Monday, August 31, 2009

The Double Thunderstroke

The US Army works with Hollywood to 'advise' on war movies. Stallone met with Kissinger and changed the tone of Rambo movies. And on and on it goes, and we all know how it turns out. In the west we want to be able to do what we want when we want. We mistake this for FREEDOM. In the third world our individualism leads to negation to the point of death.





The epitome
Of bourgeois glorification
Of the individual
Reaches it's direct opposite...
Total contempt
For humanity.

In the cinema,
A one man army
Kills without feeling,
Without restraint.

Made actual.
Millions dead,
Sent to the grave.

Monday, August 24, 2009

Fragments

A series of short sharp little bits of poetic fluff. Written quite a while ago. I am estimating they are at least 15 years old. Was doing some tidying, and was able to fit these onto here. Which is handy as I am working on something which takes a lot of my time, so I am not really making any suitable new poems. Lucky I was able to pull something out from the vault.



Nothing.
As insubstantial as a monsoon.
Naive,
And as obsessive as a child.
It rains.

In our way of life
Even the lame, the obese,
The disfigured, have their place.
If only as the butt of jokes.

The hot summer nights
Drove the man
Who could hear the bats
Insane.

The evolution of the sexual act.
From the one celled creature,
That moved away from itself.
Two lives come together.

The symbiotic creature
Painstakingly eats solid rock.
Slowly spreading, unfolding ,
All mud and culture.

Nothing.
As insubstantial as a monsoon.
Naive,
And as obsessive as a child.
It rains.

Wednesday, August 19, 2009

Weather Poem

Some do not like poems with rapid changes of tone and scene. This is an attempt to show that rapid kaleidoscopic shifting appearance is in fact an accurate shadow of reality.




To build a collage centre:

Purple embraced downy dawn
Releases nights sponge of frost.

Spinning, unquenchable, sun spreads.
Golden green energy spreading.
Life giving bond splitting answers.

Fleet whistling wind fury.
Mottled sky curdled gray.
Lashing of rain. Silent.

Birds second chorus false dawn.
Dripping green golden sun light.

Until the afternoon swung round,
Now round and hail stone ice spreading,
Blanching and endangering all.

Vast, rapid state tumbles
Paint formless landscapes.
Ever changing silence.

Tuesday, August 4, 2009

The Utility

Global financial crisis and all that goes with the new global village. and to much is being unsaid



(The greatest happiness for the greatest number)
And to hear the hope boy bubba tell it,
In the main it has been positive.
A rising tide to float all boats.

Twinty sicks to none:
Bouncing and yheaving.
They loaves and fishes Oztralia
Eat factory meat three times a day.
Of arid they have nothing to say.
Except to chortle on them immigents
Who are speaking too loud, taking too much.

And pollies twist and weave
The hot aired farting burst
Like stringy bark hanging
Off the swampy gum tree.

And the ute, with blond hair and a tan,
Curly capped teeth smile, sniffles
At deeds and reads the stella
Stunna version of the breast
Feeler, a quaver as well.
A swell.

Vomitoria