Fame Anonymous

the real World hovers (I could say
‘Hoovers’ – it is the same thing,)
somewhere between masturbatory
fantasies and conviction someone
unknown will pay a massive sum
gratuitously into my bank account
there is no way pleasures gained
will be made transliterable except
in my unaccompanied imagination 

it is an ethic of disunity, a feeling
dislocated from the Ying and Yang
which ordinarily makes me sane
I’m nutty as a fruit cake, almost
as tasty if you excuse the cultural
use of flavour adjuncts to a wicked
mix of covert and emotional bribery
so pay me the money, do it now or
be damned to fictional anonymity
© 16 April 2010, I. D. Carswell

Famine Or Feast

Calling it a famine or a feast belies the
beast it really is; looking from the patio
one sees a wall of rain so dense that
commonsense denies the obvious
It’s wet out there – a pleasance when
compared with days so soaked in sun
you burned to husks irreverent, cursed
your luck and spurned a climate change
But then the cyclones came again the
way they used to do except their season
was delayed – and broken hearts were
laid in serried rows of garden cemeteries
The water rose and washed away all hope
of being saved, no semblance of a plan
proposed we’d benefit from this although
I’m sure some demiurge will disagree
© 3 March 2010, I. D. Carswell

Hearing Silence

having dealt with the fashionable agonies

you still want to write poetry... but it isn’t
failed ten finger typing or a sustained
dearth of fresh and redeeming ideas
which slays you is it? There, lurking on
the edges of your sanity is a morsel
recognised upon that last mirror visit
which, under normal circumstances,
wasn’t a satisfyingly replete redress

disagreeably you looked like shit

they say it is the same as hearing voices
which aren’t there; now how the fuck can
that have such an effect? Deaf to deafness
isn’t immediate cause for alarm unless
something penetrates suggesting you’re
missing what isn’t being said – and that
is an innuendo death isn’t too far off, but
you’re still hearing silence anyway
so you’re obviously already dead

like writing, so you must be real
©4 April 2010, I. D. Carswell

Home-Grown

I’m doing my bit
disconnected the reverse
cycle air conditioner
dug out winter woollies; 
reckon I can stand not
lighting the slow burner
‘til Hell freezes over

I am already walking 
places on short trips where
I used the Ute – cutting back
on Library visits by borrowing
more books at a time 
combining recreation with
weekly shopping

That’s not all of it; wont
eat beef or lamb – their farts 
and burps add a staggering
amount of methane at an
increasing rate while land
clearance and deplorable 
livestock practices degrade
the environment

Home-grown veggies
will have to sustain me 
as they did all those bygone
years back on the farm
and keep on doing it for
the next 70 or so years...
© 20 March 2010, I. D. Carswell

Innuendo

Goodbye or goodnight
isn’t an easy farewell
despite social niceties
woven into adages of
approved behaviour

I’d like to hear it as it
is with venom infused
not something agreed,      
as they say, confused
with good manners

So you don’t like me?
I don’t need to know
why – for sure that is
your sole prerogative -
just give me a clue

A word which implies
there’s room for doubt
cries foul warning me
you've changed ideas
about who’s a fool
© 26 March 2010, I. D. Carswell

Keeping Peace

It’s a bloke’s thing
doesn’t mean it’s
lacking class or if you’re
fixated gorgeous ass
but it’s focussed
believe me 

you cannot live
having failed to see
the sense of a guy’s view
where tragedy collapsed
pronouncing histrionics
properly if you know what 

it means is enough to void
citizenship in a unique
brotherhood of civility
to become a man you had to
learn sensitivity is an enemy
and it thus seems join 

the band of a few
who covertly knew
so I write poetry
if you have time to review
what it means then you too
passed the test and can
keep your own peace
© 11 April 2010, I. D. Carswell

Last Laugh

you may consider it the
last laugh – if such-like
jokes are droll – afterall
they ARE fleas. For sure
sad and lonely orphans
of fact and in an obtuse
way of thinking perhaps
the true victims 

their ‘beneath-the-desk’
orphanage is where their
(late) benefactor slept –
they creep forth seeking
his munificent largesse
encounter tasteless me
© 8 April 2010, I. D. Carswell

Little Sis

little sister sees an enigma
wrapped in a mystery posed
as a puzzle evading a key to
understanding the brother she
dotes upon, it is not to say
things are better this way;
there has to be a salutary
lesson to learn in it, surely

while he puzzles at her quest
her concern obsesses even-
mindedness; I am an open
book he tries to say and she
laughs waving away ordinary
explanations all too easily
© 7 Apr 2010, I. D. Carswell

Making Peace

How do you say thank you to
a frail image of a dead character
you discarded years ago?
Probably by remembering when
chances of greatness were hot-breathed
and success awaited icing

In a timeless pause between critical
acclaim of your peers and their
death he remembered them
and laughed; it was then
you changed course as you must
and denied ever being

He arose from the dead today
smiling – hey, we’ve come
a long way since you left
why don’t we see who’s
still writing the crap you crucified
and make peace with them?
© 26 March 2010, I. D. Carswell

Niceties

making peace with Peace
Makers doesn't mean
joining them, can be said
the same for Rhymesters –
asshole barely rhymes with
parasol – if I'd use one, and
complaining wont break eggs
or slice bacon for breakfast

What I mean to say is live    
where you are; the time we
spend debating niceties was
yesterday's convention – as
far as I know we've yet a way
to go in finding who we are
© 27 March 2010, I. D. Carswell

Talk Back

ring the radio and rave
make it sound like you
are suffering, the ABC
allows you tell it all – will
stall and play ‘Ring Of Fire’
as if Johnny Cash explains
the wherewithal of talkback
shows...

JC – I’m meaning Johnny
Cash of course, can claim
my ears, he’s made a case
which mitigates the fickle
fates of popularity, never
was a clone to any views
except his own quite
naturally

Steve, whose show this
is, appreciates anomalies;
he’s made a case which
states its own redundancy
the crap I’ve heard agrees
he needs to be returned
with speed to prime-time
hours
© 25 March 2010, I. D. Carswell

Tears Shed

the thing you see
as ambivalence sentences
me; no clear ascendency
of sentiment – I guess –
suggests feet of cement

but that isn’t the way it
is over here – I am bound
by precedent set in a
concreteness of deep
and abiding affection

if I did not love you like
this wishes I express
for your happiness would
be the same tears shed
washing me away
© 5 April 2010, I. D. Carswell

The Scream

August 1883 
Edvard Munch witnessed an
unusual blood-red sunset over Oslo
shaken by it, writing he 'felt a great,
unending scream piercing through nature'
inspiring creation of his most famous
work, The Scream.

That evening’s sunset was
painted by eruption of Krakatau
off the coast of Java, one of the most
violent explosions in recorded history 
sending a massive plume of ash
into the stratosphere, causing Earth
to cool by more than one degree
disrupting weather patterns
for several years.

If you wanted graphic illustration
The Scream says it better than
those dull scientific tomes – this is
the way of pollution on a World
wide scale, this is the way of
climate change engendered
in the workings of nature.

The way we’ve done it takes an agony
of silent years, displacement activity
trenchant denial and the accumulated
carbon we’ve released – it isn’t going
to go away; global warming is really
here to stay and we’d best get ready
to scream…
© 20 March 2010, I. D. Carswell

Future Too Late

if the future were too far away
I’d merely leave a note to say
how much I care – we know I
won't be there; and if a case
embracing truths were made
and fairly listened to I’d break
this farcical impasse in stating
where and when I’d rather be

instead I have to be content to
stay within an easy sphere our
leadership maintains; they have
a job to do and we elected them
we must endure their ignorance
ignore the things the very signs
despair will ever change as long
as they remain

and there it is explained; our
climate doesn’t care a whit for
politics or class debate, greed
or trashy shares, divine effects
or astrological phenomenology
it merely recollects that every
bit of carbon freed increases
warming of the atmosphere
© 29 March 2010, I. D. Carswell

Travelling

This inability to pack clothes
for the journey seems less an
inhibition than a naive belief it
isn’t necessary; you are going
for sure so why be driven by
a need to be ultra prepared?

A full suitcase asks more than
it takes for peace of mind and
there is more attire than space
so who really cares if the blue
or green is a better choice –
its such a chronic waste.

Leaving it to the last minute
makes a sport of packing - the
first items in are underwear which
no-one sees anyway and the rest
is just guesswork or whatever is
clean enough to grin and bare...
© 3 March 2010, I. D. Carswell

Unpretentious

Unpretentious –
him, or me, we’ll never know
that he could sing the blues
with harmony made me a fan

Benson’s dead;
he died a day ago, I’ll never
hear his bark again – I’m sad
glory be, I’m awfully sad

Today I looked to where
I’d see his cheerful grin
and hear him greeting me;
he wasn’t there

An emptiness that
understates his latent
modesty encompasses
that vital space

I know he’s in a better
place with canine friends
and only dearest family

I miss you Man –
you made a lasting
mark on me...
© 21 March 2010, I. D. Carswell

Upgrade

observing learning curves
from a safe distance makes
great sport 

but say the experience 
comes closer and invades
interpersonal space 

humour fades rapidly 
when ‘bunny at the wheel’ 
is yours truly 

happened to me yesterday 
caused by a Vista to
Widows 7 upgrade 

apart from time 
consumed pedantically
installation was a breeze 

now I need those retrograde 
brain functionalities ‘etched
in redundancy’ replaced
© 25 March 2010, I. D. Carswell

Where You Went

Who am I then? The
piquant expression of a
little sister’s imagination or
aficionado of beer swilling
braggadocio in muscularity’s
arm wrestling epitome
of tattooed freedom

Well, none of those actually
– leastways not tattooed
can’t stand sight of blood
ruined a potential career
tried most things concerned
with cultural reality and
the meaning of words

Learned when a man
praised words randomly
written – a teacher no less
do you understand what they
mean he said? I thought
I did then, at least believed
I had an inkling

You’ll learn, he claimed
times change and so will you
you’ll regret what you never
knew in your unseemly
haste to get there while
I’ll be too late to see
where you went
© 13 April 2010, I. D. Carswell

Wind Generator

We’re being carbon-neutral today
she announced proudly the smile
broader than a mile-long swathe
of mirrors judiciously focussing
sunrays to produce steam; do you
see this cute wind generator I
bought? It and the brand new solar
panels installed last week will make
us pretty much carbon free by
Saturday.

He didn’t disagree; an inner voice
calculated carbon released during
making of said pieces – might be
a bit more than a week to balance
the ledger he opined, perhaps a
tad sooner if we don’t charcoal
grill steak tonight...
© 19 March 2010, I. D. Carswell