Know The Difference

Too early to pass judgment - there’s no way 
you can assess easily whether this birthday 
will be the best ever; it is safer to say any a 
year you survive rests where accolades are 
rare salutes earned on life’s event parade  

Being a good judge of fortune’s benefice is 
all the reward needed to be thankful and at 
peace, no need for gaudy tributes or lease
feasting on fancies you’ll seldom see make 
the grade to gratuitous embrace anyway 

So there we’ll let it stand; awakening warm 
and comfortable began a day to keep mind 
of what cannot be changed; there’s many a 
decade between you & what once was, yet 
what is does not judge that separation 

Be thankful you know the difference …

© 6 September 2014, I. D. Carswell

This Poet turned 69 years of age on this day … 

ISIS Insularity

Whether calling them Wahhabists, shaking your head 
aghast at resurgence of that ‘grey’ doctrinairism won't 
stop these relics from murdering; Sunni versus Shi’ite, 
or any in their way of achieving an ‘Islamic’ Statehood 
where infidel fodder will be used as grist to the mill of 
Islam’s inspired intransigence: their aim is recreation, 
not integration, Islam to be purified in all Imams’ eyes 
shaded of gross crimes ‘created in doctrinal purity’ 

The secular world can go bless itself stupid, and even 
if it exists - won’t have long left before a new regime’s 
auspices will convert all that; the choice is change, or 
death - either you accept their belief or cease to be, it 
is that easy in their reasoning; notoriously murderers 
are given to simplistically insular modes of thought 

© 3 September 2014, I. D. Carswell

Between Materialities

flat-out wavering between materialities, a 
guilt-trip down denouement lanes of one-
way memory, remembered vaguely; said 
it isn’t like cruising on empty, at least not 
in the sense of anxious gauge watching - 
although if you’re past that stage all ears 
subsume in an engine’s beat; & all of the 
analogies carry facets of truth we ‘oldies’ 

deny occasionally - but cannot escape in 
an accidental reprieve of favour; we’re all 
products guaranteed of whom we were - 
even so the ‘who really was he?’ theme 
stings like over-enthused backslaps too 
jocularly delivered to be less insulting 

so we fake it any which way; there isn’t a 
choice you alone have unless you own a 
identity patent for real - tho’ crikey, we’re 
still breathing aren’t we, or is imagination 
running over-time; n’ who’s bloody turn’s 
it now to change the beast’s pages…

© 5 September 2014, I. D. Carswell

Tawny Blessing

‘Tawny Frogmouth’ no less, but not an owl and 
not t’ be muddled with ‘The Southern Boobook’  
which is (and called mopoke); don’t ask, it’s as 
obvious as the noise it makes - which suggests 
the further south you go the weirder sound that 
differentiates, ending in the Tasmanian Spotted 
Owl or Morepork which is in KiwiLand too; yep 
be confused, and they all look very much alike 

But th’ mate I’m onto was a local who’d staked 
himself in broad daylight on the lawn obviously 
unafraid letting me take pictures before he flew 
away into the ash tree; didn’t answer my query 
wotcha up t’ cobber, yet afforded an imperious 
glance suggesting I go read Wikipedia asap 

Having done that I’m now intrigued with habits 
and habitat - seems they’re ace predators who 
like tasting both large & small insects regularly; 
having these guys happily located in fruit trees 
means the Orchard has ‘mopoke’ allies whose 
given-to cries are indeed blessings disguised 

© 11 September 2014, I. D. Carswell

Wind Me Up

Stereotypy - that awkwardly and indefinably 
least defence against someone’s taking the 
mickey out of you - or best offensive way of 
taking the piss; - being a wee bit offended’s 
not remiss - else you won’t be stereotypic - 
which is a predictable if not gross miss-use 
of sociometry suggesting we ‘got you on a 
string’ - ah ha, the inimitable yo-yo no less 

And here endeth this lesson; now wind me 
up, drop me by the way - gravity’s the only 
energy I’ll need to gain that head of steam, 
and when I’m up to speed you’d best be in 
a safer place than where you started what 
became an asymptotic reciprocity 

© 20 August 2014, I. D. Carswell

New Perspective

No, not dreaming it - seeing the evidence clearly, 

there’s clarity in an exceptional perspective here; 

it isn’t the game you’d usually expect, & because 

its called Rugby, that you’d see ‘same old, same 

old’ - but it isn’t the way these blokes are playing; 

there’s the physicality you’d hold as unavoidable 

demonstrably blessed in constructive energy, ok 

that’s a given, but it does not degrade strategies 

of proper team contribution - and that stalemates  

occasions where losing your rag is rank stupidity 

which won’t aid your cause, - but your mates are 

quick to see you need moral support; all of it was 

evidenced in two games of ITM Cup I’d manifest 

as compulsory viewing this past Sunday … 

© 24 August 2014, I. D. Carswell 

For the record:

Auckland 35 - Manawatu 7 
Tasman 56 - Bay of Plenty 27

Revelation

If the rain had intended suppress energy 
you didn’t possess it’d have won the day 
without argument - so an idea you might 
have had some say in it wasn’t credible - 
although you couldn’t express it anyway 
I mean what’s in an ‘empty’ failure threat 
when you intended doing nothing - ‘cept 
crack a beer ’n watch th’ Footy 

Look - you start to say, I’m not lacking in 
energy, but any weird notions on how to 
achieve things in the rain means getting 
wet - so we’ll can it as a dumb outcome; 
a warm seat, with outside views instead 
of raindrops dripping down your face, is, 

Believe me - an amazing revelation - 

© 23 August 2014, I. D. Carswell

Honeyed Words

It isn’t a criticism although it will seem so - like 

an unasked for vision where observation flows 

uneasily, but then the setting of priorities can’t 

be honey-like always; maybe in eventual taste 

you’ll sweeten to a view where what you think 

is the only true flavour allows new sensations, 

so without ceremony things get done with this 

difference in priority yet accomplish the same 

Even if it wasn’t done your way - did you think 

it disrespect in a new perspective, or even the 

identified enemy; it wasn’t keeping status quo 

safe if that meant don’t think it through, which 

has a quaint echo of your urgency - in spur of 

the moment we’d see a lifetime’s loquacity 

© 25 August 2014, I. D. Carswell

Stormy Weather

The only one here who’s unamused with any 

forecasters rhetoric is the dog; he’s confused 

by thunder, and lightening isn’t his first choice 

for entertainment - but to escape it ain’t really 

a choice as there’s nowhere soundproofed to 

a degree that would mean hiding out with his 

equanimity intact - so he’s lurking beside the 

rubbish bin next to the kitchen door ‘asleep’ 

When I indicated all the birds were still at it - 

entertaining each other in the trees he chose 

to ignore me; a pointed gesture of how dumb 

are you implied in his swift departure inside - 

and absence from his place beside my chair 

says it all - there’s no decency in you mate 

So I’m sitting here listening to the shush of a 

gentle rain while thunder rumbles out where 

the birds complain they need more moisture 

than this if they’re to get a decent bath; well - 

its my guess what they’d say if a dearth of it 

recently's worth such an erudite observation

© 27 August 2014, I. D. Carswell

Low-Pressure Event

Spent most of the day awaiting the windy weather 

predicted to ‘shriek’ us out of our misery - 90 knot 

gales they said - & naming just about everywhere 

near as being in th’ line of expiration - was gonna 

say fire, but wouldn’t consider it prudent use in th’ 

circumstances; and well, as yet it hasn’t raised its 

breath over a balmy zephyr’s happening, a ‘twixt 

‘n ‘tween situation that’ll perplex nobody badly 

But we’d have to wag a finger at terminology the 

meteorology set use, describing excessive better 

rather than in error; now whether the relief offers 

enough space t’ forgive ‘em for raving about that 

low-pressure offshore excretion moots the grace 

to recall tout suite they occasionally get it right 

© 28 August 2014, I. D. Carswell

Symptomatic Echoes

Whether you see it an affect of a local aberration 

or symptomatic echo resonating from hidden yet 

much larger conflagration, it’s fire and brimstone 

out there - fuelled actively by mouths of mullah’s 

whose motives are ‘pure’ as Qur’an’s citations - 

reading texts of obsolete events no less subject 

to interpretation; can silent majorities stand and 

correct jihadist views of what is true or right ?

There’s no easy answer where moderates ply a 

tortuous course between faith and unity - to fear 

judgement and its consequence in the hands of 

arms-bearing mujahideen risibly intent on ‘jihad’ 

seeking religious and moral perfection, says no 

choices remain beyond their abject silence 

Most atrocities committed on any day in this so-

called civilised World bear those marks we have 

come to perceive as endeavours ‘jihadis’ deem 

auspicious demonstrations of faith; in the event 

every death omnisciently demonstrates there’s 

no more room for more jaundiced applause 

© 29 August 2014, I. D. Carswell


http://worldmuslimcongress.blogspot.com.au/2013/09/muslims-condemn-destruction-of-signs-of.html

Opportunity Of Mischance

We actually play games with words when we refer 

the ‘conflict’ other’s see to an apathy of indigence; 

that its too self-centred to have any meaning from 

another’s point of view doesn’t disarm accusation, 

in claiming the rounds were incoming we’re telling 

what targets see of an avenue-narrow opportunity 

of mischance, they were aimed at ME; which may 

be true if you’re holding the RPG-29 - or an uzi 

But when a ‘target of opportunity’ isn’t claiming to 

be anything but an element of bizarre strategy I’d 

expect there’d be confusion as to why, & the plan 

may be anything but logical; the words play tricks 

with shell-shocked ears in ways you’ll try to deny 

rather than explain yourself ‘failing’ emphatically 

© 1 Sep 2014, I. D. Carswell

Ebola Grief

So imagine it this way, Ebola isn’t the enemy, leastways 

not in the sense of rabidly seeking vectors to spread its 

pestilence; bats do the deed, gorillas and chimpanzees 

initially the usual victims, a viral infection then transmits 

from carcasses, spreading deadly trails to all members 

of the clade or clan with its key being familial contact in 

the effects of intimacy - this is the saddest bit to grieve,  

catalyst for hideous and agonising hemorrhagic death 

But the disease does not mutate and spread on a whim 

randomly; there are clear and definable needs for virus’ 

spread which can and should be contained, but an idea 

that it isn’t as natural as it seems almost estranges their 

reasoning there is more to be explained - like a vaccine 

to combat what an incipient biological weapon might be 

© 27 August 2014, I. D. Carswell

Ass-Pi-Rations

Not my ass-pi-rations but close enough to suggest 

vodka complements toothpaste & best as a mouth 

wash; there you’ve been caring enough to make it 

an excuse for that hinted taint of evidence & when 

you’re caught out your bonafides remain intact; its 

vodka isn’t it; nah mouthwash you reply, hinting of 

largesse normally unobtainable unless the minted 

overtones come from a tube of toothbrush gel 

So what’s with the decadence then; mellowing, or 

a rage against the dying of the light - more a flight 

of fantasy & one, I contend, long overdue; do you 

remember when the waking ache could only be in 

part dispelled with gargled concoction nonsenses 

erasing undiluted vodkas of the previous evening 

© 21 August 2014, I. D. Carswell

Agreement

A ‘first’ agreement will need more parts than 
esoteric ideas, but given we are beyond that 
obligatory cannonade there’ll need be a slew 
of adjustment, we’ll have to accept change in 
what we used to value; with the bed unmade 
I’ll sleep less-rousing accolades - & probably 
alone as you already sleep in your TV chair, 
relaxed into preferred laptop snooze mode 

But it won’t remain this way, routines take on 
colours of their surrounds, blending into grey 
extensions deemed ‘wholes’ we are obliged 
to surmise; - for clarity we’ll examine all until 
they disappear - revealing new personalities 
to cosset - to treasure as our special reality 

It won’t happen in a day; - clouds obscuring 
transparency are seen permanent-featured, 
for-granted refusals paying nothing other to 
new, free-agent, witness-bared, old-agenda 
repaved-adages that rarely appeal; - thus it 
shouldn’t surprise you none was never true 

It isn’t forked-stick chance - or slick-tongued 
opportunistic badinage - its you and me at a 
crux of something that’s bigger than either of 
us combined; but if we do not become ‘one’ 
we’ll be at its mercy - easily divided - fools 
to multitudes of frivolous platitudes 

Thus ‘who’ matters isn’t me or you - it is ‘us’ 

© 15 August 2014, I. D. Carswell

Design

Saying you’re NOT impressed by esoteric design 

concepts bests the idea of what entertains so I’m 

not a good ‘epithets’ candidate; my feedback’s no 

fantasia of enthusiastic oohs and ahas playing th’ 

lost-to-reality game - psychosis is still disease I’d 

rather not recognise as symptoms of an amazing 

recherché-expressed design talent in a kitchen to 

die for if you’re not into cooking’s corporeality 

You can agree it looks sensational; the art-work’s 

avant-garde aestheticism, a stand-alone piece of 

collectors’ memorabilia displayed so assertively it 

will never be mistaken ‘a kitchen to be worked in’; 

did I dare say that, oh silly me - it must’ve been a 

languorous slip of the ogre’s tongue 

© 7 August 2014, I. D. Carswell

A Podge Perspective

Podge put it in perspective today - there 
are no dramas mate, or damned decency 
about it either - like most of the day away 
less any explaining beyond a doggy pout; 
I think he calls it a canine chuckle! What’s 
th’ GO cobber I ask, if it’s about your not 
knuckling down to discipline, you’ll need 
a cracker excuse to t’ buy a reprieve - 

Or’ll y’ go ratty on me for expecting you 
stay home. He replies with erudite smirk 
implying - So, y' got a problem? Y’ knew 
where I was, y’all didn’t come fetch me 
’til they texted - c’mon, I’m not naive, 
I was there - watching the fingers fly 

© 21 August 2014, I. D. Carswell

Better Ideas

It isn’t playing games, although recreational rules apply 
naming who’s on whose side; what we’re into here is a 
wiser supply of energy than brute force of saw - or axe 
to golden cane palms fractiously growing clumps into a 
view they’re supposed to compliment, not obscure; she
-who-is-to-be-obeyed initially applauds ‘pruning’ efforts 
but suggests it equates more to a ‘hand-wave’ in effect 
than a serious gesture - three tries later we’re done 

Yep you can see the in-need-of-a-spray lime trees now 
while the poinciana stands stark and clear, when it’s in 
flower it will be a breathtaking scene; succulents & the 
dragon plants beneath now have an aspirant’s chance 
to impress anyone who cares to see beyond what was 
an open mesh fence around an out-of-use dog’s pen 

You try to decide what’ve we actually achieved, or is it 
clear there’s more’n met eyes afore the golden cane’s 
demise - what subterfuge, what subtlety is afoot here - 
and do we need to have its measure clear? Ah, not so 
in a way which suggests sophisticated manipulation is 
surveying the best means of expressing better ideas 

© 13 August 2014, I. D. Carswell

Way To Go Jaco

Gee Jaco, that wasn’t your best display - not 
that you’ve memorably had that many of ‘em 
anyway; bit of lost cause I’d guess this trying 
to impose your ideas in th’ rain on a pitch as 
slippery as an eel with teams trying to play a 
really vigorous brand of Rugby you have yet 
to get into - then coordinate your whistle and 
brain into a unison we can understand 

There were moments when the teams gave 
up trying to comprehend what it was you’re 
supposedly attempting; they couldn’t get to 
grips with weird ideas purportedly behind a 
ruling because advantages didn’t accrue, & 
no expected player points arose from it too 

So if you’d tried to create a drawn scenario 
you succeeded, thus making a game blasé 
beyond any acceptable meaning because it 
failed to excuse referee dithering so evident; 
believe me, th’ IRB’ll be aware your goose 
is cooked and you’re no golden-egg layer 
© 18 August 2014, I. D. Carswell

Referee Jaco Peyper didn’t earn any Brownie points 
from his puzzling display, which seemed devoid of any 
explicable game control, in yesterday’s 12 - 12 drawn 
match between the Wallabies and All Blacks … 

Insurrection

Saying nothing was achieved in a day where 
skies greyed, then temperatures eased back 
to where the winter we’d hopefully left raised 
its serpent’s head and spat vituperation; that 
paved the way for my brand of insurrection - 
a supervisor’s seat in the lounge attending a 
fire engaged slo-roasting yesterday’s bounty 
of macadamia nuts dutifully gathered for free 

Only a hardy few remain hiding amongst the 
leaves - it means at almost season’s end an 
incentive for final sweep is all but past, yet it 
is an ask to compete with thieves resident in 
the groves luxuriating among the trees; they 
paused, watched, & derisively greeted me 

© 12 August 2014, I. D. Carswell

Midsomer Murders

No, I’m not watching ‘Midsomer Murders’, it doesn’t 
enchant me as much as it seems to spellbind some - 
tho’ I recognise themes with character eccentricities 
undoubtably out of a wider world, I flounder a bit as 
to how any remain alive - that’s as credibly so when 
we’ve run out room for classical ‘authentic scenery’ 
and wonderful old houses to keep those repetitious 
and droll detective dramas from going a bit too far 

But I’ll agree there’s comfort in not needing relearn 
lexicons of language, or those new words meaning 
things we’ve yet to experience day to day, so to sit 
in a TV lounge without fey traumas of ‘modernity’s’ 
machinations beaming controversially is a greater 
blessing; they’re much easier scenes to parlay 

© 6 August 2014, I. D. Carswell

The Game

It is that late stage in the season - either your 

team’s made the grade, tenuously negotiated 

a way into the playoffs, or you’re spitting your 

dummy ‘bout lousy umpires, referees, official 

incompetence and/or ‘th’ snaky way my guys 

were robbed’; for you’re utterly frustrated that 

keeping th’ faith as you certainly did, isn’t any 

guarantee on an equitable return anyway

Yet you’re not going to walk away ‘While The 

Game Still Matters’ - a given you say through 

gritted teeth flicking the TV channels, hoping 

you’ll see evidence that it does; and its there 

in CentreBet investing 1,000,000:1 odds that 

your team’s about as rare as it gets 

© 10 August 2014, I. D. Carswell

Shopping ‘Spree’

Saying its a statement of ‘domestication’ rates 
fairly but equates more towards the also barely 
tenable measure of late-middle-age, its generic 
catch-phrase ‘Seniors’, and we were, oldies on 
a shopping spree with quite specific objectives; 
for me undies, for th’ Lady some cute tops and 
a couple pairs of jeans - there were secondary 
objectives - agave nectar and buckwheat flour 

So I tell you we ‘managed’ it all in an hour - oh 
no way you’re going to say - asserting bravura 
incredulity, it isn’t possible to select, try on and 
buy clothes that quickly unless you knew what 
to seek or where; and to achieve such brevity 
you’d’ve already been there some time before 

I can state it was not and never the case - the 
idea came with impunity from she who’s to be 
obeyed, a challenge no less - and one played 
according to the rules of equal space, freed of 
interference and cognitive gatecrashing - then 
relieved, we did our key grocery shopping 

And that’s where training paid off; in stopping 
a mad rush entrained as rite of passage stuff 
we could enjoy looking for those things you’d 
easily pass-by as not quite what you’d expect 
to see where you weren’t really looking, yet a 
bonus to gluten-free dietary cognoscenti 

© 8 August 2014, I. D. Carswell 

Storeybrook For Lunch

It was Storeybrook for lunch today - alfresco in the 

restaurant, a muster of the Woodford troop whose 

wants on food and friendship choose its magic site 

because its right - we’ve been in quandary since a 

little bird confessed it irked her that its owners had 

to go; they’re friends, and friends of friends who’d 

earned a special place within the clique that make 

this place a special scene to sit and talk and eat 

And so we thanked dear John and Kay - who’ll be 

departing in three weeks for memories we’ll warm 

and wear content in gracious ease - there’ll never 

a pair of hosts like them again; - our repartee was 

lightly spiced suggesting fine regret we’ll have to 

bear - until we see them rested ever comfortably 

© 22 August 2014, I. D. Carswell

Faux Ingenuousness

If we put into the same bed all that faux ingenuousness 
there wouldn’t be enough room left for other characters; 
imagine those scenes where intrigue echoes between a 
supposed innocent and an utterly despicable incubus of 
rank duplicity - now instead of model role-play and clear 
lines delivered to a T we have an idiosyncratic oddity of  
recidivist raconteur-ism where no-one has a clue who’s 
the guilty bastard - or whether there’s guilt in any of it 

The short of it is facial tics & leery sneers don't engage  
in-character disapprobation necessary to differentiate A 
type from B - we’re in a quandary as to whom the buck 
passes to or from, & as the saying goes, innocent until 
proven otherwise - all because a structured separation 
needed to dramatise and present it properly isn’t there 

It sounds suspiciously like conversations we engage in 
most days, no overwhelming supposed character egos 
to appease or weird regional dialectical rules to abide - 
yet flows like honey with nutmeg and lime; so ergo you 
declare, why do we need overdramatic stereotypes of 
the first, or even latter, case to understand anything 

This ingenuous farce is a waste & no-one’s really that 
naive unless you’re a scriptwriter scribbling platitudes 
on TV Directors’ penchants to keep things the same 
as the last series - which probably explains anxieties 
unidentified as yet why thespian roles hadn’t evolved 
into recognition as saints still to be sanctified 

© 30 July 2014, I. D. Carswell

Conspiracy

Hanging out within deluded shades of grim 
indolent forebodings suggests this virus is 
a winner once again - never was a chance 
to best the beast - circumstance conspires 
without a second glance and feasts in fine 
concernment where distilled placidity once 
used to be; presentiments devise excuses 
best implied as unintended sacrifice 

There are no easy rites to see this through; 
we ride a tide a-slew beneath a fallow bed, 
dreading words unsaid of victims bled their 
energy in need to tide it to a brutal end, as 
yet unsure just who devised this cruelty or 
why its deathly dance descries disdain 

© 25 July 2014, I. D. Carswell 

Ibis In A Tree

An ibis in a tree - hardly the view you’d expect 
of birds better known a-wading marsh flats, or 
now-a-days raiding urban dumps; you’d likely 
say it can’t be too threatened, yet as a matter 
of fact it’s about disappeared from the areas 
where it once used to live and breed freely 

And they nest in trees; hence, I guess, sense 
of comfort in lofty views isn’t wasted nor their 
worldliness - and they can see opportunity in 
picnicking forays that earn foul words with an 
ascription of being nuisances, which may be 
an overreaction to their egregious familiarity 

So don’t be surprised if sometime in the near 
future they arrive in your locality, set up shop 
in a tree and begin to patrol what they think’s 
open range - well, it is to them as they can fly 
on a wing and a prayer - make that a ‘whim’ 
and a dare - as the ‘Sacred’ Ibises’ Plan B 

© 29 July 2014, I. D. Carswell

Super Rugby Title 2014

There must be something about Sydney, venomously 
polluted water from recycling their own spittle may’ve 
affected ability to see beyond a sum squared of their 
own egocentric lucidity, there’s an irony in it but they’ll 
happily wear the crumbs claiming it is the whole menu; 
normally winning a Super Rugby title 36 - 35 is a relief 
not an opportunity to strut and preen as the deserving 
supremos demonstrating their undeniable invincibility 

But we will be forgiving - it is the first time they’ve ever 
finished first, albeit unconvincingly, yet even that stays 
palpably in the records as the slimmest margin to date; 
but we’ll bet it won’t deter our NSW mates, who’ll crow 
as only they can while stating a case to be written into 
Super Rugby history as the greatest of the Greats … 

© 2 August 2014, I. D. Carswell