Privacy

Tell it any way you want
no-one will believe you;
these
things
don’t
happen!

Twenty hours abed
with an audaciously
reawakening woman
is completely implausible
claim to legendary
stamina

She amazes
in innocence free of pretence
her sphere of compassion
obliterates preceptions
of what matters as privacy
between bona fide
intimates

But he won't be
saying a thing
– she’s seen
to that...
© 2 July 2010, I. D. Carswell

Senses

Finding you is being
freed of dangerous debate 

calamitous uncertainty
dissolves in face of such
a trenchant substance and
solidity; you’re real and occupy
unchallenged space

my feet would wander needlessly
on paths to nowhere lost in
pasts forgot, beset by ghosts
whose form resembles trysts
with bold mirage-like artifice
begot in manic dreams
and endless emptiness 

ethereal disturbances still
claim a place but yet the rapture
of your scent persists in kisses
placed where senses don’t
resist voluptuary – the solid
hint is saving grace you
sagely promise me
© 1 July 2010, I. D. Carswell

Embarrassment

To the surprised wine company
saleswoman, no, I wasn’t
hallucinating – believe me, I thought
that you were She Who Speaks
In Muted Tones.

Okay, took a while to connect, 
been waiting all day expecting
My Delight’s call; suffice to say
once the phone’s volume was
suitably adjusted we made sense

Now I have a wry smile
and a tale of awkwardness
to relate – if Her Eminence makes it out
of the baggage carousel before
this embarrassment wanes
© 13 July 2010, I. D. Carswell

Fey

There are moments when I hear 
what isn’t said; like silence shouting
louder than the sounds surrounding
ways where words articulate

I heed the warp and weft of phrases
susurration, tintinnabulations ever
present bare my inner ears and
ring in tune with what occurs

Your whispers soothing weals of
conscience dread – choruses inflect
a calming timbre to a timeless tune
in harmony where I am lead

And then I see your widened eyes
when I unconsciously reply to words
you’ve yet to say, how did you know..?..
you breathe in fey amaze
© 12 July 2010, I. D. Carswell

Sweet Reward

Time gets away doesn’t it? Like yesterday
your teething was a subject of the hour
while now you’re one whole year and we
reflect on how it changed so rapidly 

Maybe you will not see it same as we
who’ve watched the seasons bloom;
though there’s no doubt you’ll offer
room to tender you our avid love

Your gorgeous smile accords in kind for
what we find to draw us in so willingly
a glow inclined within your sphere
as welcoming and sweet reward
© 13 July 2010, I. D. Carswell

Charlotte Lily Carswell – age one year

Naming Of The Shrew

I wonder if the others
see it in you too, this
blanched intransigence –
this naming of the shrew

Being fair I guess you’ve
reason pure to wash me from
your hair; unusually the words
describing me are true

Although I disagree on lilt
and muted shriek tonality
I do not misconstrue my role
and know who’s changed

From what I see it’s evident
you’re not deranged but
brittleness and something
new confuses here

Fixation takes the place
of reason’s sovereignty, a
shortness in the breath declaims
your usual fluent speech

Expansive views are too
effete or deigned as useless
answers stating who or what
you judge will wear the blame
© 15 June 2010, I. D. Carswell

Same Reasons

Can’t get a grip on it, damn
feeling eludes incarceration;
could I stare it in the face I’m
sure we’d see a lighted way

Comes from where I’m waiting
functionally displaced, edgily
aware no handholds or banisters
shore up assumed proclivity

So this is the stairwell to your
penthouse suite – you seem more
concerned with trembling than
avoiding something inimitable

What is there to be afraid of? Is
it a last supper of liberty before
the bond is made; would a wake
place things properly?

Don’t care for dissonance my
sweet, the reason is unmistakably
evident – we’re in it together
for the same pared reasons
© 12 July 2010, I. D. Carswell

Sleep

In truth I want to sleep but you
embrace the moment with a
greater zeal; the whispers urge
belief in what is in your arms
and real to touch – why sleep?
You are awake, it is enough!

Within a tender moment there
a tiny gem of wisdom bares its
rectitude; you sleep to wake it
says, you’ve slept for years and
now the pace is changed – as
you are freed awakening you
lose the need to sleep again
© 10 July 2010, I. D. Carswell

Sop

Said I’d get back to it
a wringing wet sop of a book
which even plagiarised itself
attempting originality

didn’t make it though – too
much respect for the dead left
no room to shake starving
fleas from its mane

been bitten by contemplation
estranged of origins – victims
of self deceit chasing shadows
shouting extravagant names
©9 July 2010, I. D. Carswell

Invocation

the first words I read are those
you pen, brief and to the point –
and then the music wells within

it is a symphony unleashed, an
invocation where your scent is
seed that manufactures dreams

in wafted gentle breath afloat
upon unspoken promises I see
and understand your brevity

simplicity and grace conspire to
make aesthete the man whose
greed would triumph over me
© 9 July 2010, I. D. Carswell

Depths

Some awakening
that infinite, atavistic
part of me said plainly where is she
this woman of unplumbable depths
the visceral epicure devouring
overt symbols of masculinity
look at me, erect and proud
bow and pay homage

and she curtseyed sweetly
smiled her secret smile
softening the walls of centuries
crumbling cement surrounds; hands
wove mystic sigils in electric air
burned without touching – her
unplumbable depths
called his name
© 8 July 2010, I. D. Carswell

Enigma

In the time it took to think of it
a whole song-book of melodies
happened; wasn’t tunes we’re
used too or ever knew for that
matter – but the themes linger

cannot walk away from flavour
which defines me; you’ve eaten
it and I you; the savour is so
specific it exceeds us – says,
hey, let’s dwell on this enigma

stationary at the gates to whom
the legendary visionaries pay a
quaint obeisance; it’s a playful,
“Will you dance the next quadrille?”
Or shall I play with myself...
© 7 Jul 2010, I D. Carswell

Ambit

Didn’t start out this way, kept
mostly to the old straight and
narrow – guess it no accident
I changed though; I had seen
where mass impacts reason
insanity breeds as a form of
reassuring stability – so

gittin’ drunk ever’ night takes
on mo’ of an ambit – yeah, ah
know y’ don’t unnerstan’, says
whut I am but; looked it up in
a dictionary, it means: domain,
field, realm, sphere, territory –
that sort of thing.

It’s my bag. Like I’m in place
and there’s no mistaking who
or what’s here; sober ‘til 6 pm
and hey whoopee – lookit ‘im
boogie! Playing fool for free in
my own space hurting nobody
is ambit ‘nuff fo’ like’s of me
© 25 May 2010, I. D. Carswell

Political Scatology

Let’s hear it for the latest news
about political popularity – applaud
however you wish, one hand
clapping is deemed okay

On this one it seems bad news
for Government doesn’t obey a
maxim of usually being good for
the Opposition

Both took a hammering

Disaffected voters polled found
reason to shift allegiance to the
Greens, hardly earth shattering
but pollies will pee their pants;

I’d expect to hear wailing up here
when headline news beams in
a few investigative experts on
scatological interviews
© 1 June 2010, I. D. Carswell

Toco Toucan

We silently crucify toco toucan
who brays ceaselessly, at last
there is peace in awareness of
oneness – but say it is merely
away dreaming, astutely asleep 
in the rainforest greening

this is a numb beast untamed
by indenture to poetry gods –
there is no redeeming feature
for its advocacy or to beg an
air of forbearance; crucifixion
through silence is humane

it is said there is room in these
Halls for all who love passion in
words written with flair and an
ear tuned to a hint of poesy, toco
toucan preys on the deaf-mute,
plays to no poetic god
© 3 June 2010, I. D. Carswell

Dog In The Manger

A birth to be and a passing
not what one foresees
on an ordinary Saturday

Good news arrived initially
a new grandchild conceived
announced at twelve weeks
expected December

Sweet Charlotte Lily will be
blessed with a sibling and
we shall greet our fourth
third generation descendent

Cause for celebration

Then death came sad on heels
of elation – the last hen left
met her fate in the teeth of
a neighbour’s intransigence

My dog wouldn’t go near your
hens, it is too good natured and
well trained, she protests
despite the evidence

Calling that beast a pet
misses an S before the T
but it explains why I’m
dog in the manger
© 5 June 2010, I. D. Carswell

Lament

Caught between
yesterday’s convention
and tomorrow’s probability means
no room for lament

Those strong anchors lost
to a neap tide create disputations
and restlessness – there
is no easy redemption

Even knowing the right words
provides no extra oxygen
– although I don’t aspire
to more than I need

Mind you, I’m not shouting
resentment on street corners
of your good nature – should I
abide by your rules?

If a figment of my imagination
why take it seriously? There’s no
need to regret what is gone
to justify being alone
© 21 May 2010, I. D. Carswell

Hayley’s Poem

It’s no surprise you energise
with wit and charm and grace
you have that bit of whimsy
blessed by rich and famous
faced – with awe we’re left to
be impressed in favour
fortunes found in you...
© 29 July 2010, I. D. Carswell
For 'daughter' Hayley

Prosit

Why does it happen to me? By
being a good citizen today and
assiduously applying brakes when
those bloody quirky lights changed
to amber the carton of beer in the
back slid forward, slammed
into the front of the Ute’s deck
and played morte conspicuously

Result: Three dead marines.

Okay, La Cerveza Mas Fina is
scarcely Pol Roger and I may have
been a trifle lazy in just biffing it in
the back in the first place – but I’m
a bloke who doesn’t see that far
into the future

I mean there’s always a chance lights
will change but who drives through life
planning on stopping on a dime decently?
As you can guess I’m really miffed

The only bright light on the horison
is a 21 gun salute planned for the
three dead marines –

Prosit!
© 1 June 2010, I. D. Carswell

Sasha’s Poem

dreams are rarely dressed
exotic as my Sasha’s air
of ambience – she wears
an atmosphere that takes
the breath away; daughter
to the seven seas and me
who pales in wake of waves
she weaves fantastically...
© 28 July 2010, I. D. Carswell
For 'daughter' Sasha...

Interpolation

Unnerving? A little I guess
but that obstruction pressed
intimately against your buttocks
takes an uneasy breath to discern

Seated discretely doing what comes
naturally in the place intended knowing
your friends will take delight in calling
means you’re not exactly alone

But the damn cell phone doesn’t shriek
abuse when disposed of into the pants you
just pulled up pleased you succeeded
without social discourse intervening

And then the unsettling sensation
something interpolates between you
and your nether region – suggesting
perhaps, okay, call me now, damn you!
© 19 June 2010, I. D. Carswell

First Frost

aching grey has leached
from sombre banks of dreary
cloud and gentle white abounds
in thinning strands caressing
hill surrounds

a clearing mist has wrest
away this torpid mood of
dissonance – while hesitant
at first the sun’s return
is paled and wan

coolness of the atmosphere
suggests a settlement
is due, we’ll pay before the
days at end – no
frost relief in view
© 21 June 2010, I. D. Carswell

Half A Shoe

like half a shoe I guess
something that gets
between you and terra firma
but not especially
and you don’t feel much better for it 

like saying reflectively
and with due respect for the analogy
these are mores
we’re all familiar with
so let it be

but it confuses;
if we’re all that witless it follows
eventually like half an idea
that the shoe’s other half
isn’t there to make a difference
© 21 June 2010, I. D. Carswell

Listen To The Universe

Kind of crazy to glibly
acknowledge destiny explains
sudden inertness of tissue where
feelings bloom; an infarct of mind perhaps
emotional blood supply blocked
by an overindulged imagination
run awry

Too easy to claim the cause
exceeds mind’s eye machinations
grows fungus-wild in rich nutrient
saved for a rainy day or just an aberration
– true love never runs smooth
that’s what they say 

But it won't go away
unless the right key is turned
the true words uttered;
isn’t a game - there are no rules
humility being who has the key
and Providence
the words

Free your ears
listen to the
Universe
© 15 July 2010, I. D. Carswell

Classic

the idea was classic 
half a shoe said enough to get you in... 
though just for an instant suppose
most of what you think is obvious – hint,
swearing under your breath’s a giveaway

yeah, we know those facial tics and
grimaces date back to the 60’s
even a laconic hand brushing
back hair is passé – but half
a shoe, wow, there’s a trick!

like half an idea sort of half way
containing half a tread on reality
where half a hit of the best snort
doesn’t get too complicated by
snowing you down, and there 

you see half a shoe getting
you in under the door...
© 21 June 2010, I. D. Carswell

Duvet

an innocent request
bring me a duvet cover, no
more no less – sort of thing
one sees as ordinary

Queen size please – perhaps
the maroon and dark green
one in the linen cupboard,
pillow slips too, if possible?
Why yes, not a big ask, will
do, that’s a sure-can

anything you need is fine
but tell me just this once
– do you ever regret?
19 months since you left
yet you recall exactly where
everything is like yesterday

for me its palsied terrain
delving into a linen closet
is to trespass dangerously;
I’m ashamed I failed you but
to be reborn a duvet might
mean I am some comfort
© 4 June 2010, I. D. Carswell

Your Idea

unrestrained space
is no less a burden when
its yoke wears thin – like liberty
it chafes upon a nakedness that
bares its unchaste odium

it is no secret loneliness is
feeling’s death – nascent dreams
all need corporeality; despair
proves less a living thing than a
reminder of what might have been

there is no ease or comfort where
dimensions freed all flee the blight
of walls or faces smiling in accord
with suppositions saying clear
that this indeed was your idea
© 28 May 2010, I. D. Carswell

Harvesting Nuts

With this morning’s coffee
to supplant what could have
been post-coital benevolence
I’ll likely stay languid and
be indolent until the day
kicks in the door

Outside a grey and leaden
sky demands nothing of me
merchantly softening sounds
of whining machinery echoed
surreally along tree rows
sweeping up macadamias

Been at it for days; their damn
persistence tries a set of
lunatic precepts that mills
lassitude from honest endeavour
but I won't be ground down
in their abrasive resonance

I plan to join the cacophony
on my own terms, orchestrate
counterpoint to the ceaseless
whine with explosive bursts
of joyful energy – and sing
while I mop the floor
© 23 June 2010, I. D. Carswell

Want To Woo

Too like a syncopated meet of
Latin rhythms chaste to ancient
limbs – I want to dance with
you, ‘tho I’m no sleek Lothario
its you I want to woo.

But what of you – or did I miss
an obvious appraise of whom
and what we’d hoped to be?
From here the who and what
will be a choice for only you

I leave it all to your surmise; I
am a guest to compromise – a
last resort before the thought of
past anaemic what & for it could
or should or might have been...
© 25 June 2010, I. D. Carswell

Afternoon Delight

a gift
of clefted lips lascivious as
caring sighs exchanged for words

there is
no script embracing roles in this
embrasure to romance

awareness
plays in sunlit glinted wetness smiled
by infinite largesse

less it is
encumbrance than the baring, a gracious gift
of entrée freely made

insightfully
and yet a furtive murmuring of urgent breath
you weep:

...sky rockets in flight
afternoon delight
a-a-after-noon delight!
© 18 July 2010, I. D. Carswell