Coat Hanger Diplomacy

Not given to car-breaking, didn't have
talent back when the rage was Model
T's and break & enter was made much
easier; but opportunity came my way
care of an indulgent oversight caused,
admittedly, by far too many irons in
the benign fires of idle speculation.

Returned from the Post Office – sending
items left by my dearest 'Postal Express'
to Sydney, encountered horses in the rain
not waiting at the gate on ceremony but
expecting entre to gourmet grazing; so
I act the Laird, courteously enquired
why, genteelly played time of the day.

The pair were well aware of my view of
their feasting – I purposely stop the
engine determined my perspective rules
fair at least – but as I closed the door to
remonstrate they moved away derisively
as if to suggest they already knew the
car doors had sympathetically locked.

So they had, and so it was – shocked
and amazed – now where oh where in
bloody blue blazes the spare key? Not
my car and still a mystery needless to
say; spent some time self-castigating
incipient stupidity, rued the power play
waited for a call of enlightenment.

Not forthcoming for the same reason
my love's forgetfulness had her mobile
phone on another plane also on the way
to Sydney! Thus coat hanger diplomacy
of the light fingered thief armed with
heavy duty pliers entertained – and I
rested, requited, palpably at peace ...
© 26 August 2010, I. D. Carswell

A Weekend Of Wonder

a weekend where
a wee girl’s pleasure
consumed more than
an atmosphere

perhaps just a first
birthday celebration
or maybe an indication
of what might be
for Charlotte Lily
as she grows

For me it was
wonderment pure
in simplicity expressed
by a blown kiss
winked from a
wicked eye
© 29 July 2020, I. D. Carswell

Gain

What do you gain from me...?...
A voice of wildernesses past,
angst and beauty of a dreamlike
caste embossed with poetry...

When you reply your eyes incline
in crinkled wry and whimsical
sincerity; ...coffee, the capacity
to make damn good coffee...

The irony is palpable and grieves
me not, in truth your need is
what leads and comforts me
– cafe latte s’il vous plait!
© 16 July 2010, I. D. Carswell

Hand To Mouth

pistachios rate greater than those
termagant indices proposing
peasant views make imaginary
perspectives ever so slightly edible

it sounds profoundly like
handing one a gratuitously naive
vision for eating as a
nutritious snack

yet food in the hand appeases immediately
whereas doggerel of self-sufficiency falls flat;
seeds intended for planting never
make it to the field

there was never a simpler
purpose planned in pistachios
other than
hand to mouth
© 1 June 2010, I. D. Carswell

Sleep On It

Whereas you see on
beyond reasons
compromised it remains
ecliptic to my past

My confrères are far less
consistent, I’m the last bloke
left ‘giving a shit’ or making
it an intellectual exercise

Like an insight of soup bones
and braised turnips; kind of
peasant fare that satisfies
without taxing belief

I think you should sleep on it –
the rest will be comforting if
not relief. G'nite...
God bless!
© 21 June 2010, I. D. Carswell

Scent Of You

Slept with scent of you too rich
to wash away, felt the need
conspire within to play in
rhythms wild and freed – drank the
greedy juices leading me
astray

No fragrant wonderment should
cast a spell in heady scent
or have the power to bend a
will and sway one’s reasoning –
bewildering as it might
seem

If it’s a dream I will not
wake for fear that takes the breath
away; this is a place I
have to be, an ecstasy of
harmony unleashed by
scent of you in me
© 30 June 2010, I. D. Carswell

Rhythms Return

God knows I’ve tried; euphemistically
of course – I use the phrase to float or
founder in your chauvinism

I’ve read and listened to the words
for resonance that died; confused
amid a plethora’s similitude

rococo egos rhyme pedantic space
between oases blank of faith like signs
prescribe prosaic desert’s empathy

that doesn’t say transcendent effort
spared me moving mountains
of ingrained mendacity

no silent sacrifice brings back salinity
within the ocean’s tears – nor I believe
is wasted needlessly

where seeds are sown by brash
and taciturn alike is where the lushly
resonant entanglement will grow

a chain of life sojourns in moments
where dry retching chokes in mordant
fear of rhythm’s sweet return
© 31 May 2010, I. D. Carswell

Ingesting Wisdom

may I never be as rich today
as treasuring the memory; it
is an affluence of elegance
which sets you free of
commonplace constraint

you see the chance as infinite
no boundaries to break an office
limitation set in words expressed
by sergeant power – and always,
your mind’s set free

incidents regress to mute and 
beads of sweat I’d lick 
ingesting wisdom that was
never there – you’ve proved
my esoteric origins

I am amazed how easily you
dress a mundane happenstance
as less accoutred than a
vision of the clothing we
aspired to wear
© 3 October 2010, I. D. Carswell

Shall I Compare Thee?

Shall I compare thee? In many
ways you are the same; she a
waif of springtime youth and
you my love a leaf of Autumn’s
truth in fragrance and allure

I dream of you and hold your scent
a damp enraptured compliment, a
handkerchief in knowing she won’t
wear a frown; but sameness ends
wherein I drown for wont of you

I care – there is no easy parting,
knowing who I need repairs my soul
while she will wear a smile that I
mature; rest assured in whom
I see where sameness bares
© 25 July 2010, I. D. Carswell

Marinara

reminding myself, pizza –
no new ideas, let’s enjoy
the Marinara tonight

this English beer is not
amazing enough to create
untrammelled craziness

and saying so states the
obvious; you think perhaps
meat pie and chips?

but flavours disarrayed
in an old style bitter by
too much warmth

blames Queensland’s
tropical humidity and
says – Marinara... 
© 3 May 2010, I. D. Carswell

Not Leaving

not leaving
no – momentarily ceding an unclear view
of where the gridlock ends

aware of constraint plaintively
animated in misconceptions of departure
without actual separation

confused for a destination maybe, or
seeking the refuge of circumstance
to rationalize the ride

but you’re really leaving – it’s more in
an air of a grievance than surrendering
to a wave goodbye

and there’s a hollow feeling that
they’re right not recognising a change
which may never happen – until you arrive
© 19 October 2010, I. D. Carswell

Limbo Vaguely

like living in limbo vaguely
poised between familiar landmarks
and the dreamlike tangibility
of craved permanence

faced with journeys too energy
debilitating – moving from here
wherever it is to unknown elsewhere
dressed in a veneer of isolation

in stasis avoidably detained by
inertia masquerading as rational thinking
making excuses about parting
mistaking the consequences

seeing candle-lit dreams in the
distance of a vast space beckoning
aware of an infinite emptiness
between fear and ascetic belief

afraid to leave yet well cautioned
where welcomes exceed distress
and chances missed and causes left
must defend themselves
© 20 October 2010, I. D. Carswell

Legless Ideas

when you don’t
intend saying a word
you’re freed

unexpressed hypocrisy leaves you
silently high and dry – or at least
voicelessly mute

while contentiously expressing
tendentious feelings best left irresolute
merely ups the potential ante

and when the shit hits the fan
you were merely passing by
on legless ideas
© 8 October 2010, I. D. Carswell

Becoming

A bigger dilemma than a few words
misconstrued, this is a failure of the
‘us’ we will have to rely upon to see
us through troubled times

Maybe there isn’t room enough yet to
spare manoeuvring around the edges
of imagined barricades, a grand power
placing them exudes its own mystery 

We see a nimble edge of an impasse –
there is no denying the precision with
which it interpolates between emotional
boundaries yet to be surely defined

That is not the pickle any more than
awareness does not cheapen you or
your need for surety, it is just we have
yet to define where ‘we’ becomes ‘us’
© 6 August 2010, I. D. Carswell

Volition

Couldn't guess where passivity went
in that last gasp – there's no evidence
it meant anything anyway, like a case
of a spare idea left alone too long in
a desert of desiccated thinking

It's there on sufferance I think, an
estranged effigy out of time and place
with contemporaneity; if I blink it will
dissipate surely – let us see if it
disappears along with me

But in a heartbeat you made the World
stop not once but a dozen times –
subdued vocalisations of bewilderment
fluttered cries expressing ecstasy too
concretely conniving to conceal

I am lost in a predicament of whether
volition has a place that is real or did
we merely unleash ourselves to each
other in a wild spring of fresh water
munificence – and drowned together
© 20 July 2010, I. D. Carswell

Ashes Of Urgency

Thinking the way as passion's
persuasion made mockery of
seductive sagacity didn't it – the
subtlety of an aeon shattered like
crystal before peace descended

seems easier to blend than guide
limbs quaking in vogue expectation,
awestruck in calamity, hiding from
feelings predicated on misadventure
wearing mask and gloves against
love's incipiency

playing the agencies with soft hands
stroking ashes of urgency, counting
the agonies two by two - enumerating
opulent testes of desire made weak
in the sheer space conceded

treated to peacefulness ceded in
rest and contentment, soothed and
bathed in tactile luxury – keys
caressed with deft finger-strokes
played like a symphony
© 3 August 2010, I. D. Carswell

Runaway

The grey men came and
asked of him, “Surr –
‘ave ye seen th’ wee boy”,
haunting their sincerity.
“Nay,” said he, who could not lie,
“Not since yesteryear...”

“Oh please,” a veiled voice
inside a wish appealed, “Was
he alright?” She, he thought;
“I’d say he was,” he said
although he knew it wasn’t
quite the truth.

“Would ye oblige us if he
comes again,” they asked
and slowly went away – the
one who turned and almost
smiled, he wasn’t sure,
had tried to wave

The boy within his eyes
shut tight and mind a fist
clenched anxiously on wounds
too raw for just release had
blinked a hint of what
he’d almost heard

There’ll be no retribution
lad he breathed, you’re free;
secure from words condemned
and ancient deeds and
they whose want would
plant the seed
© 28 June 2010, I. D. Carswell

Sameness

Shall I compare thee?
In many ways you are the same;
she was the waif of winsome youth
and you my love a blade of new
grown grass in fragrance and allure
I dream of you and hold your scent
a handkerchief of damp enraptured
compliment while she no-longer
wears a frown; but sameness ends
wherein I drown for wont of you
I care – there is no leaving easily
for sure, but here I know of whom
I need while she will wear a smile
that I mature; rest assured in whom
I see where sameness bares
© 30 July 2010, I. D. Carswell

Where The Innocent Went

These ARE hard times
I excuse baleful eyes – there
isn’t danger meant, merely questions
unexpressed; I read them fluently, it
suggests I am no less a victim
in their way of thinking
So you’re the guy who –
I dunno, sort of broke the bank,
couldn’t live up to expectations; I know
you didn’t run off with the money
or you wouldn’t be here,
just who are you really?
I dunno, I presume I’m just a small
conscience left after the robbery
we all saw the heist on Prime
Time didn’t we? After this
though there’s no guessing –
we have to find out where
the innocent went
© 22 May 2010, I. D. Carswell

Oysters

A glass of schnapps and a dozen
fresh oysters seems an awful excess
for a lunch I am not supposed
to be having – but the first three
tasted put paid to any pretence
about counting my way out
of an impasse I may have
only imagined
When left with largesse of
a gift of such magnificence
what did you expect? I will say
with due deference the whole
grain mustard gave pretensions
of respectability
© 29 July 2010, I. D. Carswell

Make Her Happy

As easy as embracing
simple facts dictates
a mockery of wisdom’s
ancient panoply

Make her happy is the
game and set and match
of it; no other contest
lays a valid claim

Yet it isn’t simple as the
saying situates – to even
know the reason
why disparages

Like giving in to double
jeopardy equates as
sacrificial anarchy
without relief

The thief of closeness
steals your space and
states its bogus claim’s
ascendancy

You need to be asleep
to dream – and if you
wake to test reality you’ve
really lost your way
© 18 June 2010, I. D. Carswell

Empty Space

it is but hollowness
a wary ache of emptiness
that permeates today
euphoric songs nolonger
ring out joy in filling
brimming spheres
the laughter’s gone
silence sterns an atmosphere
of anxious dread 

you vacillate between
dismay and fates you fear
for things you cannot have
what may have been
opaque returns chimeras to
disgrace an empty space
© 2 June 2010, I. D. Carswell

Artisan

The gift of your eyes surprises;
it is an amber almondness with
which you charm a view of who
I am yet messaged in the hand
that moves sincerity – and then
there’s no denying where I’d
willingly abide, you capture
heart and mind as easy prey.

It is the way you openly invite
a benefice exciting my intrusion
pure of artifice – and I fall victim
of desire that melts the earth;
you bend the World around this
bliss with supernatural artistry
© 29 July 2010, I. D. Carswell

On Leaving

Spent this day a-dithering
caught between extremes
of joyfulness and misery
– it isn’t easy leaving

Where I’m going to isn’t new 
nor echoes blandishments
which are not true although
in need I am despaired

The empty space in places
here where laughter grew –
there is no greater flattery
surveyed I do believe –

are soundless yet but filled
with cogent memories; then
there is my love for you
which ever comforts me

My joy is thus sublimed and
time that passes finds the
room to bear a change it
wreaks unhappily

My misery is leaving where
we came before the rule I
knew would fail me all too
easily – but in a sense –
has made a man of me...
© 22 July 2010, I. D. Carswell

Patron Saint

Headache, a grim grey dawn 
and oral herpes can’t take this
morning away from me; it is
mine to wear as a crown.

Nothing’s more satisfying than
waking to song – there’s music
in the atmosphere, she swears
she loves me still.

But – being King of Ambiance
bears accountability – no less
aware of causes longer than
the span of my puny reach.

And as the sun renders claim
on a grey day and bores holes
into the blue beyond I repair
grace she freely gives.

I will treat today’s infirmity as
chance carefully embraced to
be her beau; she is – to say
the least – my patron saint.
© 20 July 2010, I. D. Carswell

Remembering

I’m gettin’ mo’ mail about increasin’
m’ penis size than them ones sayin’
ah need Viagra if ah’m gonna be great
And ah’m amazed those busy people
take time out of their hectic lives to
regale me with such considerate ideas

S’pose it’s a waste o’ sweat sayin’
‘No thanks – ah’m past totin’ a dong
bigger ‘n a bitty wiener anyways’
But it has me wonderin’ just whut th’
damn tarnation ah’m supposed t’ be
rememberin’ doin’ at this late age!
© 19 July 2010, I. D. Carswell

One Of Those Days

If something went right it wasn’t for long
after a while it seemed almost predictably
okay, you might suggest lending an aura
of propriety – or better if you’re a tragic;
but that didn’t get the plethora of things
dangling at wits end untangled, thus a new
laptop easily won the day – with aplomb
best described as freakish calamity

Amazed by new technology’s penchant for
reducing one’s solid-core history of certainty
to a farrago of keyboard happenstance with
offhand wave; passé be it to note that this
Dell Precision M6500 didn’t even have a
manual to read – albeit in Braille
© 8 September 2010, I. D. Carswell