Coal Futures

We’ve been duped before
whether in justification or defence
there’s no certainty in coal futures 

we’ll bury CO2 eventually
adding costs onto fuel already
mortgaged beyond our means 

even if we’d done it properly
20 years back we’ve no guarantee
warming will slow this Century! 

the heat is on to progress
something – but Coal producers
grin and cannily play dumb

in 2008 Australia exported coal
contributed 550 m tonnes of CO2
to global warming 

I hope we’re are justifiably proud
of the fact we’ll reap our reward
when we get it all back
© 19 March 2010, I. D. Carswell

Broken Chalice

Gawd, am I really
supposed to be as
thick as they seem?

Some guy answering a 
yes or no question used
‘brand name’ arguments 

Was he advertising he’s 
between engagements or
seeking new employers? 

Or can I conclude he 
failed to sell himself
to the wider audience 

If politics is a commodity 
then I am way out of
sync – or so it seems 

I do know what I need 
and it ain’t platitudes
from obvious failures 

But that is all you get 
these days – no-one tries
to mend the chalice
© 23 March 2010, I. D. Carswell

Breathless

we shared a moment’s intimacy
her upraised bottle said
cheers and her grin agreed

moments before she’d been
chatting with an imaginary
caller on the phone

was it Mama? Impossible to
know but the flow of baby talk
says someone well loved

she hastens through infancy
with intractable sophistication
leaving me breathless
© 10 April, 2010, I. D. Carswell

Birthday Books

It is an odd sort of way
of saying happy birthday –
and I admit not my idea

but fitting in with a son whose
innovative sense of intrigue
means casual, seems cavalier

has me writing instructions
to where you’ll find your two
brand new birthday books

Stieg Larsson’s posthumously
published “Girl Who Played With Fire”
& “Girl With Dragon Tattoo”

are unwrapped on the shelf
above the computer
waiting for 1st April

Happy Birthday Frida dear
© 24 March 2010, I. D. Carswell

Aimless Trance

If you can predict with
certainty you’ll stuff up,    
you’re on the cusp

Isn’t astrological belief
just facing facts you’ve
ascertained too easily

A menace with enough
loose impetus to lurch frailly
between too many interests - 

Failing to achieve today’s plan
of posting letters alienated
what seemed a breeze

Until you discover where
you’ve put them, they'll be
aggrieved victims of chance

Apparently free of corollary,
my man, you meander,    
in an aimless trance
© 17 March 2010, I. D. Carswell

2010 Masters, Augusta

I am supposed to be excited
Tiger Woods is playing golf again
and the News thinks so highly of
his rehabilitation from infidelity
they can’t stop themselves
masturbating

So who’s worse? I could change
radio channels but doubt it would
avoid mention of who is leading
whom and by how many strokes.
To my way of thinking the Media
is easily leading The Masters
© 12 April 2010, I. D. Carswell

20 Minute Showers

How much water do
you really need defined
today as that you
cannot LIVE without
- and where a 20 min
shower as such is not
a vital harmony

We know you can
survive okay on 4.5
litres for drinking but
not much less – so
we’re thinking current
usage rates are probably
a bit too luxurious

An average we’ve
seen is somewhere
between 190 – 300
litres per person per
day; multiply that by
6.7 billion and you’re
progressing

A billion is followed by
9 zeros – real easy, so
estimated World usage
pattern’s between 13
and 20 trillion litres
give or take a few lazy
billion per day

You’re probably thinking
no cause for alarm yet but
we’re talking ‘drinking’ water
AND growing population –
global warming means our
fresh water resources are
already shrinking
© 22 March 2010, I. D. Carswell

Winter

Locating slippers in a pile
of clothes decorating the
study floor presupposes
early onset of Winter – or
of rising in haste before
sun’s warmth welcomes
your somewhat precipitate
emergence from repose

in this case toes with
intelligence demand the
same breaks usually placed
higher in the hierarchy than
space below although astral
intrusion won’t debate it
© 15 April 2010, I. D. Carswell

If Words Don’t Rhyme

An ‘almost’ decision in this instance is
as full and as final as the real thing;
fast as my fingers can type I’m into
agreeing something’s there – if I can
stop being too corporeal to see it.

You’d say six shots of vodka from the
freezer at midday normally wouldn’t give
clarity but I’m making pizza while midst
decision – who’s to say that inspiration
isn’t pending public recognition?

I’m not a nuisance as my social graces
affirm and there is no liability extant –
except for decadent traits too passé even
for my own taste but pizza explains it isn’t
malignant or particularly unsavoury.

It’s an expression of where I’d like to be
if someone comes to eat today; like saying
this is me at midday – in mid-decision. 

I wholeheartedly agree you shouldn’t
really care if words don’t rhyme.
© 13 February 2010, I. D. Carswell

Wither Away

a way to piss
yourself off thoroughly
and guarantee morbidity
is by trying to please

even if you want
only one significant murmur
of appreciation it will be
denied as culpable guilt

attaining satori through
pleasure expressed vicariously
in others’ rapt satisfaction
is fantasy

you cannot feed off
expressions dressed as
giveaways after the
banquet has ended

your appetites are the
ones which need to be
satisfied in every available
gustatory sense

as the saying goes - if
you don’t eat emotionally
you don’t shit nor do you
pee but you wither away
© 27 March 2010, I. D. Carswell

Dog Ass Days

seemed another dog-assed
day - I'd clearly written ‘dog 
arsed’ - but my doggy mate
Benson, piqued, said I’d got
it wrong. It’s the spelling he
complained; I ask you, how
on Earth can anything but a
dog be termed dog ‘arsed’ -

a wasted day’s a dog I say
- but he disagreed, defined
‘sad-assed’ as being nearer
with no canine vilification;
strange, I say, but without
‘dog’ it doesn’t bark to me
© 28 February 2010, I. D. Carswell

Doesn’t Have To Be Today

If it was supposed to be a way of 
coping it failed to come up to speed
next day mess was apparent although
a good hangover wholly compensated

‘a bloke’s thing’ doesn’t explain why so 
many brain cells had to be wiped out of
existence – moreover bravado fell short
by one of the four six-packs available 

vaguely recall thinking analytically at 
tea time whether to complete the deed
or eat – my supper companion agreed
eating made more equitable sense 

we hadn’t done too bad as it were and 
if need arose we could finish the last
pack any time – it isn’t going to stray he
observed so it doesn’t have to be today
© 26 February 2010, I. D. Carswell

Mnemonic

If I had to do today again
I’d do it without the 3 am
awakening – sadly things
went awry before the sun
rose and I had to spend
the rest of what was left
of it inadequately trying
to make amends.

I apologise to ladies at the
bank – declare Alzheimer’s
but not too seriously; the
answer was later clear, it
may be implicated but my
not remembering account
numbers was in a sense
mostly forgivable.

It’s a case of an atrophied
brain in cincture of recess –
but I’ll blame many rather
than one cause, and clarity
of a few corona beers for
awareness that the rhyme
of a numeric sequence had
hung me out to dry.

As one ages metre moves
from trochee to spondee –
or the other way, memory
fails simple tests of matter
and in my case mnemonic
cues called the bluff of a
3 am arousal for less than
its metric suspense...
© 25 February 2010, I. D. Carswell

Setting Precedent

Gladly, setting precedent is only
little death. They were your words
expressed until you sent them on
their way; hard-won words they
were revealing private things
seldom seen in light of day.

But, you sent them on. And now
they lie in distant fields beyond
your keep where freedoms dance
to different tunes and out of reach.
Doesn’t mean they’re lost but you
can’t teach them decent etiquette
in dismal retrospect.

All the same your name appears
along with other words appended
by a readership who play the game,
right or wrong, sing in tune or hum
another’s song. Glory be – this one
has claimed its far too long!

You can defend your words until
they stand alone. You’ve fed an
audience too willingly who dine on
grist for free, but heed, insisting they
must pay with praise to win your
smile won't birth a better poetry.
© 22 February 2010, I. D. Carswell

With no rules for analysis behaviour tends to flow the way of the most verbose