making the conditions perfect for writing – Inspiration has deserted me     My walking shoes Drying in the sun Of sweat     I agree with my late greyhounds I’m missing them Slurping water is good Post walk rest Summer’s day     Sweaty t-shirt Sweaty cap Drying on the line No point sweating up All your clothes     Mum’s used to say: “Good guests are like fish – They go off after 3 days”     Wind gust Blows pen onto the ground Perhaps indeed the answer Bob? I feel a sense of foreboding     As a sub teacher I got called “old man!” By some disaffected youths Who hadn’t had a regular teacher in over a term & yet I still feel like a boy Not a man I don’t even know what a man is? Old, I have a better grasp of So “old boy!” Would be more ap...

  When I look at him I think maybe that lizard people conspiracy theory is on to something? Published & Copyright Malachi Doyle 2025.

  “It’s a free country”   It was there was blue He’d seen the Snowdon doco & taped over his camera Other than that He let em record him Nothing he could do about it As long as he was paranoid But knew he was paranoid Everything was ok & he was right to be The thing that disturbed him more Was that his kid begged him For a smart phone As “all the other kids have them & I’m sick of being teased” & so even a child would be bugged (Wasn’t that a kind of ‘grooming?!’) Horizons shortened Being defined in nascency As all the children were As everyone in the world was He remembered when he was a kid Saying “it’s a free country” A common rebuttal to censure at the time You didn’t hear that anymore     Published & Copyright Malachi Doyle 2025.

  “Supernova”   She’d gone supernova The greatest mind I knew Was now homeless & mad   This world protects Only mediocrity & abandons the great ones To the gutter Till they’re gone & then it lauds them   It was great craic & she was still thrilling If you read her Like you do a poem Or a cat*   Carried along by the ride Half understanding But trusting the telepathy Till I needed a break   Coz people in a psychosis Are more attuned Than the so called ‘sane’ Who live on the surface It's part of our contract, our yoke But she was wild & free a supernova indeed!   & with her guiding the way We hurtled through the universe Of being As the planet hurtled Through a celestial one       Published & Copyright Malachi Doyle 2025. *John Olsen

  So most school students in Victoria don't learn History past Year 7   So most school students in Victoria don't learn History past Year 7 I haven’t had an apple juice in a while My heart skips a beat when at me you smile I don’t like motorbikes they’re too loud   I don’t suffer hayfever, Spring’s my favourite season I’d get in trouble from leadership for teaching historical context I’ve been to Ireland thrice & like it better each time I have a friend going through psychosis coinciding with homelessness   I really like watermelon, I should buy it more often You’re a wildflower girl, what a beautiful passion Teaching burns you out, no job security, a new school every year No parking at my new address, I’ll have to sell my car   Since dad died I’ve really embraced my Irishness This summer has been ominously hot & long The motorcycle men chased him at night when the streets were empty Education in this state is desi...

  I’ll be on hand   I was just getting somewhere In the interior world Then the politicians decided to take a dump from a height I don’t wanna write political verse But now it’s unavoidable As the thugs break up the peace of parents & children in the park We rarely are allowed to make progress We get maybe a 6 month period every decade or 2 I was speaking with the bushes in my backyard & conversing with the insects & the sky The very large & the very small Before war was declared & let’s face it we’ve outgrown our weapons We can’t have wars anymore Still the uber rich sponsor them Throughout the disadvantaged world You see it’s distancing me from the spirit I must fight But like most at the minute I’m tired Less you’re on the methamphetamines like the elite’s mercenaries Man, when will we practice healing again? While the bombs sound around our homes The reason why the middle class Have fled the cities for...

  The making, the building up with care   Haven’t minorities been through enough? We’d started to make tentative progress I called Trump a dropkick But Dermott better called him “a thug” Dog whistling for bigoted bullies & so the politics of division Tomorrow the calendar calls “Australia Day” An anniversary of British Invasion & the commencement of a genocide Another divisive celebration I haven’t been writing coz money demands of me But I need to write Coz it appears that many people switch off the news When the going gets tough But now is not the time for that Now is the time for fighting back & while we’ve seen the left turn a blind eye to crimes The right are launching an all out assault on the person Still we can’t turn on one another Coz that’s the far right’s plan We must stick together Today is Robbie Burns day & I was gathered to an event & I heard beautiful poetry & music & ate haggis ...

 If I ask nicely  Will you please stop biting me, fly? — It’s January! Published & Copyright Malachi Doyle 2025.

  Post Psychosis   It was a terrible thing going through a psychosis I’ll never almost trust my mind again in anything Though I’m 6 foot 2 I feel small, very young & very old I feel like I’m missing something Both in myself & in the reading of the room People appear socially at ease I feel like I’ll either implode or explode Rooms are too small, rooms are too big My nerves are shot, there’s a crack that’s opened Ok it lets a poetic light in But it hampers you doing everyday things Every moment I’m on knife’s edge I used to think I was invincible Till I fell from a great height & broke & attempted to set again     Published & Copyright Malachi Doyle 2025.  

  “Watch for sparks”   This hot summer is worrying Particularly out here in the sticks The planet’s heating up The Earth screams “FIRE!” 100 degrees again today We live close to our alerts When a girl my mother was told To “watch for sparks” So mum, OCD like me Would spend all those hot wind days With eyes peels Imagining sparks in the flickering of the light Her days filled with stress As a city kid it sounded far fetched But now I’m here in the country It makes a lot of sense     Published & Copyright Malachi Doyle 2025.  

  Hanoi   Watch Anthony Bourdain in Hanoi, Vietnam. He has a in adverted commas relaxed chat with President Obama. Now I understand that a politician is by nature a salesperson. Hell, you’d never get Trump there I don’t think. But Vietnam’s a Communist country, yet the people he speaks too are much more genuine than the President, despite the limits on freedom of expression. Now, I don’t know Xi, would he be more guarded than Obama, less or the same? Maybe politicians are all salespeople, which is why I don’t trust them & why I abhor wars because I know ordinary people who are not salespeople, just trying to go about their lives are generally likeable & that politicians generally fuck up their lives. That company is generally better than loneliness if people are genuine. & I owe a lot to the Vietnamese.     Published & Copyright Malachi Doyle 2025.  

  Sado Masochism There was a strong vein of cruelty to ya mixed with the kindness Which for an Irishman rooted in self deprecation Has scarred me & necessitated a grief of strengthening self punishment I drink to self mortify too often it’s true Something many people cannot relate to Those who’ve not been burdened with survivor guilt Those who think they deserve their privilege As if somehow they could control the fate of their lives I heard a man on the radio last night Talking about his Irishness & the problems contained It was so refreshing coz Dad never spoke of these traits Still he was more like you with the cruelty mixed with the kindness So I guess regardless of ethnicity some are alpha, some are beta & relationships tend to be sado masochistic Regardless of the love     Published & Copyright Malachi Doyle 2025.

Code & Redaction   I write from within myself I write to process my inner life To spell out my vicissitudes I reach to speak freely & openly This is a big reason why I never went into crime But also a privilege of being allowed that choice & the freedom to articulate Many people in the world live in perilous situations War, oppression etc or even certain loyalties Where loose lips sink ships & to do so would endanger the lives of others So it is a privilege that I am able to I am very grateful for it Still one is a product of one’s environment So the hope I imagine were I born elsewhere That I would still communicate something of the indomitability of the human spirit Regardless of the necessity of code & redaction     Published & Copyright Malachi Doyle 2025.    

  I miss you tonight   It’s not same these milestones without ya Not to bounce back & forth with excitement & stress Laughing wildly at the madness of life It’s like I’ve started taking that madness seriously I look at the world beyond Rather than the world we touched I spend my days analysing my self I can’t let myself off the hook for  my weaknesses I’ve lost my laughter Being shackled to my sole masculinity I’m hot, dry & tight I miss you tonight No one to put her arm around me as I near to sleep When there’s good news at last  I can no longer share it with ya Life no longer feels like an adventure But a repetition of days into nights     Published & Copyright Malachi Doyle 2025.      

  A couple of hours into a smoke of pot   A couple of hours into a smoke of pot it starts to feed back & I sound like a bitch, a reedy cheap oboe whining away about this & that, do I ever shut up? The price I have to pay for hitting some cunts is so far 13 years of psych meds & indefinite & the compulsory adoption of self consciousness & self recrimination. Why do you think I drink so much? Anyone would struggle to be more introspective than me. That’s why I write, as a way of hitting back, saying I resist this prison sentence. A moment’s reprieve. & so I must constantly account for myself. This is a sign of the times, that we must sound ironic & surrender our primal being to ‘theory’. & so I talk incessantly like post graduates do, in our collared shirts & our hair cuts. Now I was reading the other day a mockery of the white adventurer as they’re called or as I call em: people. I’ve always clicked with people from other cultures, & ...

  Lynch   Green wash of mercantile blood & sinews You astonish the townsfolk with your figure But you are big & small & I a tall coward Don’t be so hard on yourself Would you like that I was hard on you fuck face?! I smash skulls with a rolling pin to make chalk & draw the gardens of earthly paradises For David Lynch I remember a documentary on him when I was a kid There were others: Kafka, Seamus Heaney & they struck me & seduced me to art & letters So I’ll rip the stuffing out of a kid’s toy & watch him cry Because I am a bully Only I don’t know it yet6     Published & Copyright Malachi Doyle 2025.

  Social media is not the place   Social media is not the place For serious news stories It might be breakfast time where the story originates & people are in work mode But you’re watching it at night time You’ve had a few to drink You’re horny, lonely & frustrated You’re up for a fuck or fight, banter Or a joke You’re not feeling like being serious nor empathetic You want to be provocative & watch some sparks fly So you can’t really relate With serious debate Social media is not the place     Published & Copyright Malachi Doyle 2025.

 Short shots Man sounds better than human or person; the former because of species, the later because of sibilants, so I'm in a quandary. Isn't it forcing me into a pro-masculine position? I argue that it's a choice of sound. The other thing I wanted to say is that I don't get many black faces in my suggested posts on YouTube. In fact, they're all white. & also, I get few female faces in my suggested posts on YouTube. I don't know what's available, coz I'm not in the university game. It's a shot in an American dark. You don't know where's the interesting stuff coming from. We have billions of choices, yet no librarians. It's fucked. Published & Copyright Malachi Doyle 2025.

  Drummed drummed into you   You put up with the hits When there’s also love But after the love is taken away There is only the flashbacks to the hits The echoes of the attacks & then you take them over & beat yourself All those primal rhythms Drummed drummed into you All your life from childhood to adulthood Drummed drummed into you The world puts you down Till the point where it doesn’t need To do it anymore You can do it all by yourself You have internalised violence Drummed drummed into you     Published & Copyright Malachi Doyle 2025.

  The storm that never came   The branches flap against Brahms The storm never came Nor did the rain A smattering of drops It’s been a hot summer A worrying summer The earth’s up in the air Humanity’s inhaling, drinking & eating poisons Shill they’re finding more land & sea to mine While none of the wealth returns to the nation We should be done with mining by now Like Scandinavia & building a progressive society     Published & Copyright Malachi Doyle 2025.

  W.I.M.P.   There’s parts of me that are weak Watching videos about dissidents in authoritarian countries Who spend years in prison & live in poverty Because they believe one day the day will come They’re proud & driven They are giants What of Australia This wild west whose standard of living Is enmeshed with mining & agriculture Destroying the ecology Short term planning & fucking up the world & the sordid culture wars chattering about symbols The worst thing that can happen to a poet The ex con tells me Is to have no audience Because no one cares No one is really addressing basic matters, as I see them Food security, water, healthcare, education, jobs, housing, infrastructure But I risk little Other than being ignored It is a kind of soft torture & it makes you care less Strive less Because you know No one cares whether you write or not What is accepted is discourse Within accepted terms of refe...