Love Ran Out

the simple account
– love ran out
no-longer sustained by
medieval bracelets charmed
with romantic favour

you could see it
as attributed by fate
grafted in years of hard labour
sold down the river by
impossible dreams

they were fairy tales
too deeply inured in
endless mythologies
unsecured debentures
naive fantasies failed

and it’s slaughter day
with a willing cancer
in the shape of me
behind a mask for
a heart broken

love ran out for you
and you were freed
while I am nailed
to unrequited affection
for eternity
© 20 July 2009, I. D. Carswell

Discovering Me

I discern a person I never
knew – perhaps not the
one you did either but a
blurred phantom emerging
from today’s delirium

something is really there

who’d have thought ideas
as estranged as bans on
slow-moving pedestrians
from riding autobahns
could have this meaning

in laughably familiar themes

I can’t play charades as you
do your instincts too adroit
from centuries of social
breeding – with me an
indiscretion of your Royalty

a court jester entertaining avidly

but in a fleeting insight as
meaningless as accidental
capture of a falling
star I burn to death
to understand

where respect is awarded by you

I see what you mean
you’ve made changes
because you can – less
than I deserve although
more than I command

and there, discover me
© 19 July 2009, I. D. Carswell

Sentence

violence disguised in
play of canines running
free and unrestrained
spits in the face of
safe community

to claim innocence in
carcases bloodied and rent
by wolf-like efficiency is
not constrained by
denying the evidence

they weren’t children
today – just calves who ran
the farmer amazed at
an owner’s reticence
regarding blame

they’ll pay a price
that’s mine he says
while your conscience
admits severity
of the sentence
© 18 July 2009, I. D. Carswell

Last Word

truth be told the last
word’s defined when
shock precludes reply

I can’t begin to try and
find a phrase to breach
reality – the rules are
made that way

silence is a sly and evil
friend when it redacts
the words one needs
to breathe again
© 18 July 2009, I. D. Carswell

Words Just Flew Away

The voice says
“get on the phone
and ring, damn it!”

and I listen
agreeing
yes, it’s the
proper thing

enthused I think of
what I’ll say until
remembering
last time and the
tone in your voice

distance
caution
defensiveness
reservation used
more for strangers
than I was prepared

– and words
just flew away
© 17 July 2009, I. D. Carswell

A Smile At No Expense

dwelling in uncertainty
that vacillates between
despair and hopelessness
swamped in depths of
darkened introspection
edged with silver chalices
dispensing only misery
– oh, is this figure me

cannot reach beyond good
yesterday where joy at no
expense conspires with glee
to free at least a winsome
smile – but wasted in this
hapless halophile
© 17 July 2009, I. D. Carswell

Six Referees

Six referees and still a farce that
never ends; last night’s 3rd (& last)
NRL State of Origin dove to a new
nadir. Mired in controversy before
it began (a player deemed unfit by
NSW cleared to play come Saturday
for Club) it makes one wonder
whether rules are always bent.

And talking heads – I will be rude
and say Phil Gould is leader of the
list in biased commentary (& not a
pretty face – but hey it’s Channel 9),
disgracing efforts made by brighter
lights with ease as consummate as
passing wind. Methinks it’s thusly
done to be insane theatricality.

But Six Referees still galls as rank
lunacy unleashed – two on field,
two to run the lines and two to sit
cocooned and watch TV. A sinecure
avoiding single blame! In the event
a tense display and for the record
anyway, Queensland won some
fights on-field, NSW the game.
© 16 July 2009, I. D. Carswell

Taller Trees

these trees stand taller
than ambition’s
figments thwarted
by cruel twists of fate
reflections mellowed
in late autumn

they are huge things
towering without
malice it seems
but brittle ends to
dead limbs say
take heed – 

once I meant to cut
them down – astride
a line between propriety
and pragmatism
you understand
but failed

I learned
trees have more
friends than enemies –
and to live in their shade
is a privilege
rarely earned
© 15 July 2009, I. D. Carswell

Doing Its Thing

problem reports and solutions
feature in this computer’s benign and
magnanimous management system

it tells me 660 problems
were experienced between 6/8/2007
and this morning

I am surprised – but it still works
doesn’t it? Nonetheless it goes
off busily to do its thing

not as if a physical presence
leaves the machine – that would
be too eerie even for me

but something weird is going on
making me feel uneasy
660 problems I didn’t know

it hadn’t even reached halfway
reporting 246 of 660
when I last dared look

but I might as well get on with
my day – it doesn’t need or
even care about me worrying
© 15 July 2009, I. D. Carswell

Balance

no surprises in banana grove – no snakes
alert for easy prey, even crows negotiate
the lanes between afoot; it is that time of
day when peacefulness expresses scenes
of harmony and great content. I know it
isn’t meant that way, it only seems to be

feathers scattered randomly attest a kill
that left a brood one parent less – a belly
full is blessed in sleep beneath the leaves
and there I see the one bereaved with
wary eye and beak tight-pressed on food
it took to feed the young in growing need

beating rhythms old as time compete for
space within this grove – seasons come
and go and colours grace a place of life
and death in harmony; it’s never more
or less the case and dying lets the living
find a balanced way to breathe
© 14 July 2009, I. D. Carswell

Baroque Adagios

baroque adagios are playing while
the radio is on; Albinoni, Pachelbel
and Bach – the choice was mine, ‘Air
on a G String’ jailed me once again
a thousandth time. Was I wrong in
mixing sounds? The radio assays a
here and now while Bach preserves
the World I grew into a man apart

I never knew a time where silence
dwelt alone yet mournful notes and
resonance still fills the edges where
this artistry is born; the sounds do
not compete for me but warn that
I stood still while time ran out
© 13 July 2009, I. D. Carswell

Her Lips Ambassadors

an urgency which made
the staid and stable ways
too commonplace consumed
her bashfulness
she’d been aroused within
to heights that soared
all barriers of chaste 

my earthy needs take
pride of place this night
she sighs coos his name
her lips ambassadors with
roving eyes to hold in sight
the glances wild and passionate 

her hands alight place hands
where want dictates to pave
the way while ardour never
quavers urges her to ride on
crests of fervour’s waves
slide to depths and die again
to rise immaculate with each
renewed crescendo 

in growing light of dawn’s
surprise she feels his eyes
fixate upon her face amazed
revelation frames his words
you’re not the devil’s bride
you’re mine he cries – I’d sooner
die than let you run away
© 13 July 2009, I. D. Carswell

Tomorrow Won’t Let

so the World’s shut shop and I’m
pissed beyond reprieve – there’s
more wine to let admission guess
ulterior motives which prove I’m
wrong – at least while you’re, as
the game goes on, impressed

I sip Shiraz with a capital ‘S’ since
precaution ended insinuation
there’s no dictionary text to say
nay with clear diplomacy – it is
obvious tomorrow won’t let a lone
paragraph’s dissention anyway

where am I exactly; say glass or
two short of a handful? Bless me,
I’d be a fool to accept either or all
explanations which pour the next
glass of wine – I’m just happy to
see hands filled with good wishes
© 11 July 2009, I. D. Carswell

Solo Choruses

different associations apply to
terms like ‘taciturn’ or ‘grumpy’
which fail to censure when on
your own and a bedroom floor
as space for convenience
storage becomes reality

taking Berocca at 5:15 am aids
post traumatic recovery from flu
made bearable by pseudoephedrine
and if you ask why Mexican garlic
on toast with Strasburg sausage –
you’ve never really tasted flavour

these are not idiosyncratic
expressions of individuality
nor do they suggest retreat
from common misapprehensions
about social behaviour – and
they don’t explain me

it is a scene that grows around
actors in a wordless play, where
silence sings in early-morning
dew on a lawn; come light of day
dawn’s glistening fades in the
sad, solo choruses
© 11 July 2009, I. D. Carswell

Alternatives

 

while it never happened before
blowing my nose now clears
more than the toxic debris
floating in our atmosphere

sordid lumps and gristly bits
don’t cause shudders of
apprehension knowing they are alien
colonisations of failed endeavour

like ideas in the wild espoused by
vague philosophers whose views
are brayed as adroit promotion of
“what’s in it for me?”

it explains why clearing the sinuses
frees me of naive choices between
the worst conceivable alternatives
and throwing tissues away
© 10 July 2009, I. D. Carswell

Fatherly Advice

we’ve lived another year and thus are
aged a birthday more. Apologies, at times
like these a father needs proselytise;
what I’ve in mind has occupied your
thoughts before and I am not inclined
to wasting time

of our relationship you’d say you’ve heard
it all but I will try; I’ll always ponder why
freedom to change your mind must be
the most precious thing a man can have –
what I mean is: there are no fixed points
in our universe; no set destinations

living space is colonized with random
chance and outcomes infinite, what you
dream can be achieved and yet may not
attain or need – you’ll change your mind
a thousand times without the world
aware or ever give a damn to care

LCD we are epitomised – essentially, as   
individuals we don’t rate but when we do
it is a fate of rare unity, of combining with
random potential of different authorship;
when we recognise another we begin to
matter; gain a separate point of view      

find perspective, appreciate depth of field 
discover and enter new potential
and it’s not a friendly World I sagely say
to you; that is when changing your mind
becomes positively lethal –
© 8 July 2009, I. D. Carswell

Pawn Played For A Fool

one thought kept
strong to traverse
a whole backbone
and return enriched
is beyond me

I am plagued
by insurrection –
demands stream
from places alien to
my mother tongue

feet do not obey
hands and this
abdomen swears
worse than the tongue
which enables it

thoughts come and
go erratically, management
fails dismayed in places
where sense used to
mean reason

it is a state of anarchy –
I am a pawn played for
a fool possessed by
intractable ideas of
new-age humanity
© 7 July 2009, I. D. Carswell

Cobbler’s Pegs

A measure of your day’s success
counts cobbler’s pegs attached
to legs while lack abates a sorry
state of farmer’s friend maligned.

For mine I’d rest a happy man to
never see the pest again, though
it aggrieves – indeed the weed’s
a worthy sign of simplest kind.

Food for some it’s said and I’d
agree – mineral rich and easily
obtained; the seed reminds me
every day of that complicity.

Bidens pilosa is not my friend
I’m sad to say, there is no way
I’ll eat the leaf – though it is done
and I’m no vegetarian.
© 8 July 2009, I. D. Carswell

Agonies Unbid

The feeling never goes away, it’s like
an ache of emptiness – a lack of light
as dark descends; I’d even pray if prayer
was lent to easing ever unsure pain.

The things I should have said I never did
for words unheard a price in silence paid
I say them every day as promises
‘tho now they are as agonies unbid.

At dawn the sun will rise and free the light
I yearn to see in your return – although in
doubt of clouds; coolness of the night remains
without your gentle warmth constrained.
© 9 July 2009, I. D. Carswell

Requiem

 


Amazed how easily
lack of envy
deflated Argo’s
hot air.

To think I might be
up there still dwindling to a speck
against boundless
blue anonymity.

But I’m here
in corporeum sanctus
with you and the rest of
the deaf pretenders.
© 9 July 2009, I. D. Carswell