Thursday, March 10, 2011

To be a bird and fly

Speeding with the light of the sun
Birds of feathers

Like a boa of kites
they dance like jazz
Across the sky with precision
they glide
       then cut
                  then glide
                                across the sky
What fun to be a bird and fly

and Im only three

The notes of my mothers keys
Torture Murder Suicide 
being played out
and carried 
on late afternoon breeze 

me swinging
to the sweet notes of wild violets
hollyhocks and Toska
under my tree 
all this 
and only three

and in the shed
the sound of the axe
being sharpened ready
for the wood
as mother starts in another key
playing Choplin
as I swing
high above the red gums
clenched tight

holding on to me
with all their might
their arms branched out
as if to catch my fall
while a kookaburra laughs
at the mere possibility
of such a thought

Frilled necked
and puffed out wide
a lizard stands its pride
so even if I wanted to
I dare not fall
Like stunned by the sheer gun of my swing
perhaps thinks Im a bullet
and if it stands very very still
It will become invisible

but Im not afraid of such bravado display
even at three
I have been stood up
by bigger prey
and I have my swing
my wonderful
wonderful swing
and as long as it moves
No one or thing
can stop my fun
and spoil
my day

Until I hear my name being played in the keys
floating ever so far but near
in the breeze
mothers shed tears
and warn their babies
not to touch or they will get cut
but the axe is now near
I can feel its steel breathe
against my skin
perhaps I did fall down
and the lizard chased me
round and round
into the shed
where I fell
yes that its
I fell
cut myself
on the sharp lips
of the axe
this blood

Monday, March 7, 2011

A Moth from the Moon

Luke warm
The colour of milk
Your wings pale like moon light
Your manic
your mood so frantic
flickers flick flickering
against the night light

Moth in the night
Such a long way from home
Perhaps your a Moon moth
are you Moth
Are you lost
Stay the night
If you like

I'll leave my light on
so your moon can see  you
and you can see  your moon
perhaps by the light of day
you will find your way
I think your from the moon
You just lost your way

Saturday, March 5, 2011

God Made Blue Wish

her film of naked skin
not rigid like religion
but just as sacred
was about to be pressed
in blue bruising print

the priest had taught him
as a hymn
how to stand rigid
and swallow the holy
sacrament of deeds

Be good
to me
and God will save your soul
You are but a caterpillar
waiting to be transformed
if you are good
God will save you
I am here to teach you
the meaning of
now close your eyes
and pray for your wings
a blue butterfly
is what you will be
but first you must show
your God
Good deeds

knees are kneeled
into concrete minds
where young boys pray
the unheard prey
turning hims to hymns
singing the sacrificed blues
of deeds condoned
for young boys bones grow
and who's to know
when they go home
that the trusted priest
is a wolf amongst the sheep
and the good sheep sleep
while lambs be slaughtered
in the name of the father
not even he blinked an eye

and here many years later
still the same prayer
She did not move
when they came
like the days
of yester years
she knew
what needed to be done

Even the uniforms
they wore were blue
they knew she
was a blue butterfly
she knew they knew
of his caterpillar life

How pornographic
had been what she was trained to do
the metamorphosis of blue
the transformation of fur to wings
did not bring freedom
just captive within

and now the priest words had come true
the caterpillar was gone
instead he was a she
a blue butterfly
who had done the good deeds
kept rigid and still
never had she spilled
a word
not even to You God
Not even to You
but you knew didn't you

memory of a friend ..... "Wish"

Wednesday, March 2, 2011

Pirate Sun

Beneath a patchwork quilt
of the long yellowed grasslands
As if a cannon fired
An explosion of crows
Kite tails a black feather boa
out across the skies
then like an organ grinder winds itself up
like a giant black eye patch
pirates out the sun

The Street I Lived

In the brilliance of the night
screaming believers rage the streets of plenty
looking for holes in hope
needles and thread they carry in the plenty
band aids won't help here ~ friends
there's more than enough of the ill and the lost to live on 
and here with the wheelers and dealers 
the screaming believers and do gooders' and not so good at doing much
Is someones little taste of paradise
thats all gone to shit

Down here with the lost and ill chills 
There's a taste for lost souls
Where the angels fly close to the  ground 
many a feather seen found
being worn in one of the lost crowns
For they are all Kings and Queens here 

From times of once before and could have been and dreams 
Yes dreams ~ There are dreamers here 
those that will forever be lost in a dream 
Mostly its nightmares and fallen frowns
that now blanket over once upon a time smiles

Here the smudged out blackbird eyes wear misery 
thats been stubbed out like a coal bud 
burnt down to its filter 
to suck up the grease and shit off the street

Such is the movements of notes here
Conducted by the skinned boned pimps 
that smile with croc teeth
hungry for fresh meat

Here is my street
here is where I was found 
in the lost and found 
here is where I lived my youth 
taken by the smile of croc teeth
here is the place where I dreamed of escape 
and lived nightmares
here is the place I will sometimes return 
to remind me 
life is priceless 
come true
to get out
mine came with a price 

Loss of life
the sentence
to carry for the term of my life