Pointless Tests

no new mail but a three
day old pizza shaves the
rougher edges. It is true
too that the bitter with a
lime wedge has a say– a
mitigated optimism
levitating spirits crushed
in a welter of woebegone
misanthropy

left alone too long makes
each celebration inimitable
reacquainting, like a taste
of anchovies hidden midst
guests who have come a
long way, like flavours
awakening in a miasma
of re-aroused passions
hitherto left to wither

it is here again I say, back
with me and I care, feelings
that comfort; pizza and
beer has more meaning
than this pointless test of
humanities’ meanderings...
© 14 April 2009, I. D. Carswell

Not Here

the fear is real enough
insistently suggests the
World switched off and
left you less

you know that it is true
no-one answers calls –
your mail is deficit and
empty echoes stall

you knew that it would
come to pass in time
was somewhat tardy
when the call arrived

you want to ask whose
voice is this as it extols
Samantha told me I
could call her here 

she isn’t here you start
to say - quite sure at last
that neither you nor she
were really ever either...
© 16 April 2009, I. D. Carswell

Penitent Bereaved

 

trepidation sheers away
superior attempts to free
myself from infinite despair
alone one hundred days plus
fifty six declares what words
so far have failed to say

we’ll meet again ostensibly
today in limbo where the life
we shared has disappeared –
a mordancy of signs declare
an ending diffident with
hope beyond ill-rent repair

forty years are neatly held in
dearest memory – a chance
there-in of nascent peace or
comforting yet emptiness
invades the locus of my fears
somnambulant release

seeing you is fraught with pain
you’ve borne too patiently in
acquiescent amity – the scene
in which I bleed to death
before your suffered gaze
a tragic penitent bereaved...
© 23 April 2009, I. D. Carswell

Resolution Of Sorts

5am and a resolution of sorts
rests comfortably between a
meekly misguided early morning
erection and a sense of really
being someone else when
the shit hits the fan

but lights are green again and 
celebrations might begin subtly
in gentle light of another day’s
benign resurrection – sounds
outside are almost the same,
uncontentious, anonymous

this was where I came in you
say, like an out-of-date act of
contrition, there is nothing to
contend with besides these
ambiguous fixtures, fascination
sailed when the tide turned
© 12 May 2009, I. D. Carswell

Beyond Making Love

Could I shape these words
and place them in your mind
I’d be a happy man – I’ve
tried ten thousand times to
penetrate the way of vaginal
collusion, laid suffused in
climactic illusion face to face
with gentleness abed

But privity flew when no delight
of carnal dining on their make
ensued – the light in your eyes
dulled in the wake of waves
turned to dust, to dissipate and
break beyond our making love
© 13 May 2009, I. D. Carswell

Never Let It Be Said

to those members
of the hegemony
who say, portentously,

Never Let It Be Said!

I am no Judas

I agree instead
with a silent majority
of farted nonsense
masquerading as
words of deeper
meaning

I am not afraid
to voice belief nor
will I stay silent to
keep the peace
uneasily

but hear this,
you will not make
me
into one
of you...
© 18 May 2009, I. D. Carswell

Pay The Man

This is my last nite on earth
he said, as if he knew where
he was going. She said that
is Earth defined – like some-
where you expected to be.

Without your concession
he says, it may well be less
than permanent; the tears
are signs of life shared, any
stray drops bring changes.

Don’t cry for me she says, I
left you when penitents were
paid to make observations;
my hysteria is mine alone,
pay the man – and be quiet... 
© 14 May 2009, I. D. Carswell

Mixed Feelings

I’ve never known why my
mouse pointer icon changed
depending where it situated
on the screen’s blank page

doesn’t matter anyway
words populate spaces I intend
without agony and there’s no
obvious divine intervention

that is to say, more or less; but I
clearly admit mixed feelings about
not quite understanding something
nearly that miraculous

like sunrise this morning – soaring
unseen a hot air balloon, jets roaring
in dawn’s pristine air created a scene
of bewildering anxiety

clarified belatedly when parochial
trees revealed its ethereal majesty
– and I no-longer felt need for
self-recrimination
© 14 May 2009, I. D. Carswell

Kept His Tongue For Licking

our conversation
had a generous feeling
of unique association
the JRT’s propriety
was immaculate silence
waited ‘til I ran dry
yipped affirmation

I know my fantasy
is more a need
that loneliness
manufactures
than bending his ear
but he held my gaze
unstintingly

acknowledged
without comment
remained a wiser dog
kept his tongue
for licking – so no-one
misconstrues
the symptoms
© 26 March 2009, I. D. Carswell

Grey Dawn

ash of ages
grey matches
feelings in exactness
every way
each curvature’s
chronology
phrased in words effaced
no depth of field
no contrast to appraise
a form or raise a shape
no interplay, no
joie de vivre
this aggravating
day allows
ennui off the leash
hopes soon fade –
rain begins again
lobotomising
endless silent greyness
fasting senses end
an empty feast
with spectres hollow
laughter booming a
monotony
© 6 April 2009, I. D. Carswell

Breaking Bread

Need to bake hot cross buns
for Easter doesn’t surmise
I’m devout anything unless
queue avoidance qualifies

I know I’d surely make as
good a bun as any baker,
and by adding glaze and
batter crosses earn reprieve

Tho’ it’s for you to say; I’ve
been crucified too long to
keep in mind exactly why
I am suspended here

But I recall a recipe for joy
maintains your need when
breaking bread is hands
which have been freed
© 5 April 2009, I. D. Carswell

Today’s Memory Expressed

chicken
shit shovelling
is the ultimate
sanguinity – nothing
comes raw to nostrils
pinched against
adversity as acrid
dust drifting
on straw winds

a year wiles away
before sub judice denial
recompenses;
a year weighs
ardent pungency
of reticence – yet
caustic dust stays
today’s memory
expressed
© 3 April 2009, I. D. Carswell

for the uninitiated - this poem came after the last 

chicken met its demise at supposedly restrained 

neighbour's dog activity. Sure, we live in the out-

back if you want to term it that way - but we're a 

cosmopolitan urbanity in every other sense ... 

Yorick’s Reply

Hark Hamlet of the Fallen
Kirk, a simpleton in words
distressed by death’s deceit;
a donkey’s head, an empty
purse and speechless cures
as blank as scripted verse.

Where are your lips I ask
now wheretofore didst thou
and I depart from friends
in arms declared? An Age
has passed and yet the
haunting sound despairs.

Alas poor Prince, you died
a pauper’s death abed, fleas
abound and throngs of lies
still fly above your hoary head
there is no papal chance of
peaceful beckoning...
© 2 April 2009, I. D. Carswell

Better Retinas

juddering
on an obscene glut
of caffeine brakes
momentum; it is not
speed which kills
as much as enhanced
attention fakes
eyes from snail’s-pace
danger crawling
on better retinas

oversupply
of information washes
by whirl-pooled
imagination’s higher
tide leavings
abrades better sense
pays compliments
to sensory centres
failing, falls victim to
ineffability
© 2 April 2009, I. D. Carswell

Conviction Of Her Love

an unconstrained
conviction of her love – enough
in holding hands to say farewell 

at peace within herself for life
they breathed their last and
quietly passed away apart – no 

angels came, sorrow arced for
each within her hushed restraint
in harmony with life and love 

she cried, breathed a soft goodbye
for life foregone, her mum and dad
passed on as Time expired...
© 1 April 2009, I. D. Carswell

Calumny

maybe pasting Geoffrey
Rush and Cate Blanchett
‘legends of the screen’
stamps on the envelope
arrested progress
this morning

realisation the car
should have been
Service Centred by 8am
occurred 09:38 – and
the day unravelled
introspectively

‘tho banking was
achieved and your letter
mailed an inept apology
left no way back to
a sanctuary of
equilibrium

meditative scratching
of five-day-old hornet stings
explains that scheming your
own destiny
in fact creates
mayhem
© 30 March 2009, I. D. Carswell

Write Less

write something simple
he says, something that
sings in melody, is phrased
in simple words

don’t make me wade
through tepid swamps
of tumid wit seeking
safer clichés

wilt a little bit
drop off the pretentious
cliff before its face
gives way

implores, again,
there’s room for wisdom in
single syllables, so – write less
and mean more 
© 28 March 2009, I. D. Carswell

June Thirteenth

If I didn’t mark this day in passing
if I didn’t make this date a part of
solid History I’d fail – a day to fix in
memory and memory will prevail

June thirteenth, Gemini of Mercury
an element of Air – where hunger
for awareness rests, your love
therein is seen a proper reckoning

Measure of your length and breadth
despairs dimensions of your ardent
heart – cathedral blessed, especially
in loving – sets your warmth apart

I know and love your being as a
comforting, liberty from loneliness
of empty tomes, a candle light of
passage gleam safely leading home

Blessed I am to know you well for all
these humble years, your inspiration
wills me write of you – and I shall ‘til
Lethe waters still my trembling hand
© 8 June 2009, I. D. Carswell

Your Company

if it isn’t the rainforest
then it’s whether we can
live in what is left of it

I guess it depends on you
there is no compromising
your views of exploitation

the vision which has your
signature assigned says
be ‘ready for change’

meaning that being in
your company makes
tomorrow a possibility
© 25 March 2009, I. D. Carswell

Taste

the frozen dim sim entrée
sliced and dressed made
greater inroads on mood
with savour than the English
Bitter which preceded it

‘tho not pure to subtlety
dinner planned will now
include stir-fry snow peas,
garlic with carrots and a
bloom of broccoli florets

water chestnuts for the
crispness, basil, onion &
naturally six of the best
dim sim – plus the rest
of the English Bitter

to say I live frugally on
a whim acknowledged
by acquired taste ceded
to attest flavour leaves
little room to disagree
© 23 March 2009, I. D. Carswell

Shopping

the touch
was almost familiar
and the way her shopping trolley
aligned purposely alongside mine
suggested she knew me
the kilo bags are over there
she pointed with her chin
shyly smiling leaning in
as if to say, yes, I know
you know that
explained
I had no need
for a kilogram of carrots
especially if they go bad
as two weeks ago
you can always
juice them
she advised wisely
as if to say you mean
you don’t
a lot of work I observe
with containers full on the shelves
she gave a ‘c’est la vie’ wave
and wheeled away wondering
who I was anyway © 24 March 2009, I. D. Carswell

Absence

 

you don’t get used to it
he said with a wry grin
sleep starvation kills
quicker
than lack of nourishment

you see I made plans
in self-defence where
lame excuses appear
rational should motivation
fail again

I know it best to let
the days go before they begin
no ways will you
repair everything
anyway

haven’t given up
imagining though
and I might live content
would your raucous absence
let me sleep
© 23 March 2009, I. D. Carswell

Polling

Tried to doze
with deranged demons
screaming slogans in the
haven of sleep’s folds;

while not entirely
meaningless they issued
from mouths all perfect ‘O’s
rehearsed in mirrors of
pre-polled public opinion

the outpourings polished,
diaphanously melodious
in obtuse displays

that old-time
Carnival atmosphere
used to buoy us up once
I said, regretting it instantly –
and bullish hype was popcorn
for our ears; but I couldn’t
eat another word – there’s
nothing here but empty
rhetoric, and they don’t
return calls

so you did vote they
urged today – and I
reply vaguely, oh yes,
in the same passage
of sleep they so
rudely denied...
© 22 March 2009, I. D. Carswell

Rhythms

Is there a limit to
how much worrying
one can
effectively do

I mean, does acute
anxiety about
anything ever
reach a resolution

It seems to me
an arcane
sort of physicality’s
the general rule

One where you must
have something
to touch, to see
to understand

Unlike rhythms clear
resounding neat
and you in time to
faultless beat

I don’t want to
drum up another
celestial cadence but
to me that’s lunacy

Out of step irony
suggests at least
symphonic immunity
in different beat
© 22 March 2009, I. D. Carswell

Ten Minutes

If it only takes ten minutes
to write and post a poem I’m way
beyond the scale of such economy;
far too slow to test the words internally
with dulcet voices reading tones
and listening for a ring of rhyme,
a resonance that sings or
says, “No, No!”.

The sheer effrontery of it abrades
but cheek of Old Nick smacks such
that not giving a tinker’s damn cracks
a wicked smile, I’ll have a go.
There, eight minutes in and
I’ve wracked a poem,
 - of sorts,
and up she goes... 
© 21 March 2009, I. D. Carswell

60 Reasons To Celebrate

60 Reasons (to celebrate)
For Karin Rosenqvist on her
60th Birthday – 4 April 2009

It only seems a year ago
you had your birthday on
the farm, a rustic breakfast
served in bed with charms
and gifts to greet the day.

It was a gentle way to say
hello to you, a welcoming,
a ringing in of things we
share as family – a
bearing of necessities.

And now our clans are one
and same; in truth we’re glad
that Freja Jean has tamed the
wanderings, an heir to you,
a golden year upon your age.

Nothing’s treasured like the
way of love received or given
more wholeheartedly, we cede
our hearts to Karin dear in
wishing you a happy day.
© 21 March 2009, I. D. Carswell

Wasted Space

Drivel’s too polite an affirmation,
yet to hear the new reborn-again dust
off their heinous faith and re-acclaim
old battle cries that ache of dried
and droughty yesteryears forsakes
what stands for commonsense

Eleven Years Is Much Too Bloody Long
their cant – forgetting foment in their
ranks, new-found amity of so-called
allies knives disguised in recent wary
backs as new-forged LNP ‘comes out’
to prance upon election’s centre stage

It breaks a drought of somnolence at
least, whines of disaffect from greedy
streets ask blatantly; come on mate,
the economy is stuffed okay, so show
your hand – what’$ in it then, in $$
terms, for a vote from me?

A hellish leap of faith when Federal
friends don’t run the Treasury – tho’
con and hype might whip ‘em through
their airy fiscal plans advise us to
awake and see we’re vacancies and
votes for LNP are wasted space
© 18 March 2009, I. D. Carswell

Lawrence Springborg leads LNP to
polls Saturday, 21 March 2009.
Antipathy towards Labor’s years
rather than realistic expectations
of a novice LNP in Government will
decide the elections outcome...

Legacy

Injustice seldom ends
with an abrupt stretch of rope,
a sudden arresting.

And as in the beginning
self-interest bends to
justify racial extremes.

Those official documents,
their flourished signatures
only lend a cartoon dignity.

Back then, when the grab
for land was in full swing,
bullets still killed forever.

The dead may rest in peace
of magnificent endeavour
while descendants sing

Tho’ still dispossessed, whether
by way of white man’s disease
or famished skilfully to death. 
© 18 March 2009, I. D. Carswell

Where Fever Springs

It goes without
saying doesn’t it
the more you try
to be reasoned the
less sense you make
– yet 10 words penned
in an illegitimately brief
spell of myopic insight
says more than it’s
sequencing avows

Which the evidence
allows are merely words
as window-dressed
ideas expressed in
causal themes – with viral
cues that lurk in seams
of double meaning
patiently awaiting
fecund ears
– where fever springs 

© 16 March 2009, I. D. Carswell

At Least It Explains

Harvesting squash from
a Tahitian lime would
seem an odd occupation

And not without intrigue;
consider the exotic
insinuations of their origins

Limes are from Asia by
way of Mexico and Persia
all homes of fable

Kabocha are Japanese
as tempura, grown easily
from runner or seed

Shape of the squash
amazes and taste never
fails to please

Just leave them be; year
after year they will simply
re-appear without fail

But why grow in trees?
Scratching from lime thorns
clarifies that easily

You have to be crazy to
pick them; it mightn’t excuse
but at least it explains...
© 14 March 2009, I. D. Carswell