23 April 2016

Soldier Mates

Refusing to believe that diagnosis attests your 
avoidance of unpalatable reality; oh, there are 
mitigating circumstances and younger friend’s 
life-expectancy pales your objectiveness - you 
reckoned they got it wrong - he’ll outlast me is 
your belief - it lessens pain of facing death, an 
inference your friendship is forged everlasting 
from the fierce furnaces you’d faced together 

There’s great sadness viewing an indomitable 
personality fade away - and the protest you’d 
voice parlays vulnerabilities you’ll never cede 
as a defence - yet John Wasson is gone, and 
the void equates a silent witness to the years 
we’d been bonded close as soldier mates 
© 19 April 2016, I. D. Carswell

LtCol (Ret) John Wasson passed away 17 April 2016 
peacefully at his family home in Heretaunga, New Zealand 

14 April 2016


It proves again the theme you’ve been devoted to 
pays dividends but’s always prone to schemes of 
mice & men; dare I say it, we’re bankrolled into a 
bonanza of opportunity f’ getting things done ‘our 
way’ without th’ hassle of a tradesman’s bellicose 
propensity - and yet it still takes half a day to find 
all the tools needed to get started - rediscovering 
‘em hints at new conveniences yet to be aired 

But at morning’s end th’ evidence suggests that’s 
less problemic than where you’ll replace ‘em now 
the urgency’s ended; so th’ vacuum cleaner hose 
hooks are in place and doing the job as intended, 
th’ new clothesline has been threaded in place & 
looks like it’s a real deal that’s properly mended 

Yet tools stay in open view until rationale of who 
gets to decide what goes where - is agreed … 
© 15 December 2015, I. D. Carswell

13 April 2016

Week’s Beginning

Monday again - altho’ it doesn’t seem anything 
like the brazen crash of another working week; 
hearing sounds of civilisation - tho’ few and far 
between petulantly droning on the Creek road, 
best left navigating in interval’s silence until th’
next rushing roar manifests & then shelving its 
easily conceded urgency to be somewhere as 
their aberrancy - the one we’ve erased 

Yes, we’re getting there - still waking too early, 
like conscience-driven to heed sunrise; it isn’t 
as if we’d miss anything by being asleep - yet 
the urge within rests deep - assuring us we’re 
where we want to be, and not out toiling upon 
th’ tar-track to another week’s obligations
© 14 December 2015, I. D. Carswell

11 April 2016

Sanguinely Dressed

One needs wonder whether sanguinely dressed 
anxiety’s product of stress you haven’t cottoned 
onto yet, you know those subtle hints that lurk in 
pockets of shade like clandestine exhalations of 
fresh wind; made acquaintance - sort of - meant 
to make note, didn’t, left without evident tension 
beyond baited breath; now a question of who & 
what’s meant by this enigmatic vagary blinks 

& while you’re occupied about it thinking time’s 
inexorable passage glides; suddenly it’s Xmas - 
what, already! Again’s th’ right reply; one whole 
year’s been precipitate by an uplinking of those 
vague memories to precincts of Heaven’s gates - 
so we can say we’ve found reason & meaning 
© 21 December 2015, I. D. Carswell

10 April 2016

No Diplomacy

There’ll be no diplomacy; hereabouts our idiomatically 
eclectic eccentricity will see to that - so you’re in for a 
ride; to where is matter for more conjecture than an in
-depth analysis could ever suggest; - yes, we’re not at 
all appreciative mind readers, nor trusting of so-called 
motives advertised, they’re real steals either deviously 
copied from disreputable depths, or the best scam we 
have ever seen - and we’ll give you credit for that 

But we won’t be in a seemly rush; fawning for ideas a 
sycophant might clamorously project as the ideals the 
rest of the World has anxiously waited for doesn’t and 
hasn’t ever happened here; you’d never need wonder 
why if you listened to our rhetoric, we’d use the same 
superlatives comfortably unless you twig we lie, so  

There’ll be no diplomacy - you’re not one of us 
© 7 December 2015, I. D. Carswell

09 April 2016

The Emptiness

Having failed all too familiarly - not even making 
the grade which suggests this is your niche - it’s 
retrogressive pathways to more obscurity, & yet 
you’re debating critiques; mmm - bit too shallow 
don’t you think, I mean that isn’t the quality we’ll 
remember - he’s making an original observation 
you slated as too passe; now who’s that aufait
if it’s the right term to toss into the game pit 

Surely there’s more to it than the old adage you 
claim as one of your originals - or did you make 
another mistake assuming we failed to see it as 
such; too true we’ll say, as if it mattered - in that 
sense you’re already out-of-character again but 
the game’s passed you by in the emptiness 
© 7 December 2015, I. D. Carswell 

08 April 2016


When a day’s already been frazzled by technocrats 
dispassionately plying their way, we’ve no need for 
dramas ending on our knees; and just as these are 
not immaculate thoughts, one still wonders at what 
is yet to come; we’re resolved to the contretemps - 
the plight of being lesser beings, and so when light 
fades and a satellite beam dies intestate who’ll see 
that actually we’re the only aggrieved innocents 

Holy guacamole won’t solve this impasse, not in its 
misconstrued dimension of being services provided 
geographically-underprivileged-needy-souls - rather 
obvious - but it won’t last any longer than a burp or 
a fart - and wiping agendas is the bureaucratic way 
of resolving whether funds are properly applied 

When our broadband satellite system falters & fails 
we are bereft internet connect because of weather, 
or the fact that it’s Thursday 4 pm - or whatever, or 
a niggle in the woodpile plays fancy games; so cry 
if you must - but no-one’ll hear you this side of the 
black stump - unless the system reboots again … 
© 3 December 2015, I. D. Carswell

07 April 2016


I don’t disagree, but then any view of normalcy 
takes a punt; we read th' Kinsey survey to see 
if what we imagine’s within those bounds - are 
agreeably awed, its not kinky as we’re lead to 
believe; take 'sex' for instance, you’re over 50 
and queried your frequency of indulgence; - in 
answer you select never, a few times per year, 
few times monthly, few times weekly, or daily 

Categories are: masturbation, oral sex, ‘n the
real McCoy; well, we didn't expect what we’re 
seeing there seeming to be so ultra-true - but 
arguments of normalcy aren’t on a thin strand 
credibility either, most people answered to an 
absence of sex, majorities exceeding 50% 

So at least iwe’re th' same normalcy queue 
© 28 November 2015, I. D. Carswell

06 April 2016


You don’t get your money back if you blow the 
gaffe on Straddie - its about as relaxed as any 
idea of de-stressed profanity liberated by your 
reflex reaction t’ being freed strictures of main 
land gallantry - and its only a ferry trip away 

To suggest they’re a bit rustic misses the truth 
of an enclave who wouldn’t give a whit’s worth 
of indifference to any Brisbanite’s view its just 
a sand pit to play in, maybe surf, fish, or stroll 
around and camp a bit - then sail away again 

So what’s the matter with that they’ll say, and 
add a jibe about the sea ‘being a much better 
cure’ than imagined urban panacea; there’s a 
safety in distance rippled gladly with waves in 
a bay interposed between youse and us all  

But you realise what they have in thrall IS the 
biggest sand pit - whether at Dunwich, Amity 
or Point Lookout, and they’re least interested 
in being compared to leisure-phased children 
playing blasé with our unashamed envy 
© 30 November 2015, I. D. Carswell

05 April 2016


Waking in the lounge chair at 2:30 am wasn’t my 
preferred plan - but then again, having slept thru 
whatever else may have been it seemed okay & 
a whole lot less confusing, the only exception is, 
usually it isn’t me; she is our somnambulant - we 
don’t sleep-walk per se, but wake up amazed off 
& away comfortable in places with no memory of 
having parking the body there in the first place 

It would seem sleep has its own guarantee - and 
a set of blandishments never ceasing to amaze - 
notwithstanding you’ve no memory of the ‘siesta’ 
piece bits of it gel into a web enwrapped about a 
psyche now decidedly at rest, and in the waking 
you’re freed, cleansed again, restored to please 
© 2 December 2015, I. D. Carswell

04 April 2016


Our leaping with gay abandon into th’ retirement 
pool wasn’t done lightly - not that in any way we 
could be considered gay, lesbian, bisexual, even 
spiritually transgendered. Though perhaps we’re 
not mobile as we’d like, there’s still life a-glimmer 
where we are making small waves in here. If we 
ever conceded this was the beginning of what to 
so many is considered the last phase - we’d cry 

No way that is right, it’d be th’ cane-toad likeness 
of a dried-out & hollowed life - sure, doesn’t fade, 
looks the part - & stays the same; they’re usually 
flat, laid out where they cause the least offence - 
unless we missed an inference for being passed 
shy of the something’s advent that just went by
© 4 December 2015, I. D. Carswell

03 April 2016

Almost Abed

Better start to a Saturday, except its still mid-
week, the day of Saturn is three sleeps away 
yet, tho’ expressions are feelings with similar 
relief. So what we gonna do - we got the day 
off, or d’ y’ have lying-abed plans and readin’ 
that sanguinary sci-fi book less from interest 
than staving off boredom - or can we plant a 
couple trees - tho’ you’ll need do the digging 

Far be it from me, you’d want to say, but will 
keep the peace while she’s dressing for this 
working bee infectiously with energy abuzz - 
I had this idea we’d un-pot those two - what 
are they, frangipani? Well anyway we’ll ‘ave 
‘em done before Podge’s revisit to th’ vet 

Good idea she say’s - while vacuuming 
© 26 November 2015, I. D. Carswell

02 April 2016

Guard Dog

Well, so much for the idea that ‘guard dog’ would 
welcome a morning walk, he doesn’t usually balk 
regardless of weather, but today he came only as 
far as the incinerator bin, peed copiously & slunk 
away again - patio shade more to his need; but it 
is a warmish Saturday, he’d been early on th’ job 
busy coping with threats of fleas plus those quite 
niggly itchy-scratchy patches he attends to with

Diligence, or uses as excuses when he’s not too 
sure what th’ drum is; but this demonstration’s a 
clear indication he’s not into taking a stroll, even 
if there’s no hint of thunder - and when he parks 
under the bed in the study there is no reasoning 
with him - without an offering of food, indeed. 
© 5 December 2015, I. D. Carswell

01 April 2016

Being Impressed

You might suggest that who played to whose tune
blessed an early-morning assignation; - were you 
a blasé princess romantically aroused in the close 
of intimacy - endowed with desires to seek whose 
breathing inspired th’ best witness and becoming;  
the slave to amity in rhythms fabulously entwined, 
and by whose imagination designed this amazing 
proclivity for arousal with I might be interested 

Postulation posed in lowest register midst caress 
of expressive caress, while saying without words 
uttered, yes; that this’s the most gracious phrase 
imaginable, promising happy returns forever isn’t 
a fable - we’re in it together, you’ll say gracefully,  
from here to eternity, now love me my way 
© 22 November 2015, I. D. Carswell

31 March 2016

Ordinary Words

So an easy way remains the one least likely 
to defeat our fragile ebullience, and nothing 
challenges its belief; in a sense, we have to 
tackle an ogre, tyrannical foreboding thief of  
things yet to be experienced, yet tinting that 
already-pigment-selected palette you’ll likely 
use in describing it; thus even before you’ve 
begun, you’re parting ways with formality 

Yet it is my view of poetry you’ll say - & little 
or less matters as much in bigger issues, of 
more consequence tho freed contemporary 
embeddedness, but I digress; if I said it my 
way you’ll see there’s a difference between 
what I see and that which commonsense & 
consensus confuses as the same issue; its 
no inference, today’s preference agreed, & 

Doesn’t need struggle with word meanings 
used out of context, the lingua we flee from 
wisely when we want to say the something 
milieu will not ‘politely misunderstand’, nod 
idly & blithely wander on - its that for which 
they cannot be accounted - they didn’t coin 
the phrase or vocalise it that way, & its not 
yet even begetting in their vocabulary 

But, by Monday, it will be genesis of a new 
genre they’ll be accountable to - and there 
denizens of nu-speak will rephrase all of its 
tenets in terms they’ll be selling their wares 
to - harbingers of The News tru-speak view 
of what we must see now, and leaving me 
to curse on cowed in the pedestrian words 
of my extremely conventional poetry 
© 27 November 2015, I. D. Carswell

30 March 2016

Anchor Dude

In any estimation the boss driving off before smoko 
is a dead giveaway; Podge immediately knew what 
was on - thus insisting we do our counter-clockwise 
hill circuit a bit earlier than usual; well, we are home 
again before 10 am. His role-playing ‘anchor dude’ 
is exceptional, except for moments when he thinks 
it’s likely to thunder and lightening a bit, & it’s there 
that I get a say in the way our cameo is played 

But this morning’s shared evenly between the man 
and a dog who reckons he’s the better supervisor - 
ok, I’ve no trouble agreeing as long as I don’t have 
to roll with ‘im in his beneath-the-patio dust-pit, the  
one which he insists’s much cooler than being in a 
well-behaved mode else-wise lying snoring inside 
© 1 December 2015, i. D. Carswell

29 March 2016

Independence Enough

The enough idea has it it’s insufficient space for 
disastrous effects of an age-old inference: it will 
suggest you’d better be into it or risk plagues of 
venomous conjecture; altho’, conventionally you 
ain’t blasphemy afoot, in no way you’re of a true 
believers’ sect; you’ll accept some of it, less the 
problems its definition proposes, and you’re not 
supposed to raise the flag or wave it in distress 

That is, unless the majority inimitably says so in 
that distressingly possessive way of deflating all 
the alternatives; you’re on the rack, isolated and 
without come-back - about to be charcoal-grilled 
because you declare an independence they say 
you’re not supposed to have - was enough 
© 25 November 2015, I.D. Carswell

28 March 2016


Didn’t suggest a compromise, but the day’s best 
outcome was less modus vivendi than the visible 
acceptance otherwise classified oops, I screwed 
up; we’d set off on a trek to fix the status quo, an 
object steeped in rigmarole plaguing she, whose 
word is lore, and what we’d like to think was that 
precursor necessary for readinesses’ digression 
into what we’d hoped was full & frank retirement 

Fasting at least 12 hours proceeded the journey 
to pathology - along with Man’s Best Friend and 
a homeopathic vet visit - when with 3 kilometres 
to travel we’re advised that a handbag - with the 
requisite documentation, is missing - we turn for 
home again - and we’re back to square one 

And it’s the first of three trips that day to achieve 
what might have been different - but she, whose 
lore’s the word, wouldn’t hear of it unless & until 
we succeeded which we did; so Podge’s pissed 
we left him at the Vet - returning after he’d been 
in surgery & was awake & lucid again, and she, 

After rigmarole of 300 kms travelling concerned, 
believes her pathology results will be especially 
amazing …
© 17 November 2015, I. D. Carswell

27 March 2016

Veterans, Maybe

That retrograde recluse to whom you’d made your 
unpretentiously magnanimous attempt to befriend 
eventually came good - yet, in the end, it was less 
an epic than a saga’s dismemberment - seeing th’ 
self-proclaimed legend he’d played introspectively 
to perfection fall apart cut deeply & its distractions 
paved no pathways to glory; mirrored there but for 
a receding hairline were all the cues to flee, & the

Clues as to where ageing veterans all fall apart … 

You might’ve reflected, how’d it happen so quickly; 
but then the smoke-screen you’d been hiding with 
aplomb belying who and what you’d been seemed 
to dissipate in being dispassionately blown away - 
so if they’re the real characters you were about to 
say - then who in Hell were we pretending to be 
© 16 November 2015, I. D. Carswell