Dreams
& Meditations
1.
The shadow
self
That’s what
the young bloke & me talked about
One never
knows how one’s coming over
& when
one is supressing rage
It’ll betray
you
During the
years of marriage separation
&
undergoing the divorce
I didn’t realise
how angry I was
Till the
matter was settled
& a
weight was taken off my shoulders
I fell foul
of a few people
Now I’m not
saying they were innocent
But it was
instructive that it occurred during this time
Their orbits
clashed with mine
& that’s
cool
We need
other people’s orbits
To come into
ours
I guess in
the country
You can
meditate on each
Whereas in
the city there are too many
So we use
stereotypes to dismiss
To snuff out
god
The other
interesting thing I saw this morning
Was a
barefooted person
Not sure
gender
As I only
saw them from behind
They were
wearing a light dress
Riding a
bicycle train of 3 bicycles with a trailer caboose
Quite a
sight to behold
Fortunately
the street was quiet
An
ethnically Chinese man & I smiled to one another
& I
heard an Anglo-Saxon father talking to his toddler
“Just like a
train!”
The kid was
enthralled
Good times!
Ha
The key for
me at least
Is to
acknowledge my fallibility
But my
friend, yunno,
I’ve heard
incredible things
From
microdosers of methamphetamines
Psychotic
& sane
Travelling
at lightspeed
Reflections
of God in all things
I’ve learned
to listen
& my
best poems are invisible
They don’t
exist
Cept in the
listening
I wish to
listen to stories
& I fear
I’ll find few tellers
In this
world clammed up
& into
itself
& you
mother nature in Naarm
All I hear
this Friday night in Carlton
Is dickheads
revving V8s & motorbikes
This sacred
land
Has been
turned to concrete, steel & glass
&
electrical/mechanical noise
As a Mexican
artist put it
“There’s no
room for ghosts”
Or spirits
Will they
come to me in my dreams
Today I
pounded the concrete
Tomorrow I
will head to the park
& see if
there’s any spirit there
3.
The
jackhammer outside is insane
To
de-concretise the planet
That nature
might return
& growth
spring from the earth
Would deafen
the world
Cities full
of jackhammers
For years on
end
Humanity
would go insane
I’m going
insane
The
jackhammer keeps going
My nerves
can’t take it
What must it
be like for cities being bombed
Relentlessly
& no
psych meds available
Man you hope
you could get your hands
On some
spliff or hashish
& I’m
thinking that while the jackhammer goes
It’s ok
But it’s the
breaks in between
Which make
you hope
Only for
that to soon be dashed
I start
laughing
Because I’m
powerless to stop it
& it
keeps going in waves
Man what
does that do to your forearms?
Your body
Doing that
every day?
The vibrations
Can you hold
anything light?
What’s it
like holding a baby after a day at that
Are you
frightened you’re gonna drop it?
Or break it?
4.
Come my
siblings
This
desecrated land, Naarm
Together
we’ll try & bring some healing to our hearts
We forget to
breathe
With the
sound of cars revving their engines all night
It’s so hard
to relax
So we fill ourselves
with poisons
We pray to Death
Our god
Is that all
we can do here?
Can’t you
feel the cooler breeze through this window
A spirit of
the land whispers touching you on your bare arm
I can’t
fight the noise
It’s a
condition here
I can’t be
on guard
My nerves
won’t survive
I’ll have to
become supple
Worship life
& death
The two
sides of the one coin
Adjustment
Adjustment
Everything
is new
5.
The main
aural difference between
City & country
Is in the
city
It’s a
vertical space
You can’t
listen as deeply or as far
Because the
assaulting noises
Stop the trail
of listening
Picture
plotted on a graph
There be
more spikes
Less of a
wave
In the
country you can listen longer & deeper
& you
can listen through sounds
A bird song
doesn’t interrupt the listening
You can
listen through the bird songs to other distant sounds
Endlessly
& for forever
It helps
meditative thinking
There is
love in the sounds
It is
horizontal
On into
infinity
Of course
you still have periodic mechanical sounds
But the natural
sounds abounding
Somehow
absorb them
& their
frequency far less frequent
There are
quiet times that heal
Your soul
can recline & fly
Without
bumping into noise
6.
I talk a lot
about sound
I respond
mainly to sound
Often the
sound is so grating
That I need
to put on sunglasses
To temper
the light
I’ve written
about sound before
Sound was
taken seriously in my childhood home
We didn’t
have the radio on in the car
Both my
parents had artful voices
It travelled
back millennia
& nature
was felt in the sounds of silence
7.
Dear pepper
tree
Let’s fly
away
To somewhere
quiet & green
But we’re
both stuck here
Because of
money
Show me how
to be as beautiful as you are
Thick with
growth
In this
concrete place
My dearest
friend here
You give the
birds reason to sing
My other
friends
Though
they’re unaware of me
Are the
people out the back
Of the Asian
restaurants
I see them
on their breaks
Talking or
smoking or on their phones
Or going to
the fridge out the back
I’ve been
watching a guy serenely working out there
Chopping
vegetables
I love them
Like I love
the pepper tree
Maybe they
sense I’m here
I know the
pepper tree does
8.
It’s true I
do like crazy people
While you’ve
gotta sift a bit
Generally
you find nice grains
Oh but the
drama!
Smaller doses
are preferable
Still normal
people are fuckin tedious
You might as
well be talking to a robot
The
funny/fucked thing is
That
increasing numbers of people
Are turning
to talking with AI
Rather than
people
So when you
say “you might as well be talking to a robot”
People say
“yeah? What’s your point”
That’s where
the West/East have ‘jumped the shark’
9.
Another
question in all this is
Since when
do we have to say what we think?
Thinking
about masquerade balls
& the
delicious fictions seductive & provocative
Why are my
words always taken for confession
Surely we
all lie
& there
are lies in every telling of a ‘truth’
Why can’t I
say things I don’t mean
I’m not in
court
I’m not
filling out a legal document
No this is a
culture
That doesn’t
know how to play
It turns
even leisure into work
A land of
the convict
& the
prison culture:
Keep your
head down, watch your words,
Watch your
back, trust no one,
Don’t stick
out, mum’s the word, etc
10.
I just had
to have a look at a photo of my mother
A young
woman around 40
Two violent
husbands
Yet
indomitable
That’s my
brother Greg’s word
He composed
a tone poem for her
There she is
cigarette in hand
Holding
court
A real woman
Not a
blushing girl
Raw &
straight up
A hero of
mine
4 natural
births
A wonderful
confident
We had the
same sense of humour
Thinking of
you today mum
She knew
when I was anxious
Just to shut
up
& let me
unravel
11.
I picked a
hardcover book from the university library
It was on a
trolley for returning to the shelves
It was a
book about griots
It was
illustrated & the writing & the illustrations
Worked into
one another like musical harmonies
Even more
than that I was walking about the bush
& the
country about me appeared like a holograph
Cast by the
pictures & words
I was living
in another reality
Part nature,
part literature
& the
words & the ineffable secrets
Of the
pictures mixed with the landscape
Echoed
through me as I chased the river
& the
journeys of the griots
12.
It was the
end of the second world war
& the
last bomb & shots died out
I was on the
shore in Germany somewhere
I happened
upon a clay carving
That spanned
generations
Of people in
different occupations
Like some
proto-August Sander
& a lot
of artefacts were being destroyed
& I was
trying to argue a case for something
Of a German
culture separate from Nazi propaganda
Things
quickly
Become more
serious than aesthetics
& there
were men overboard in the freezing water
& I was
in a rescue boat
As an
aircraft carrier neared by
I got a pole
out & gradually everyone was rescued
Though some
looked like drowning
Fortunately
a couple of stronger swimmers rescued them
Then the
business onboard the aircraft carrier
Was about
which artefacts to destroy
& which
to preserve
Most
everything was being destroyed
But I had my
secret
13.
I was with a
Bosnian friend
Smoking a
cigarette
& he
said that he had some spliff if I was interested
But first I
was telling him of my first
Sharehouse
out of home
& my
acid trip there
& my
dear friend I would later visit
Then I was
at the house
Talking with
my housemate
Back in the
early 90s
We’re still
good friends today
As I am with
her husband
I told them
the story of my Bosnian friend
& all of
a sudden I realised I was high
That he must
have spiked me
& I felt
bad
Coz when
your friends haven’t had a puff
It would be
very frustrating
Coz you’re
on a different level
So I kept
apologizing for not bring them any spliff
Although as
I was spiked
It wasn’t
really my fault
Nevertheless
it was frustrating
14.
The majority
of the world
Do not have
their basic needs met
They work
their guts out
& they’re exploited by foreign companies
Who take all
the wealth of their sacred land
Back home
Off shore
& pay no
tax
&
intimidate ordinary working people
Who do
& the
planet is being destroyed
& proxy
wars are being fought
On behalf of
minority world corporations
& the
majority of the world
Have no
choice but to fight their kin
For access
to water
Meanwhile
minority world elites
Do not pay
for water
Nor anything
they consume
& pay
nothing in tax
Which would
house clothe & feed the world
&
they’re only in their position
Because of
birthright
& that
enough of the management middle class
Will sell
out their own
For a bigger
house
15.
I was in a
car chase
With my
ex-wife driving
She really
went wild
It was only
later that I noticed
She was
sporting a beard
When we got
back to the change rooms
She went in
to shave
Apparently
she’d been acting
& the
beard was artificial
She came
back out
Where we
were all sitting about
Drinking hot
chocolate
She’d
decided to keep the sideburns
&
somehow she was SE Asian
She was
bullying me
Like old
times
& then
said
“Of course
We’re no
longer old friends”
16.
One of the
great things about Melbourne
Is community
radio
Other things
The food’s
good
The water’s
good
The sea’s
swimmable & beautiful
I like
multicultures
The visual
art pound for pound is good
Particularly
the Indigenous stuff
Good parks
All the
ingredients are there
We just need
to bring ‘God back
To “the
shout of the street”’
(Marshall
Berman)
& start
talking openly & honestly & non defensively
With one
another
& get
off the fuckin phones
Recognise
the sacred in one another
United we
stand
&
divided we fall!
17.
So really
I’m just a cheerleader for humanity
In a
depressed world
A humble
role
To say that
the end is not yet
“Jimi’s gone
take you higher than that!”
Again
borrowing from Little Richard
Isn’t that
what the arts are for
To turn us
on
To activate
our spirits?
I find the
world funereal a ce moment
Anyway I’m
cycling back to the masquerade
The
anti-king
The fool
that can shatter the king’s hubris
It’s nearly
April fool’s day
Not
celebrated enough here
It’s time to
do away with the killjoys
See
Shakespeare’s a Winter’s Tale
18.
“& his
government name was donkey!”
Yunno people
with a little bit of power
Wielding it
wide & hard
Little
Mussolinis
Them we
don’t like
Like the bar
tenders that bar you
For speaking
freely
Within the
law
High on
conviviality & universal siblinghood
A love of
life
No I don’t
like killjoys
Whether
teachers
Or bar keeps
19.
We were in
Russia
& we
went to where the worst subjugations & atrocities
Were
committed unto people
Slaves were
worked to the point of complete physical exhaustion
Before being
killed
Corruption
was completely out in the open
If one
belonged to the ruling class
& he
liked your shoes
You had to
give them to him
Fortunately
I was a guest of a king
Who ruled a
small Indigenous self governing principality
That obvious
was largely symbolic
Because they
had to entertain the ruling class
Of the slave
owners
Who were
really in charge
The slaves
at the whim
Of their
masters
Had to send
a fleet of ramshackle looking buses
As people
movers for the slaves back west
As night was
falling
One of the
buses died
& so
some men would have to run the thousand kilometres
To the slave
ground
When of
course they would be shot
I walked off
looking for my guide
Hoping not
to run into the guy who liked my shoes & hat
I found a group
of slaves mourning their loved ones’ deaths
In song
& they
sang by a polluted looking once paradise sea
Very much
like the Fijians I sang with
For all
those years when I was younger
Inconsolable
tears streaming from their red tormented & exhausted eyes
Toothless
impossibly lined faces
Young men
& women worked to an early grave
It was a
song without hope of redemption
Abject
misery of violation upon violation
20.
The school I
went to finally got done
For child
sex abuse
Didn’t
happen to me
But abuse in
all its types were enmeshed in the culture
It was a
toxic place
In the
English boys’ tradition
Anyway,
It sent me
to the pub
& it was
all men
Which was
the last thing I felt like
It’s kind of
strange
That boys
turn into men
As a kid
I didn’t
like most men
But hey I
turned into one
I’d rather I
turned into a wildflower
I don’t know
Let’s just
say it’s weird
I miss mum
today
I’m really
longing for female energy
There’s a
deficit of that in me
Most men are
acting
Unfortunately
so are most women
I don’t know
I just need
gentle people tonight
I like a man
& a woman being unmade
21.
I miss you
I was so
clumsy
I was
reeling from the marriage separation
& the
deaths of my parents & best friend
I was lonely
I got a
shock one day
I thought we
were just friends
& then I
noticed how pretty you were
& that
ruined everything
I know
you’re all messed up
But that’s
ok so am I
I just
wanted to have heart to hearts
But I
blurted out stupid things
& you
never trusted me fully again
I spooked a
horse
A fast
galloper
Sure we
talked sometimes
& though
I was ready for anything
I babbled
like a fool
Best thing about
you was
I wasn’t
scared of you
Nor scared
of myself around you
I felt giddy
Ah well
I’m not
sophisticated around women
I’m not
strategic
I’m like
Little Richard that way
“All or
none”
An intense
man
An absurd
one
I’m
ridiculous
I’m nuts
But at least
I’m kind
& know
I’m nuts
Goofy
He’s on my
tissue box!
22.
Anyway,
Last night’s
dream was mental
&
definitely ‘problematic’
But it was
the unconscious mind that made it
Can I really
be held responsible?
I dreamed I
stumbled upon an old country home
With
artefacts from when my ancestors
Came to Oz
1840s or
something
There were
all sorts of accoutrements
&
documents about my sister as a blackfella
Maybe just
someone in my ancestry
Shared blood
with a blackfella
&
produced another tree
I don’t know
Anyway it
was just a dream
& the
earth produced all sorts of spontaneous food
Before the
white man destroyed the ecosystems
Like living vegetable
matter
That flew
& grew in the air
& you
could catch it & eat it
& it was
nourishing
Then we
found out that all these belongings
Which had
been secret all these years
Were about
to be rubbish tipped
By the
current owners of the property
Who’d sat on
it for a while
& were
going to demolish it
&
rebuild a McMansion
There were
sacred gifts
&
secrets
& a
whole sacred world back there
I go to
these places in my dreams at times
Now I’m not
claiming a birthright
What I’m
saying is
In 200 years
My people
& Aboriginal people’s lives
Intersected
no doubt
No doubt a
lot of bad
Hopefully
some good
Intense
dream
I seem to be
having em every night
Maybe
they’re not my dreams
Maybe I’m
not the dreamer
Maybe I’m a
surrogate
& it’s
someone else’s dreams
Maybe yours
It’s
possible
I think the
lesson is
Stop
thinking of this land as other/foreign to you
& start
embracing it
It’s
pregnant with dreams, ideas, visions, wisdom, knowledge, etc
Stop
thinking of it as concrete, pigeons & burger joints/noodle houses
The land is
vast
It’s time we
started learning its ways
Before it’s
just one giant mine
Like the
bully’s, our fuhrers (German for “leader”) want
Learn to
feel the spirit
23.
I’m trying
to take a break from the booze
Yesterday
was an illness screaming
Like Brett
Whiteley’s baboon
With the
spike in the vein
Raging
against the cage
I vomited
for an hour
Today is a
day of resilience
So there’s a
jackhammer outside
That’s no
excuse to take refuge in a bottle
Instead I
booked a cinema ticket for Monday
Today I seek
out gentleness & tenderness
I locate the
quiet stream
Deep within
myself
Observing
the building site noises
But living
amongst nature
The wild
birds flit & fly
The stream
takes me to the heart
Of the
rainbow child
Who is drunk
on air & the music of the spheres
They except
themselves
Unlike the
man who self abhors
They do not
poison in thought or deep
Their joy is
innocent
The sounds
of bombings & missile strikes
Cannot
penetrate
The rainbow
child’s dreams
Where trees
sway lightly in the autumn breeze
The
temperature slowly cooling down
After
summer’s infernos
& the
ritual dances
Of rain
& sun
Produce the
colour spectrum
In the
breath, in the heart, in the stream
& its
fishes
& of
course the rainbow child
High amongst
the white clouds
Against a
baby blue sky
& lying
on their back
Inventing
shadow plays
In the
leaves dappled light
24.
I prefer the
informal movement of culture
The oral
tradition
One born
from the roots up
Not forced
down from the academy/leadership
The amateur
over the professional
So much of
our concepts & language today
Is top down
Conceived by
knowledge professionals
&
Corporate Media designers
Society is
engineered predominantly
From outside
the Demos
The balance
is out
Hence I
write
As an
outsider
An amateur
I love
concrete demotic language
Over
puristic conceptual language
“As if the
Earth in thick pants were breathing”
Wrote
Coleridge
You can
touch see smell hear taste those words
So call what
you will
Try putting
me in boxes
I won’t get
in
“Don’t get
in the box!”
My rasta
friend said
Suggesting
they would dig you a hole
&
through the dirt over
25.
Met some
psychologically/emotionally wounded people
& that’s
my people
As a
sufferer of trauma myself
&
someone who’s learned a lot about myself
Who’s gone
over the cliff
& is
damaged
I find
‘normal’ people taxing
They don’t
really get ya
They make
you feel
That you’re
doing something wrong
By being
mentally ill
Even some
doctors
&
pharmacists
Do it
Last night I
met a victim of a parents’ war
The Third
World is full of them
& having
spent the last 30 odd years
Amongst
migrants
I better
understand them than most
I like to
listen
&
counsel
That was Max
Sometimes’ idea
That because
the mental health system
Is so
overstretched & often poor
Community
has a roll to play
In allowing
people to talk about their struggles
I like real
conversations
I struggle
with small talk
Mental
health peership
As someone
who struggles
I’m not
going to judge others
Or think I
have myself together
I know I’ll
always be broken
&
they’ll be better times & worse times
Deep
breathing is good
But people
need to be listened to
Particularly
the traumatised
26.
Coleridge
took a dose of laudanum
For his
illness
Which
enabled Kubla Khan
Alas
medications
Have become
less consciousness expanding
In fact as
I’ve said
My
medications are tranquilizers
Aimed at
dampening my mind
Auden I
believe it was
Wrote of how
one’s imagination
Can often
ripen
When one is
coming down with something
I feel like
I’m coming down with something
But I’m not feeling
like Count Belisario
I’m not feel
wild like the tiger
He trapped
me one day
Though he
was stuck in a cage
With his
eyes
We locked
gaze
& I
disappeared into his mind
Much like
those ineffable
Transcendental
or Religious experiences
But this was
awe &
Awe contains
wonder & terror
But
definitely also
It made me
feel like I belonged on earth
I belonged
in nature
It took me
back to my primordial roots
When I
walked naked
Before money
Before even
fire was invented
Before shame
had been unleashed
& we
tore raw flesh with our teeth
27.
The wars go
on in our times
They
reverberate through our cities
& the
land
Man has been
overtaken
By his
technologies
Weapons too powerful
to control
& it’s
only snowballing
Mines fill
the lacerated sacred earth
For the children’s
& grandchildren’s & great great grandchildren’s
Playgrounds
There are
few places of refuge
I take it in
a receptive face
The earth
gurgles, the earth groans, the earth screams
& the
hairs stand up a top your head
So it is the
job of ordinary life
To defy
To continue
Smiling
Laughing
Hugging
Kissing
Making
beautiful things
But also to
fight evil
Unlike the
so called progressives
Who give so
much oxygen
To the thugs
But by being
so inhibited so timid
So weak
Ruled by
fear & indecisiveness
They will
never overcome
28.
Sabbaths are
essential
Whenever
they fall
Or how
frequently
To cleanse
the soul
& put
the dance in the spirit
Writing’s a
strange one
Because in
one sense
It’s work
Yet in
another
Therapeutic
play
I’m
listening to
Jazz from
the 1920s 30s & 40s
Amazing
Depression
& war & post war
& yet
the music is so alive
Gypsy Swing
etc
So much
creative innovation
& yet so
much destructive innovation
We’ve
forgotten the questions
Raised after
WWI
We’ve simply
pushed them to the back
Of our minds
& live
now thoughtlessly
Going
through the motions
Moving from
one distraction
To another
While
brutalities occur continuously
We simply
push it out of our minds
We have
admitted defeat
Isn’t that
what I hear?
When I
listen to the songs of our age
An age without
ambition
Backing away
into the corner
With our
tails between our legs
In the
public toilets
You see
scrawled on the walls
The triptych
of
Realist
Pragmatist Idealist
It’s
ubiquitous
As if
anything about ideas
Is final
& set
It’s
arguable
That ideas
are only rationalisations
From
conditions & actions
& not
motivating forces
& I
think you will find
If you move
beyond 3 fingers
That people
are invariably
Contradictory
& move
between these 3 repeatedly
Anyway so
many of the loudest talkers
Are
repeating second hand ideas
& not
digging
Art &
letters in this country
Have
relinquished the throne
Sewing only
careers as grant-writers
Rather than
visionaries
Caring about
quantity & money & CVs
Over the
work itself
Hence I
choose the life of an amateur
Not a mercenary
I’m busy
working on the thing
I’m working
on
& once
that’s over
I publish it
& move
on to the next thing
I am trying
to provide my audience
With food
for thought
Whether it’s
only 100 readers or fewer
29.
I observe
Waa the crow
Sacred
ancestor spirit for most of the Kulin Nation
Moiety
infact
Scavenger
for food from the bins out the back
People
disdain her for that
Not
realizing she’s always done it
Back
millennia
Before the
white man came
&
developed the land for housing
As the
cities grew further & further into the bush
& so
there is no longer enough food
Where the
birds & animals would like to be
& they
must scavenge rubbish bins
& the
ignorant call the sacred ibis ‘bin chickens’
Not seeing
how they had desecrated the ibis’ home
& starved
him
So that he
must scavenge from bins
& choke
on plastic
& insult
to injury be cursed by the invader
As he was
blessed by the aboriginal
Families
torn apart
30.
Just know
how much I love you
& how
much so many black people have changed my life
Without them
I probably
would’ve suicided
They turned
my life
From black
& white
Into
technicolour!
& life
became a garden
In full
bloom
Like Monet’s
Giverny
I remember
seeing
A painting
of his
When his
eyes were bad
It was
incredible
Like a rainstorm
of flowers
An inferno
of flowers
A cyclone of
flowers
Extraordinary
So primal
So violent
So tender
The way the
best art is
Otherwise we
might as well just watch
Sit coms
31.
When Trump
hired the actor with the stage gun
To pretend
& shoot him
That was better
art than this
But of
course people treated it as if real
Or really
the media treated it as if real
But is
anything the media do real?
As Frank
Zappa said
“Politics is
the entertainment division
Of the
Military-Industrial complex”
Whatever
happened to that latter term
It was
common when I was young
What’s it
been replaced by?
Ecosystem?
As if
‘natural’
Jesus
32.
Hasn’t been
much poetry choc chips in a while
Or have I
been eating round the edges
Said curious
clown
The frog on
a log
Some drunk threw
him bacon
&
Cannonball Atoli
Stirred an
ancient grass
To make a
whistle
& blue
owls
Hooted like
70s surfers
High on
bronze statuesque
Women who
practise asphyxiation in sex
Thank you
spell check
The
microwave is everywhere
Its beeps
& rays
Of a new
rising sun
Hendrix Jun
A golfer
with Yakuza fam
A lamb with
the wolf guarding
They ate the
shepherd
Like the
last snow leopard
But Jesus!
What you are
you doing here
Said Mary
The third
one apparently
Although she
saw him first
He had a
turible turst
The pint was
the safe
& so he
recognised
That we all
get undone
& like
compassion with the fallen woman
Is done
With a
stroke of the stranger’s key
He set her
free
& she
had somewhere safe to sleep
What my dear
friend told me about
Was the
plethora of sex workers
In the game
In single
accommodation
& for
some of them
It’s just
the price of rent
To share
house with a wealthy man
For
desperate women
Because
housing is beyond many people’s means
Of course
there are crooks amongst em
But a lot of
em are desperate
There are so
many homeless people in Naarm/Melbourne
It doesn’t
excuse the burglaries
It
contextualises them
There IS a
housing crisis in Melbourne/Naarm
I guess the
women are the frontline
& the
men the heavies
A lot of
hustlers in town
That’s what
economic inequality does
Creates a
foot army
So you never
know whose story is straight
& whose
crooked
This is the
kind of stuff
That made
Dylan go from Folk music
To electric
& in the
blink of an eye
One turns
from songs of innocence
To songs of experience
& we’re
trodding through hell
Should I
have helped that person? you ask
Original sin
& so
people turn to Communism
Because it
promises housing for all
But of
course
There are a
lot of spies
Dobbing on
your affairs
&
reporters to the authorities
As Johnny
Cash said
“You can’t
hardly win”
I’ve always
been quite green
My ex said I
“lived up the tree”
But we all
make mistakes
& that’s
how we learn
I don’t know
what the right answer is
It is a dark
night of the soul
Do I trust
my intuition?
Or blanket
cynically
Elon Musk is
talking bout the problem of empathy
What do you
expect from an Apartheid mining magnate?
A society
without empathy is all out war, tell me it ain’t
But blanket
stances can also cause trouble
& softly
softly ain’t always the truffle
Like kids
raised without boundaries
Balance is
the elusive necessity always
33.
Looking
things up on your phone
Is inelegant
Ner-do-well
lords would proffer
Sonnets to
great beauties
Maybe a
servant wrote them
But the
illusion amusin
A quill
& ink
In flowing
hand
The hand
that would touch her
& bring
her to sighs
How crude
then a phone
With stumpy
index fingers
Smearing the
glass
I’m amused
by such visions
From my
poets turret
A one room
flat
Above a
parking lot
But I sit
amongst the birds
& commit
folly to the screen
So pleasant
it is to dream
While the
world careers & careens
As if
towards an end date
I will be
chilling
Dreaming of
a mate
We’re in the
business
Of unmasking
In a
business world
Where masks
remain affixed
& the
discourse is media, selling & launching
Marketing
& Advertising
The job of
poetry is to bring to the ear
The rumbling
of the earth
The eye of
the cyclone
The depths
of the volcano
That lives
in everyone of us
&
requires creative catharsis
34.
I came back
to the Irish pub
2 days after
St paddy’s baseness &
There was
proper session going
This is the
Ireland I know my upbringing
Solidly
acoustic
Lilting turning
& twisting
I soar on
giant’s wings
It’s still
sad
Coz I miss
my dad & my big brother
&
there’s so much of my culture lost
I never
learned the language
Made illegal
under British penal law
There’s a
fiddler there
Who really
rocks
There’s
learning
& soul
& poetry
& St
Paddy’s was just grunting & swilling
We don’t
need to behave like barbarians
That’s what
our oppressors wanted
To break us
& turn
us into beasts
Keep hold of
our fineness
Our dance
Our airs xx
35.
Anyway what
I was trying to say
Was that my
Irish Fiddler mate
Was talking
about AI
& how as
a result
Live singing
circles
&
traditional music circles
Completely
unamplified
Will be
needed more than ever
When
recorded music
Can be
generated by AI
It brings
about something authentic
& human
&
intimate
Something
without computers
Something
without electronics
Human spirit
generated electricity
36.
Heard the
younger generation last night
It was great
A folksinger
A collector
of songs
A
charismatic soul
Got the
crowd involved
& then
afterwards had a great chat with a young guy
About the
benefits of aging
How you
learn to cut yourself slack
& accept
how by 53
You are what
you is
You can gradually
temper it over the course of a life
But you kind
of are what you is
Hence I’m
wary of born agains
& the
reformed
As Orwell
remarked about Tolstoy’s renunciation
Towards the
end of his life
That his
demons simply manifested in different ways
Anyway good
night
& I’m
starting to embrace my Irishness
Now I no
longer have Dad
Trying to
ram it down my throat
He wasn’t
too bad
Once the
troubles ended
But we know
early childhood
Is the
formative
37.
Another
problematic dream:
Remembering
both Hitler & Trump
Were
teetotallers
Shame about
what happened to Trump
As much as I
didn’t like the guy
Who woulda
thought?!
A bat flew
in the oval office
&
vomited rivers of blood
Like a
Herodotus on American History
Till it was
full
Dangerous
substance
Bat vomit
Full of
contaminants
Like Truth
&
Justice
They say a
flock of bats
Is heading
for Israel
Hunted
through history
Evilly &
Unjustly
Now well
It’s just
Truth
&
Justice
I thought
vampire bats
Were a
figment!
Said
Netanyahu
Sad
So Sad
& Putin
& Xi
In Australia
The fruit
bats
Have turned
feral
& are
attacking people willy nilly
Parliament
House
Is full of
Vomited
smoothie
All around
the world
The crooks
are getting found out
Nature is
turning on them
They thought
they were
The kings
& Queens of the Castle
Someone
named Gina
Not sure
what happened to her
Sad
So sad
I struggle
when a child cries
But when the
façade breaks
On the adult
It’s sad
So sad
Shell
Washed up
Sad
So sad
AI struggled
under rising tide levels
Water & electricity
Just don’t
like one another
In fact
before it was wiped out
A wave
gargled
Nice title,
but you’re just a computer program
This book
Burned
Under the
longest drought ever known
There wasn’t
even enough water
To fill one
hose
People
stopped going
Through the
motion
The only
thing to drink
Was
condensation from a tree
Till they
all burned
& no one
could get baptised
Which sounds
harsh
But at least
it meant that no one was going to the next life
So at least
we could focus on the here & now
38.
I was
compromised
I had run
out of money
& had to
go back to the mailroom
Jobs aren’t
easy to find at 53
So I was
working for an international bank
Who had some
despicable clients
But I liked
the people I worked with
They treated
me with respect
We liked one
another
Then the
place was suddenly rocking
With a land
rights over mining rights
In the
Pacific
& my job
was to protect the company from them
Because the
client
No matter
how despicable
The account
management spat
“Is always
right”
So I felt
terrible
I am a bit
of a pessimist
I feel like
the shit generally rises to the top
So, get rid
of one coloniser & others step in
So I was
trying to remain in my job
To follow
the terms of my employment
Coz I needed
the money to eat
I was torn
Because I
knew I was selling out
& what I
was doing was against my values
Finally
after trying to rationalise my position
Advising a
compromise
I crossed
the floor
& joined
the activists
I would be
broke
But I could
live with myself
Still the
question remains
How do you find
a job
That doesn’t
sew ills?
Under
Capitalism
Or indeed
Communism
Or indeed
any system
So I will
remain a bard
& pray I
don’t starve
Coz it’s the
only job
I can live
with
39.
Have I
talked of Functionalism?
Introductory
Sociology
The fact
that non-normatives
Or ‘deviants’
serve to strengthen the group
Because the
group unites against a common enemy
Diversity as
it’s called
Is agreed
upon by my group
We don’t
care where people are from
Or who they
fuck
This is a
good thing
But
diversity of opinion
Or even
words
People do
care a lot
Speak
anything other than small talk
Or
platitudes
& you
are deviant
Not diverse
In Australia
you can do what you want
But what
you’re allowed to think
Is
restricted
Like much of
the Authoritarian regimes
Around the
world
But we claim
to live under a Democracy
& a
democracy where there’s little diversity
Of opinion
Cannot work
I’ve said
this several times
I’m
repeating myself
I hear the
sound of bats
I think it a
noble death
To be
consumed by nature
Rather than
tubed up
In a
hospital bed
Alone
40.
I put on The
Byrds
An
incredible thing
Recorded
music
That it
doesn’t stop
At the key
moment
In a
beautiful song
It keeps
going
A miracle
41.
Very hard to
locate the soul in the city
I’m bruised
here
I’m teary
because the noise never stops
& one
must close one’s ears
When I
listen into the sound
Like I did
in the bush
I always
hear a mechanical pollutant
That cuts
into the soul
Make it stop!
Just for a
moment’s silence
But the
silence never comes
I don’t hear
any birdsong
All I hear
is refrigerators, traffic, building sites, sirens
I’m
frightened I’ll go out of my mind
Can we just
have a pause
I was
learning something in the country
I was just
starting out
I haven’t
had an inkling in the city
It’s just a
blanket
The concrete
doesn’t breathe
I need to
hug a tree
I need to go
under the water
I need to be
filled with oxygen through the skin
But I’ve
gotta let go
& see if
there’s something I can learn from the city
I’ve gotta
embrace the now
If only it
didn’t hurt so much to listen in
I could open
my ears wide
In the city
I guess
I’m learning
through my tears
City of
millions under duress
People
trying desperately
To get in
touch with themselves
& the
universe
We are cut
adrift
Like the
raft of the Medusa
It is to
borrow from Nick Cave
A weeping
song
Or Fela Kuti
Sorrow,
tears & blood
One must
become myopic
& focus
on the near
& nurse
the needy who are everywhere
I can’t
float forever
It’s time to
get to work
As the
intimate becomes the dominant
Of the
intimate/infinite
You can’t
fight with reality
It is this
I can’t
resist the noise
I must work
with it
In the slow
dance
I was giddy
in her embrace
It’s nice
now
I’m not in a
hurry
I don’t like
the concept of foreplay
It should
instinctively not deliberately
Everything
in our communication
Is sensual
& consensual
Not looking
for an end result
Honesty
We love one
another
But that’s
not a possession
Or a status
It’s an
effect
& it’s
in the respect with which we proceed
Yunno I’ve
been through enough relationships
To know I
never want one again
I don’t
think intimacy & concepts belong together
Be as we do
Do as we be
We’re
communication
That’s the
whole thing
It’s been
time to rethink romance for a while now
Tied to the
knight errant/damsel versus the reality
Of economics
Friendship
is the thing
& if
we’re turned on
Take our
time
There is no
us
Only energy
It’s just
life proceeding
I like your
mind
I don’t have
to act
I’ve never
been like this
With someone
I fancy
Coz I know
attraction is accidental
& it’s
unreliable
I trust un utter
openness
& the
infinity of time
42.
A young poet
last night
Raised the
fact that he couldn’t afford therapy
Think about
this
Therefore we
must open to one another
Forget these
generational disputes
Elders have
a role to play
We’ve been
through it
If we do so
in an open, honest, non defensive way
The West
African guy I met last night
To be vague
& I had
a great night
I think I
freaked him out
That a
middle aged white guy could be interesting
So maybe
this book should be called
‘Fuck Stereotypes’
I mean we
all use em
But they’re
full of shit
Because
despite noble rhetoric
We’re all
hypocrites
& those
who are pure
& never
publicly make a taste mistake
Or err
ideologically
Their shadow
betrays them
It has to
come out somewhere
There’s no
escaping our demons
No one can
slay all the dragons
& those
that slay
In the
process
They become
dragons too
Human beings
are contradictions
Human beings
are complex & inconsistent
We are what
we is
Not what we
ought
Try your
best
But make
sure you let off some steam
& do not
take yourself
Seriously
As Lao Tzu
says
“Do your
work
Then step
back”
So fuck
stereotypes
The more you
think the more you stink
Most
communication is telepathic
Learn to
trust the vibes
It just
might save your life
43.
The thing is
to not compete with the noise
As for
instance turning up the music
Let the
music sit amongst the din
If it gets
louder outside
Allow it to
be
You’re
listening to something else
The
composite symphony
You can’t
fight with the environment
You have to
find your place in it
From which
to do what it is you are called to do
Friendship
is golden
Someone you
can speak openly with
& listen
openly to
I woke up on
the right side of bed this morning
It feels
good to be sober
I’m trying
not to get frustrated with the beeping reversing truck
It’s pretty
impressive to be able to reverse a semi
Down an
alleyway
I’d struggle
to do that in a car
But it’s a
few minutes before the beeping stops
& my
question is
Does the
beeping have to be so fucking loud!
In an awful
pitch & voice!
Goes right
through you
& my
good mood is shattered
& I’m a
bundle of nerves
I turn off
the music
I want as
few sound sources as possible
See the
painter, the photographer & the cinematographer
Work with
the eye
& when
you’re in the gallery, the book, the cinema
Noise is
silenced & looks interesting
As the
cigarette doesn’t stink in film noir
But the
poet, the songwriter, the composer
Work with
the ear
I’m not tone
nor stone deaf
I have a
keen ear
Sound is my
dominant sense
In this
brutalist world
Maybe I’ve
bitten off
More than I
can chew
In moving
back to the city
Still it’s
all I can afford
So I have no
choice to embrace it
I think of
Garcia Lorca’s anger at the metropolis
In A Poet in
New York
But his
family were wealthy
& he was
a someone
Despite the
horrors of his assassination
So he could
return to Andalusia
The hills,
the fiery quiet
Still war
came for him
So there are
brutalists everywhere
Fucking
things up
Destroying
for the sake of it
44.
The Romans
who invented concrete
Have much to
answer for
Concreting
over roots
Over the
soil
Over the
rivers
The machines
are allowed to scream
But people
are not
We are
absorbent sponges
But we are
networks of nerves to the brain
No we are
not allowed to scream
Instead we
implode
& our
souls turn hard as stone
We cannot
help but mirror our surrounds
Surrounds
that are drowning
In pollution
Air, water,
noise, psychic, physical
& we
can’t centre ourselves
Less we turn
our senses off
With habits
& ideology
We grow hard
& so my
friend who began this all
When we met
on the street
& I
wished you well
You could
not receive it
Because you were
under duress
& there
is little room for tenderness
Just been
talking with my homeboy Terry
My oldest
continuous friend
& as a
fellow singer-songwriter
Who’ve
played in bands together
Not to
mention sharing houses
We’re deeply
bonded & embedded
& I was
talking about
How close to
tears I am
When I’m
honest about myself
As I recover
from yet another mental breakdown
But of
course
Everyone if
candid about themselves
Would be
close to tears
So
compassion is so important
&
cutting people some slack
As the Big J
said
“Judge not
Lest ye
shall be judged”
Easier said
than done of course
But as far
as poetic truth goes
You get the
point
Then again
my mother was a drama teacher
& so I
learned to act well
So I do the
good cheer
I guess as
we were saying
Life is both
tragically painful
&
ecstatically wonderful
Orgasm,
laugh, cry, mourn
We don’t know
what it is
We’re each
day born
But the shitstem
wants us old
& formed
& fixed
Each day we
wake
Running to
yesterday’s programme
& the
days before
Since we
were defined to ourselves as one thing
An object
A box tick
A single
identity
But the
pepper tree says sing to me
As she sways
& dances in the light breeze
Published
& Copyright Malachi Doyle 2025.
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