05 August 2015

Thank You, Cilla Black


The death of Cilla Black heralds the passing of an 
age; was it perhaps an inward looking rage, those
years where we sought expression of the ‘unique’ 
and singular sense of whom we knew we were, at 
risk of dependancy suggesting we ‘naturally’ need 
be the same on a stage of cloned individuality; it’s 
past-tense anyway - dredging depths of our 70s - 
but the resurgent memories are cogent and fresh 

It is easy to hear her voice unchanged - songs as 
lucid now as they were then, passions expressed
no less ‘dramatically’ than the first day she sang - 
and we all rest in the peace she created when we 
perceived her sanctuary; Priscilla Maria Veronica 
White, bless you - and most of all - thank you 
© 3 August 2015, I. D. Carswell


In memory of Cilla Black (27 May 1943 – 1 August 2015)

04 August 2015

Radical Redemption


When advent of something you don’t approve 
within the meaning of your belief floods those 
same streets you parade in - what do you do; 
saying they’re reactionaries doesn’t excuse a 
suppurating breach too obvious to hide from - 
hanging your head in shame doesn’t reclaim 
the besmirched playing fields either; it needs 
something restoring truth and pride of place

Taking grim views of the ‘cliques’ responsible 
asks for vehemence more potent than merely 
loud condemnation - they’re used to violence 
instigating their case and need exposure for 
whom they are; no faith sees inhumane acts 
as pious and thus excusable divinations 

Claiming they are true of the faith wont make 
your belief any safer - unless ridding yourself 
of these calumnies shows your true place; by 
biding silence of the veil’s sanctimony, you’re 
actually turning a blind eye, and encouraging 
more of the same despicable defamation 
© & July 2015, I. D. Carswell

03 August 2015

Unfazed


A clever subterfuge you’d say - a canine romp that 
plays off-keys you’d rarely need accord in memory, 
of echoes clear as yesterday; you'll hear, and he’s 
aware - the barking swears his faith in you; there’s 
barely time to find him in what’s left of dusk & he’s 
unfazed by dark; you know that too, yet asking me  
accompany you & I dare not demur; why me wont 
be insurance when the Podge’s lodged a claim 

Isn’t one he’s posed for eminence or fame; learnt 
that early in his countenance - but if he’s bored it 
tends to raise the stakes for him to be a centre of 
his own idea - this time the game is not too far or 
out of way, except the banks of Bungo Creek are 
steep beyond belief: his barking ceases as we’re 

Nearing where he planned to say Gidday, you’ve 
come to help me catch the feral beasts a-lurking 
in the fox-holes deep - no need okay; let’s take a 
hike back home again before its way too dark for 
you to see this doggy grin a-fixed my face, its all 
a game you’ve played to make me very glad … 
© 3 July 2015, I. D. Carswell

02 August 2015

Update


We’re downloading 1.26 GB of OS X - 10.10.4 
update - there’s more to it than meets the eye; 
so far we’ve survived to the 25% mark, with its 
projected remaining time between 60+ hrs and 
a mere 10. My erstwhile estimation puts this in 
doubt - if 25% was achieved in an hour 30, it’d 
be more likely a whole lot less - or am I seeing 
what’s accepted supposedly as extreme cases 

Pessimist maybe but I maintain good grace by 
not flying off a handle - or flaying the phone to 
an ISP who’s totally aware how long it’d take - 
but crikey, it is making ‘the mug’ out of me; I’d 
guess it will be completed in six hours or less, 
but I’d have to stay at th’ keyboard to see; no 

Surprise that doesn’t interest - or energise 
© 2 July 2015, I. D. Carswell

In reality, 48 hrs later & there’s still an estimated 
5 hrs remaining!

01 August 2015

Bombed


Watching The Bombers (Essendon) being trashed 
by The Saints (St Kilda) ain’t exactly my idea of an 
arvo’s entertainment but it sure got an Etihad mob 
off of their seats - oh yeah, its AFL, the game they 
play in Victoria; anyway, nearly full time, and 162 - 
52 kind of suggests it wasn’t one of The Bombers 
better capitulations, tho’ when they bomb, they do 
so with reflective panache only they’d comprenez 

And I’d leave it there if it made sense - yet to their 
loyal, or ‘born to the colours’ fans, it’d be dredging 
the bottom of the ditch to observe almost ‘eldritch’ 
trends where long-standing pathologies of losses 
bend credibility - with The Dockers (Fremantle) in 
the lead - its a game that’s gone West - period … 
© 5 July 2015, I. D. Carswell

Adversaries


Why bother with a reply that leaves 
the question alive? By firing blanks 
survival isn’t surmised in a gesture 
of obeisance rather than defence; 
old timers say, to keep your hopes 
alive aim where ricochets play the 
odds sweetly and defiance means 
you can’t be deference-swayed 

The firing line isn’t a place to stay 
without an abundance of the best 
copper-tipped epithets - you don’t 
need any direct hits to make your 
antipathy evident - and that has a 
way of discouraging adversaries 

© 4 January 2014, I. D. Carswell

19 July 2015

Assuming Comfort


Comfort has nothing to do with it, altho’ you’d 
trade for a wee bit of warmth, come currency 
that made any sense; we’re short there, can't 
make the grade in disposables, we’ve always 
used common-sense as the negotiable - or a 
general rule was to keep things within a view 
shared. ‘Too easy’ is heard echoing off to the 
rear of where we’re sitting near-freezing and

Being common-place. That’s what’s meant in 
there there being an element of truth; so vary 
only a little from th’ central element and you’ll 
be understood easily; you are feeling th’ cool, 
not a necessary query, we understand those 
dynamics, but the fault lies assuming we’re

all uncomfortable actually - besides me … 

© 8 July 2015, I. D. Carswell

18 July 2015

Machinations


Maybe the be nice’ trial’s over and we’re back where 
Commerce-required Laptop Luxury is at - sure, that’s 
not determined as this wallet-side, unless there’s due 
misconception humbling consumer’s magicidal belief 
in never-ending ‘freebies’; which is incredibly naive to 
believe fries these onions. We find megabyte use in a 
growth spiral; nothing changed in on-net time, tho the 
displayed consumption-rate chimes a viral alarm - it's 

Supposedly a harmonic state. Okay - why does data
appear days out-of-sync & goo a home roost. Now, if 
the geeks proof their own onions we won’t get to eat 
in a habitable way, something’s rotten in that greater 
translation of input-output machinations, & we’re not 
aufait with solutions other than logging off - period 

© 9 July 2015, I. D. Carswell

15 July 2015

Grey Saturday


Buckwheat-pancake-fed and lying abed on a grey 
Saturday - comfortably warm, suggesting lethargy 
I don’t see reason to deny; th’ spouse vacuuming 
discretely - & granddaughter Georgia keeping her 
vocal enthusiasm in check (while training th’ dogs, 
or vice versa) tactfully; no reason for my elevation,  
unless midday impending accelerates its arrival to 
announce an earlier-than-expected visitor advent 

So we’ll take matters as they arise (or demand an 
untoward bent; either with th’ sun’s break-through 
or loo-visit-need becoming superordinate); it’s not 
too late to break preoccupations of monotony, but 
that’s not the way we’ll let today play its hand, the 
unexpected has grand visions of delusion too  

© 4 July 2015, I. D. Carswell

14 July 2015

Pleasantry


Its not that my love’s elocution’s phrased in the 
eccentric manners of a lawnmower - or bizarre 
way of saying ‘you’ve done your bit, I’ll do mine 
too but in my style’, I’m only listening to cricket; 
while the outcome of a 50-over England versus 
Australia match isn’t the end of our mutuality, it 
tests whether I’d let Midsomer Murders be that 
difference - so she mows the lawn at 6 pm 

Oh, it is cooler then, granted, and we need not 
debate who’s cooking tea, dare I say dinner or 
am I being pedantic, of beautiful green prawns 
in stir-fry we both have pleasurable memories 
of; that we share more than we acrimoniously 
debate makes this worth its pure pleasantry 

© 1 February 2015, I. D. Carswell

13 July 2015

Decency


So Mahmoud, your number’s up; seems the 
rage for violence drums invalid metre - in an 
innocence too intermittent, we resonated in 
seeing your brand of sanctity as too ‘selfish’ 
to be in the interests of humanity - and then 
what’s new is we’ve backed our decree with 
guarantees we’ll hang you publicly in forums 
you claimed gave you sacred rights to kill all 

‘Unbelievers’; so, in the same sanctimonious 
rhetoric chanted by your brethren, we’ll now 
commit acts even Hell branded intransigent, 
demoting you to memories of a stupidity too 
‘bloodthirsty’ to let be; believers don’t maim 
or kill, they engender decency for change 

© 2 February 2015, I. D. Carswell

12 July 2015

Old Adages


To suggest I don’t exist anymore isn’t all that bad, 
the cusp of it’s a wry acknowledgement - must’ve 
been images exciting reasons whatever was isn’t 
or are we dreaming, a diaspora in a sense we’ve 
left for somewhere but hadn’t been seen leaving - 
yet we’re not here, so the disappearance argues 
against never being in this existence except as a 
memory of that which might’ve never been 

But I am glad; this is a new regime where all old 
adages are brushed clean and brightened into a 
novel meaning less the dust of centuries, crisply 
clear against innuendoed arguments we’d’ve no 
hope of defending against - were we keen - and 
I’m sure that I’m here to certainly not care … 

© 4 February 2015, I. D. Carswell

11 July 2015

Hold On


Closer to the nub of it, if ‘it’ is what we’ve dubbed 
the source of this pusillanimous contention, what 
in the wash it actually was is lost in a controversy 
unable to stand-off its ‘origins’ of palaeolithic self-
centredness; ‘I’ becomes ‘we’ while their scenery 
revolves around dissent for and against who’s in 
the only chair of supposed reasoning that ‘its’ an 
adjunct of ‘me’ & which naturally means ‘us’ - 

You facetiously declare hold on, you swing on a 
limb with simian-like anthropological flair, it isn’t 
a subject where what you think matters more or 
whatever seems more real to you is the lore we 
need to abide by - ‘it’ is uncontroversially not, & 
wasn’t ever, the lottery you’ve almost contrived 

© 16 January 2015, I. D. Carswell

10 July 2015

Cling To


I suppose we’re a day closer to where we want 
to be; I believe its less an abstract argument or
am I too comatose to the real issues - if today’s 
play is anything to go by, two hours on a phone 
sorting out how little you know about ‘tech’ stuff 
relating to connectivity fripperies of moving this 
account, yep you want to keep this shit the way 
its been for nearly 20 years - then it is a dream 

But you suppose you know what you want - or 
are we in another provider’s hallucination, that 
eclectic argument change is great opportunity 
even if you cannot see any benefits accrue; to 
just get back what you had’s a standard you’ll 
cling to because its your nearest status quo 

© 8 January 2014, I. D. Carswell

09 July 2015

The Creek


Tis a bit drizzly at the Creek t’day, not your 
tropical ‘downpour’ farrago they’d say’s the 
norm here as they’re 3rd ’n 4th generation
in tradition if not fact, c’n harp back to what 
great-granddad used to pontificate; tho not 
a whit of ‘em even remember th’ ol bastard 
that clearly, truth’s all hearsay embraced in 
a bodgy-arse marsh of venerable romance 

But peace and quiet prevails within drip & 
splash suggesting THIS is the rain he’d’ve 
meant, there’ll better grazing & less spent 
cleaning up after bloody floods; ‘n that’s a 
key which drove those earliest settlers to 
reflect, full at ease in their mien routinely 

© 27 December 2014, I. D. Carswell

08 July 2015

Old Adversaries


Why bother with a reply that leaves 
the question alive? By firing blanks 
survival isn’t surmised in a gesture 
of obeisance rather than defence; 
old timers say, to keep your hopes 
alive aim where ricochets play the 
odds sweetly and defiance means 
you can’t be swayed by deference 

The firing line isn’t a place to stay 
without an abundance of the best 
copper-tipped epithets - you don’t 
need any direct hits to make your 
antipathy evident - and has a way 
of discouraging old adversaries 

© 4 January 2014, I. D. Carswell

07 July 2015

Weaving Us


Was I awake Sunday at 2am, isn’t a revelation 
but it comes on back of a decision to live easy; 
gone ‘up country’ y’ know, further away than ’n 
easy stroll to the nearest shop, ten minutes by 
ute I’d guess so remoteness is getting the few 
utilities to work - like satellite TV, and Telstra’s 
supposedly universal telephone line - there is 
a defined black hole thinking its all so naive 

Yet the quiet is punctuated only by the ‘gidday’ 
bellows of a few cattle beast, or neighs from a 
grey mare stopping by to natter - & amazingly 
swooshing of occasional cars hardly registers; 
it says, sort of, relax, merge with the tapestry, 
already we feel like its weaving us in 

© 11 January 2015, I. D. Carswell

06 July 2015

Weakly Waiting


Waited a week with occasional malice; its hard to 
not be unduly fazed by institutional intransigence - 
tho its origin isn’t too hard to savvy - once-upon-
a-time in this fair land Telstra was a servant of the 
people but its no vassal now; as wholesaler of its 
own telephone communications network, largesse 
isn’t their cup of tea, nor will they be hastened into 
reconnecting a telephone because of scheduling 

That means they will do it in their time which wont 
be on a weekend, public holiday, or when there is 
a cricket test or if its raining; these were events of 
the week we’ve waited; 10 actual days so far, yet 
they wont be concerned because its January and 
we’ve still a week left of the school holidays 

© 21 January 2014, I. D. Carswell

05 July 2015

Sinecure







































There have been more hectic days - yet seldom 
as many personalities emerged to fill the gaps - 
they’re eclectic kinesiology expressions, or just 
beginnings of what will be, yet real signs appear 
in the seams with consistency too adroit to be a 
mere coincidence; my grandkids you’ll say, with 
an inward sigh like a portentous smile of relief - 
and as my best guess - this is only a prelude 

Two, four and five years of age, a handful when 
the fingers clutch at still-vibrating air of a surreal 
promise to behave within a sinecure of properly, 
tho there’s ample evidence of civility without too 
hard-handed definition of standards to apply - a 
comfort zone where we can find lucid refuge 

More hectic days, yes - but rarely as enervating 
as word origin discussions with a four year old 
who knew what he was talking about - & didn’t 
see it as pretentious or odd, merely a chat with 
Granddad who thought he knew a few of them 
you’d likely be quite interested in hearing too 

© 23 January 2015, I. D. Carswell

04 July 2015

Sight To Share


I still have the glossy-glitter polish painted 
on my big toes; wow, you must have really 
indulged them you’ll say - and yeah, it’s in 
vogue knowing they’ll find ‘a novel way’ to 
eventually decorate me - better acquiesce 
with a modicum of control than end up in a 
dress with scarf, lipstick and high heels - 
yet in a sense I did, tho’ quite gracefully 

Pop, they’d cajole - come on, let’s get with 
NOW as the fashion, which in their opinion 
told how they like to be seen out ‘n about - 
and fair enough, they’re outright beauties - 
but I drew a line at strawberry spray they 
liked streaked into their blonde hair 

I’m a grey grandpa I say proudly, ‘n like it 
this way - you’ll rarely see blokes my age 
with red streaks in what’s left of their hair, 
and if you did you’d likely die laughing; oh 
yeah they guffaw, that would be a sight to 
share with these new friends we’ve made 

© 29 January 2015, I. D. Carswell