Acceptance

When people seem unprompted
beaming you a warm, accepting
smile should you assume it has
something to do with bona fides?

Or infer a consensus of approval,
like you’re a familiar with secure
history known – although lacking
formal application, or deduce a

Tolerance of faux anonymity, an
eponymous trait to be expected
of properly doing a job well with
a sociable ‘sales assistant’ face

Hard to say, but more than once
on such occasions those seminal
& voluntary smiles effused – and
even others have paused to grin

Expectancy modifies conceit so,
rides a shoulder once diffident to
all effete encounters in an aisle
implying importunate opportunity

Though it can’t be me, a vaguely
obvious retiree in trimmed grey
beard attracting cute attention,
must be another poetic beast

If smiles can mean more than
socially deferential demeanour 
one assumes as only polite but
truly neutral courtesy, then –

Maybe it’s not as diplomatically
impartial as it seems; one gets
an impression these events are
agreeing you’ve arrived
© 21 February 2012, I. D. Carswell

Scented Futures

You could be forgiven for thinking something
was in the wind – political zephyrs freshened
the day after dissolution of State Parliament;
in an all too obvious sense malodours we’ve
been used to were over-powered by Versace
sweatsuits over-endowed in rank underwear
scented with soured armpits, glaring portent
of about-to-be-plumbed decadent depths
campaigns will sink to for electoral support:
were we to vote on smell alone then I guess
the most putrid pile earns greatest political
respect – though we’d have to learn leaning 
a long way upwind making objective choices 
for more or less rose-scented futures
© 20 February 2012, I. D. Carswell
Queensland goes to the Polls 24 March 2012

Buy Fly Spray

So you start a list of things
to do with an opening item
‘Write A To-Do List’; it’s a
moment of consequence,
stirs immediate feelings
of accomplishment and
imminent prospects
of dizzying success

Something bugs you ‘tho,
non-specific, an irritation
like an annoying fly
buzzing randomly –
but it’s not too intrusive;
you place the opening
item centrally using
capitals and bold type

On second thoughts,
increase to size 20,
underline, add highlighter:
look at that, desired impact
achieved, it’s formidable!
buzzing gradually
dwindles into awe
of rapt silence

Now who is it says you
can’t get things done
without a plethora
of avoidance strategies,
ingrained procrastination
and creative diversions –
see, there’s the proof
– with grandiose buzz

And that reminds me: 
‘Buy fly spray’
© 17 February 2012, I. D. Carswell

Embrace

Shouldn’t be surprised that family embrace
transmutes in different ways; once it was a
doubtless surety of who you were and why
we’re bonded in a unity of thought & deed,
if we disagreed it said exactly why or how
our common ground had disappeared

If one traces all the ways we kept in touch
throughout those growing years or paused
in dotage of today it will amaze the sceptic
hidden in the folds of fellowship – easiness
expressed our words the best in births and
deaths but claimed no secret parentage

We’re not the same; need to list a hundred
similarities can equally describe disparities
which do exist, and in this stands a reason
why we are this way, we share a name in
common but as entities still free to chose
to be embraced within a gracious family

We are that family – it claims our heritage
as plain as dark defines the night and light
attests the day; we find delight in sibling
charity and care to keep its torch alight to
guide those few who’re compromised, just
one or two, ‘tho should you be surprised?
© 16 February 2012, I. D. Carswell

A Thousand Words

Isn’t true to what the picture says if
you’re shrugging it off already as an
aberration - apart from staging a posed
class photograph there’d be no way of
getting that gang’s attention easily

It may have something to do with the
tradition of a common cause and a few
refined drinks in hand while standing
in the Ante Room of the Cadet’s Mess
awaiting the call to dine

I guess a difference is the way we
seemed so damn innocently dressed
in customary regalia which wasn’t
too preposterously inane for who
and what we were supposed to be 

We weren’t all into pretence, but
there’s no way we’d agree we were
the same – no grander personality or
stronger presence took centre stage
uniformly dressed as casually!
© 26 April 2012, I. D. Carswell

Those Early Words

Reading those early words wryly
brings fragile pleasure – a spare
grin lingers, there’s a rare uplift
in spirits usually dour to baseline;
seems we’re almost reconciled in
denying the same consequences
concealing a leer long lost from
fabulous ages past and gone

And they were treasured times for
sure – flair omnipresent, no doubt
concerns and we could never fail;
purity of thought pranced casually
on pages, frolicked in open rhyme
and aired rhythms in a burlesque
extravagance – nothing mattered
but the words and what we were

Cheered by pure innocence and a
heart of gold it shocked to learn
not all shared the same nature; it
was there we forged armour worn
as bonhomie – swallowed all the
elixirs dictionaries contained and
swore allegiance to a glamorous
view of our brand new unity

Yes, power springs again from
the same words – it means we’re
still in resonance, less upbeat but
in tune nonetheless; these days
we’d allay others fears with more
circumspect consideration but we
still agree with that oblique leer,
claustrophobic tongue in cheek
© 15 February 2012, I. D. Carswell

ANZAC DAY, 2012

ANZAC DAY, 2012

Won’t be attending Dawn Parade, not for
lack of belief, nothing makes this occasion
less than unique – to not think of the boys
who laid down their lives at dawn this day
demeans the purity of their sacrifice

But to prove my fidelity only by being in a
crowd at dawn won’t make me more clearly
committed or less grateful; there are many
ways to say thank you but none is better
than ably embracing our true freedom

For that I give thanks; knowing what dawn
meant as a soldier tells me I do not break
ranks or show disloyalty, uniformed peers
who shared the same agree on sanctuary
of a clear and unrestrained conscience

Every dawn that wakes me to the world we
live in confirms my memories, they remain
cogent and clear between these esteemed
anniversaries, a contiguous consciousness
of what was and will not go away

Pardon me, I won’t see you at dawn today,
perhaps later, a rum or two mellifluously
easing old soldier aches and pains, a yarn
reminisced loquaciously over, an old bone
we can still chew
© 25 April 2012, I. D. Carswell

In Best Tradition

In best tradition but less unruly energies
we came to celebrate his life reverently,
attest his passing

Each weighed real encumbrances sadly,
freed them for him to a better place
and rested gladly
 
Fidelity decreed he be lauded an honour
guard’s conscience of strong shoulders,
of frank admiration

And so it was an empathic farewell just
as it is in life and in death on this,
John Pfrunder’s last day
© 13 February 2012, I. D. Carswell

Runaway

I recall it as the day he ran away –
he’d rode into the City on a bus
and shat his pants, then lost his
nerve and couldn’t recollect to
where he’d meant to go or why
he was upon a metro bus alone

Without a fare it wouldn’t take
him to his Rosebud home in Vic
for sure, ending up at Central
Station Sydney where his recent
memories just didn’t fit the least
bit comfortably with all of this

A phone call redefined his mute
distress – a bracelet on his wrist
contained our number, thus it was
we could express concerns for his
return; we met his bus beside
the age-care home bemused

His smile was real indeed, smell
a little rank, it was relief enough:
the driver shrugged off our profuse
apologies for Dad – hey, he said,
no problems – though I’m glad
I wasn’t sitting in his pants.
© 9 February 2012, I. D. Carswell

Barbeque

Better you knew before the
disappointment spread a
mordant pall of gloom; the
ardent hours preceding it
had fed a focussed mood,
curious and upbeat energy
unleashed and progressed
readiness with honest flair

Food had been prepared with
practised ease of many years,
belying skills you’d swear on
oath could make a barbeque
a culinary fete of rare and
mindful praise reviewed – or
just another backyard bash
with plenty beer ‘n sausages

The phone-call didn’t set a
precedent although it came
with news that bared a soul
or two; but who’d ’v guessed
agendas tautly stressed by
histories of incidents beyond
our ken for reasons, blessed
we’d be, to ever understand

There’ll be no guests today it
said, not five or more, plus two;
originally we planned for twice
that crowd – with leeway one
allows for casual passages of
fate, although the sixteen we
debated seemed a wee bit
shy of circumstantial proof

In the event we are aloof and
free of wry distress, the place
is clean, gleams a welcoming,
blazes warm anticipation such
it pays in dividends we’ll not
regret for weeks – which is
about the time its gonna take,
I guess, to eat the extra food
© 6 February 2012, I. D. Carswell

No Worries

Please – they’re colloquial sayings,
confusing yes, but more or less all
street expressions dressed in local
clothes; lingo to expose an upbeat
fluency for some to add in rhyme,
an idiom to die for – which we do,
slow-baked at least with the likes
of rustic ‘crikey’s’ graceful taste

What would sway you to our way?
It’s not an affectation when you say
and mean each word since sanity’s
explained in ‘but’ at sentence end –
& yet again this penchant’s mere
proclivity to double speak in debt
© 7 February 2012, I. D. Carswell

Achieving Holiness

A bare moment’s cleanliness warns
of imminent death; no question that
virtue comes at the obtuse end of a
duster wielded deftly – there are no
accolades to ring in this room swept
clean of poetic debris, no carolling a
desk conscience-clear, of farewells to
hook and feather littered aspirations

But eyes feast on space wondrously
free of disparate signs someone else
lived here – discarded skin cells and
detritus of defoliate hair, of oblique
insights estranged, compliments to
order as change achieves holiness
© 5 February 2012, I. D. Carswell

Recovered Space

An intrusion of differences makes
casual statements where change
is a rare guest – and dissonance,
one can accept that as a fair and
honest effect, like an almost post-
traumatic consequence to come

So the new filing system will be a
fragile time in the making, not an
effect of rearrangement, more an
idea of recovered space left of its
own unacclimated habit to reach
an unspecified destination

Personality deems a long view of
influence – thus a few dimensions
will remain unchanged if subtlety
wins the race, with less need for
refurbished ideas, more cause to
place a few mementos casually

Yet interchange of who feels the
most done-by leads implicitly to
complete understanding, seen in
a new statement of our affection
making displays of where we’re
really living and actually at
© 3 February 2012, I. D. Carswell

Conversations In Dog

It all began, I’d to dare say, with rousing tête-à-tête in Dog –
of late a patios so new that few
will understand implicitly

dup dup ah
ooh wee ip
ar boop

Eyelids light with mooted dog surprise – a face which rarely
lists or registers complaint is equally as compromised;
Huh! Oh Duh, I guess you talk to me?

alum ah ha
oh lah de de
bedoop

But I digress – the chance that fame awaits the one who
occupies this harebrained space embarks
aloof with each inanity

My dog attests a human heart with feelings worn abreast
his every need – now if he had a sleeve he said
he’d show me so

And dips his head as if to say, well you’re alright old mate, a
bit eccentric but it’s great that you express yourself,
if not convincingly –

So when I sing your praises loud by howling to the moon you
may oblige in sweet duet of choral harmony
without the threat

Of excommunication, banishment or death by most salacious
means; now I’d expect a friendly pat while you can
renegotiate a pact

Before I look to place this nonsense where all wiser souls
will see it graced on Facebook pages they habituate
when cruising outer space
© 2 February 2012, I. D. Carswell

Solar Insurrection

Supposing those noises from the
roof suggests progress towards
autonomy, and relief from crude
electricity reseller’s intrigues of
avarice, may only express one’s
depth of consummate naïveté;

In an endless quest to get you
where seductive ideas of liberty
frame disingenuous strategies,
blasé thumps of footsteps and
high-pitched drilling sounds are
there to placate subliminal fears

You already paid hard cash for this
array - incentive rebated certainly,
but with no guarantee the benefits
only accrue to you; and they won’t
for the most unutterably obvious
and commercially simple facts

Solar panel installers are didactic
parts of a food chain you’re bottom
of - thus new arrays of 250w plates
do proclaim urbane beliefs but make
false statements about who and
what really runs things

Commercial interconnects dictated
this dream-time anarchy, you will
be compensated if the sun shines
gladly and has their metres running
backwards - that is the economic
flavour of sham magnanimity

You’ll use much of what you make -
even be independent with surpluses
on-sold at the going rate; but you’ll
still pay them a facility fee for the
privilege of generating and using
your own home-made solar energy

Then in the depths of night things
change; ghouls appear to feed when
the day dies - pre-paid kWh credits 
you gained in the light consumed by 
insatiable, incredibly intense, dark-
matter finagles 
© 1 February 2012, I. D. Carswell

Adversaries

Calling Japie referees
unseemly words denigrates
(perhaps) their origins – yet
cures the curse of rugby’s
oldest prejudice

Their unfamiliar antics
are explained with tact in
cultural terms – but whistle
in the hand excepts they’re
wrong and that’s a fact

The rules they recognize
we do not comprehend; it
shows as fey behaviour
more eclectic than the
set we get at home

So when we lose again
we say, predicably –
they’re colour-blind and
one-eyed bastards who
can’t see the other team

Yet ‘referee’ maintains
they arbitrate between
adversaries – meaning two
at least, unless ‘to referee’
now makes it three
© 26 March 2012, I. D. Carswell

The Barnes And Noble Way

Cup cakes as the reward stake in
a seven point solution to writer’s
block failed – as did the invasion
of small black ants in the pantry;
even a blown head gasket in the
tractor early this morning merely
occasioned dyspeptic reflux and
not full-blown, rebellious angst

Good heavens, should I be more
wary with whom I communicate
or do symptoms barely represent
an awkward feint out of left field,
the words were always there to
be plagiarised, cup cakes or none
© 31 January 2012, I. D. Carswell

http://bnreview.barnesandnoble.com/t5/Grin-Tonic/How-to-Write/ba-p/6713#.TydR43dLXdQ.email

Cinderella’s Quandary

For want of a shoe was
the dream near lost, for want
of a clean pair of heels we’ve
cost ourselves whatever
credit was amiably lodged
in an embassy of 40 years

there’s no credible excuse
less lack of diligence for
a debacle where PM &
Leader of the Opposition
were compromised through
their own intransigence

Lèse majesté, one may
hypothesize, both for and
against – and win with
intent muted to a jaded
sigh of regret; what happened
to mutual deference?

The Opposition Leader sees
missed opportunity, not Cinderella’s
quandary; but would he wear
blue size eight suede shoes – a
worthy question answered,
yes, improbably!
© 28 January 2012, I. D. Carswell

Prime Minister's Julia Gillard shoe returned to Parliament House

• From: AAP
• January 27, 20124:15PM

MEMBERS of the Aboriginal tent embassy have returned Julia Gillard's missing shoe after the prime minister lost it during her flight from a protest yesterday.

The right-foot blue suede shoe was handed to a security guard just outside the doors of the main entrance at Parliament House tonight.

The shoe was believed to have been transported to Capital Hill by car.

Ms Gillard lost the size-eight shoe when she and Opposition Leader Tony Abbott were rushed away by security personnel from a Canberra restaurant where they were surrounded by Aboriginal activists.

Comments made yesterday by Mr Abbott sparked a protest by Aboriginal activists at the restaurant near the tent embassy, which was set up outside Old Parliament House 40 years ago.

The protesters believed Mr Abbott had suggested it was time to scrap the embassy.

Related Coverage

• PM's adviser tipped off protestors Courier Mail, 1 hour ago
• PM staffer forced to quit over leak Herald Sun, 1 hour ago
• Protesters set Aussie flag on fire The Daily Telegraph, 1 hour ago
• Flag burns in fresh protest Courier Mail, 1 hour ago
• Police to investigate protesters after clash Perth Now, 1 hour ago

Ms Gillard and the coalition leader were forced to run a gauntlet of protesters after police and security feared for their safety and advised them to leave the venue.

The shoe had been placed on eBay before it was pulled from the online auction site today.

The starting price for the shoe had been $148.

Hard Lessons

Learned the hard way again today,
don’t mess with dishwashers; best
to show respect, appreciate & learn
that there’s rather more than only
one means to get the dishes clean:

it’s a fact, disconcertingly unusual
sounds are faux indicators of fault,
warnings expressed acoustically &
pitched within masculine auditory
sensitivity are designed to spread

discord or fear – & flashing lights
still invoke bewilderment without
explaining, occasioning nothing to
engender a sense of relief, yet so
prejudicially gain attention intact

the rest easily falls into place; it’s
female in there – a breasted genie
who has you over your own barrel
of misgivings; she will not give an
inch until you say – ‘please!’
© 27 January 2012, I. D. Carswell

The Ice Barely Melted

Happy National Barbeque
Day, & more pertinently,
perhaps – may there be
many benevolent returns
of the cultural cringe
which typically suggests
we’re Antipodeans

No worries, mate, it’s
Australia Day when anything
reasonable goes well with a
cold beer, even a sticky
wicket, but don’t be an
ingrate and burn the
bloody sausages, okay

Listen to iconic music by
legendary groups like Men
At Work, Cold Chisel, The
Seekers ‘n even Midnight
Oil – or the cricket – chew
the fat about this and that
waiting on the barbeque

Sure, there’s a mob of
rules about being proud,
civil and responsible on
Australia Day – like not
getting too pissed to drive
home, which seems to be
up at the top of th’ list

But if you’re already home
that lot scarcely matters
a toss – so rip the scab gladly
off another coldie and
contemplate what a dead
loss it’d be if eskies
hadn’t been invented

Tomorrow you can quite
truthfully say – yeah, can’t
remember how the prawns
tasted but, hooray, the ice
in the esky had barely
melted by the time the
barbie was ready anyway
© 26 January 2012, I. D. Carswell

Doddery Notes

A slew of doddery notes today –
correcting a few misstated doodles
from recent introspective scribbling,
none too glaring, like gratuitously
misreading twelve as seventeen in
context of millions of YouTube hits
nevertheless it flies farcically close
to supposedly not caring a wit for
cues true to their origins; really it
confirms I need better glasses or
much more proof-reading

And there is the idea of Muslims in
ASIO – a new brood of super spies
recruited to religiously keep tabs on
dissidents; surely it being openly
debated suggests they’re already
in place trained to act as an old
regime’s cosmopolitan new face
the question is upon whom they
spy, and what eager information
gained changes the way we view
threats to tolerance and civility

Preposterously elections loom, and
as a rule of thumb, the less we hear
about whomever the more we’re to
fear; seems an adequate amount of
political trash has been aired to ease
those worries – though LNP mates
of mine charily express views on
leadership selection which doesn’t
placate their concerns about exactly
who will run the government if, in
fact, they’re actually elected

Been a fair amount of rain these
past weeks, like predicted change
in climatic patterns which our best
armchair sceptics scoffed over until
red-faced; water has risen a bit in a
wet that doesn’t follow rules they
say proves there’s nothing to it but
interpretive hiccups in bare data
substantiated as wrong assumption
based in the first place – well, we’ll
see how next high tide fares

And me, 67 going on 17, peeved
with authority, dreary peer group
mores and grey skies as endless as
pessimistic inevitably of forecasting
a decline in outreach of humanity;
there may be inescapable elements
suspended in a past lingering with
bleak half-truths of reality ignored
long enough to be pure artefacts –
but I don’t want to be one too
© 25 January 2012, I. D. Carswell

Shopping By Phone

A list of groceries on a mobile
phone’s note pad seems a bit
corny; still it beats back of an
envelope hollow ‘tho mail still
arrives, bills mostly, delivered
randomly – yet with this ruse
it’d seem a step closer to the
real deal of on-line shopping

It has a downside, fine notions
of frugality & recycling appear
at odds; irreconcilable ends to
woebegone means its said, if it
makes sense – which it does if
the event’s a misplaced phone
© 24 January 2012, I. D. Carswell

Jolliffe Tales

While I may have hooted loud a
mite irreverently about the mob
whom Eric Jolliffe enshrined I’m
not about to now; his rustic icons
bob their scruffy brows to cite a
country life they made surreal.

Okay, cartoons for real, although
I view the case and see lampoons
we tacitly agreed as fair – but if a
vintage of his comedy acclaimed
all Ettamogah Pubs were deigned
to own those scenes exclusively

I’d too gladly stay away. Alright, I
lunched there yesterday – had a
beer or two, saw no cockatoos in
boots, used the loo and liked the
muted decor’s parody of what the
past just might have been – that’s 

what I went to see. Now people 
lunch most sumptuously, sip a
beer or three, languidly relax to
atmosphere it seems was real 

as way back when the locals 

came to liven up the shack 

And kids agree with boundless 

energy and great delight to roles
of yesterday, playing characters
in boldly comic claims of old as
real as Eric’s repertoires had ever
deigned that it should be
© 20 January 2012, I. D. Carswell

Distant Origins

it is an anger that expresses frustration
better than blind rage – there are clear
demarcations; and it is thus the whom,
what and where of it is never in doubt to
this as yet & unlikely to be expurgated
version of events – now largely lost to
internecine turns and manifold twists
of intricate machinations of fate

still seems strange the late blame stays
fresh against amelioration of latter day
evidence, and its consequence; there’s
less restraint now explaining anomalies
estranged to feelings never illuminated
originally against their distant origins
© 19 January 2012, I. D. Carswell

Soundless Waste

a hollow twist where emptiness
evacuates, no joy in being here,
no life in this now vacant space
where echoes ring in soundless
waste where ear’s rewards are
ever rare; portentous voices do
persist within a dourly sad remiss
as haunting as its poisoning

this enmity of silence schemes a
harsh rebuke for guileless dreams
you’ve yet in confidence to bare;
disgrace afflicts naivety whose
innocence is counsel’s plea with
words they whisper patently
© 18 January 2011, I. D. Carswell

Rainy Season

Prospects are diluted today, rained
steadily from 3 am through to the
present though a few drier spells
were registered vaguely – oddities
where discrete horizon's reappeared
then merged seamlessly into grey

Even knowing the hills behind this
opaque containment are still there
fails to dim obduracy of dread, ease
feelings of drear imperfection; it is
as if a prophecy ended conjecture,
challenged a veneer of change

And I don’t know where this day’s
oblique separation intends – there’s no
hint of benign intervention, intrigue of
bigger egos’ & their avid expectation;
but it would seem to me only pallid
prospects continue to play

Will it end with a bang or a whimper
shivered in a half-breath caught fast
between expletive surprise and sigh
of regret; yet there’s still more to
come, they say, these are early days
the season’s wet has just begun
© 16 January 2012, I. D. Carswell

Canons Of Democracy

To vote or not to vote, that
is the question; whether ‘tis
nobler in the mind to agree
Canons of Democracy mean
a right to absence – or be
bound at odds and ends by
casting donkey votes hence
enforced and compulsory

Should greater fear be of a
fine pursued by ambivalent
debt collection agencies, or
idiocy’s anal claim of a mien
of ‘citizenship’ perpetuated
in obligatory cupidity

Friends, stay the acid pens,
listening to moronicism’s of
ABC’s pm listeners suggests
respondents don’t care; old
hard-arse measures meant
decent Aussies square-toed
the line or else went back
where they came from

Seems the stick’s politically
wet end – pedantically too
bereft commonsense signs
of diversity which makes us
Democracy’s best reason to
stay here in the first place
© 3 April 2012, I. D. Carswell

Sure, it is April, with an All Fool’s ambivalence in the air. First up QLD State elections followed by local body – & presumably similar quick smart Federal mayhem will follow. Yes, you don’t need to guess what I think about the compulsory nature of enrolment and voting in Australian elections. It comes from differences between a ‘right’ and a ‘duty’.

Having been a soldier for 21 years I’ve got the ‘duty’ bit sorted – but it seems I don’t get to exercise a ‘right’ except as duty. And then I have to make allowances for arrant political moronicism claiming the ’right’ but rarely performing the duty. If an election result includes donkey votes then we’ve the appropriate donkeys in the manger; maybe it’s time to feed ‘em what they freely dispense ...
 

http://www.aec.gov.au/About_AEC/Publications/voting/index.htm