FOR RUTH

Marital Bliss by Danny Earl Simmons

Marriage
is a mixed-up bag
of very salty nuts

If one wears
Vicks to bed
both breathe better

all night long

Life Is Beautiful ?

This scene from ' Life is Beautiful' is a good example of black humour. It can defuse
the most abhorrent situation and make the perpetrator look ridiculous. Humour is one of Eli Weisel's recommended weapons against the opressors and bullies of life.



Who am I?
Rap Song for a Psycho Dictator

I'm the king of kings
I've got gold encrusted skin
I'm great..
You aint..

I got plenty of oil
I'm not sharin' my spoils
I'm hot..
You're not..

My people are poor
Always cryin' for more
Bad luck..
They're stuck..

If you try to be free
I'll bomb you to death
Just leave it to me
Don't care about the mess
I'm mad..
You're sad..

I've got 7 sons
with plenty of guns
Watch out..
They're about..

I'm gettin on a plane
with my girl guide guards
to see my mate Robert
Mugabe's real hard

Together we'll work out
of Africa I think
Forget it Colonel Blimp
your chances really stink
You're finished..
It's over..
Time's up..
You're out..

Psssssst
May you rot in hell
signed
Ghosts of Lockerbie

POW PROMPT 22

East Bronx by David Ignatow

In the street two children sharpen
knives against the curb
Parents leaning out the window
above gaze and think and smoke
and duck back into the house
to sit on the toilet seat
with locked door to read
of the happiness of two tortoises
on an island in the Pacific
always alone and always
the sun shining

In some households the only peace that can be found is in the smallest room in the house.I know a writer who set up a study in a cellar under his house to get peace and quiet. His children are grown now but I believe he is still buried there somewhere under mounds of mouldering old manuscripts. Unaccustomed to seeing him, his wife is always startled at his occasional appearance in the main house.

Tortoises by Rall

two tortoises
in the sunshine
on a pacific island
palm trees waving
white sand
blue green surf
on a study wall
camouflage for grimness
in a highrise

dreams of those
waking up to
cold black mornings
grey skies
chilled fingers
trudging through
snow to buy gaspers

" next year perhaps
we'll visit
the tortoises"

but the tortoises
wont be there
they have their
own dreams

For An Unknown Busker

A hot Sydney summers afternoon
A little leprechaun violinist
plays Vivaldi Bach
trills and all
near an ATM
in a liver bricked suburban
shopping centre
shoppers oblivious to magic
cardboard cutouts
stuffing faces with donuts
and mouthing latte frothed
words rattling round
like cheap tin plates on concrete

The eyes of a couple of young children
registered what was happening
But give them time
'Down by the Sally Gardens' will have
different connotations soon
If you are reading this
Thank you
I enjoyed your playing
it transformed a dull afternoon
into something very pleasant

For The Weekend

A little 'Rigoletto' from our Dame Joan to spice up the weekend. Enjoy!
APP

Breathless

3WW

Fellini loved
large women
juicy and voluptuous
mother figures
the stress of moving them
about however left some unfit actors
a little breathless

ENTOMBMENT ....POW PROMPT 21

ENTOMBMENT
Bored, the surburban wife
stands naked in woolly socks
day-dreaming of fame and a new life
reciting her poems to the knives and forks

A hick chick sans searing intellect
hardened by humdrum and the dead hand of conformity
clinging to her only informed reference
the glossy magazine (chick lit for the masses)
she became the blog poster gal
for boring suburbanites

Foreign movies introduced her
to other than mid western sex
and being competitive she was
hoping to score points in
the ' I wanna be interesting ' section

For days on end
she dons a wig and rubber suit
practising soft porn poses with the vacuum cleaner
or blindfolds herself with parted lips
at the kitchen sink hoping
to grab the postman's attention
standing naked in woolly socks

Removing her mask
she catches a glimpse of her meticulous
maquillaged face in the window
Thoughts flash through her mind
of modelling
of writing
of becoming a soft porn poet
a gingham apron'd fanciful Madame Bovary
a la americaine
day-dreaming of a new life

But alas, she is stuck fast
unforgiving, tawdry mediocrity has hammered her nails in hard
no escape possible from this diy decorated coffin

Sometimes if you listen carefully
in the quiet of night
when the house is asleep
you can hear her laboured squeak
reciting her poems to the knives and forks

POW PROMPT 21

The prompt this week is based on the beautifully haunting music of Thomas Newman from the film "Revolutionary Road " and also the word" entombment" which will be the title of the poem.

I was inspired by the music and an art exhibition called "Entombed Warriors". Everyone is entombed in something; a job, marriage, relationship, suburban life, responsibilities of some kind or other. I am basing mine loosely on the film
"Revolutionary Road" which is the story of a young promising married couple who become entombed in the suburbs with all the accoutrements of conformity.

A cascade quatrain would suit this topic I wrote one last November 2010 called
Berlin Philharmonic and Simon Rattle..." Cloud 9 "
if you need an example.You might want to say a lot so you can keep the cascade flowing
e.g instead of the first verse being a quatrain

A
B
C
D

you can make it a sestet

A
B
C
D
E
F

Hope this gives the grey matter a good workout but more importantly, opens the floodgates to allow feelings to flow freely.

Bruce O' Who?...NSW ELECTIONS MARCH 2011

A Typical Day in Academia Down Under








There was a kind girl
called Kristina
who wanted to make NSW cleaner
She hailed from Ohio, an American
found a husband called Keneally
not Kerrigan
Became an Aussie,wore rubber thongs
swatted the mozzies with barbecue prongs
and said
"Ripper,
Vote Labor the party you can trust
the Liberal Party is full of quitters
leave them now,you must"

So they handed her the poisoned cup
a nightmare job, a dreaded pup
that none of her colleagues wanted
" Take this darlin' you'll be great
while we go out and get stonkered "
The irks in her party were even meaner
than Bruce O' Who? and his teamers
Liberal Party blokes good mates
all with patrician clean slates


The Libs are getting the pantechnicons
ready to move back in
New curtains, new furniture,new air con
and even smart party lib bins
Bruce is very excited
new colour schemes, measuring walls
When he wins the election
he's going to throw a huge ball

Kristina Keneally will rue the day
she ever came to these shores
Wasting her time and her talent
dealing with dingbats
and bodgie boy bores
when she could be at play
the American way
on the banks of the Ohio

FOR THE WEEKEND

3WW..occasion, blink, kind

A sixties occasion
black and white
Blink and spot
a young Serge
grinning through the haze
of Gitane cloud
in a Paris night club
The guitarist
loose lipped
drooped fag
plunking along
to a kind of beat

I wanted to be there

HAPPY VALENTINES DAY

Sunday Scribblings '1000 years'

In a thousand years
no-one will remember
this lovely young couple
no-one does now




In a thousand years
humans will be puzzled
at what these star struck
lovers are doing
Academics and scientists
will put forward a lot of theories
but it will remain a mystery
just like the sudden disappearance
of the dinosaurs

FAR FAR AWAY...POW PROMPT 20

I found it very challenging writing in Bukowski's style and I don't pretend for a minute to be able to fill his wonderfully cool, hip shoes.I revised this poem many times.It's important to experiment with other styles, I think, if only to appreciate the expertise required.

Far Far Away

no job
no friends
broke
betrayed
bankrupt
living in a doss house
living in silence
holes
in my socks

lost
lost everything
divorce
my replacement
slotted in
the sheets still warm
a wallet
stuffed with
$100 bills
small change
for a big spender

set adrift
rootless
a stranger to everyone
no-one calls my name
my children are strangers
mortified
ashamed
of
a leper's
slippery
slide
down
to the
bottom

alone
I think of my mother
for the first time
in years
my mother died alone
her son was too busy
being a bigshot
his beautiful
show pony wife
was also too busy
fucking her beau
his business partner

choices

I made bad ones
to public plaudits and acclaim
entertaining free loaders
fawning sycophants
prostrating themselves
at my feet
for favours

I could
drink myself
into oblivion
I could
coke myself
to the eyeballs
and fly
to the moon
I could
squander
squillions
on shit
to impress
and
I did it
better
than anyone
else

somehow
I'm planning on beating
this daily
promethean incision of pain

on one of God's good days
maybe he'll smile on me
a grin will do
I'll stumble across
Goodness
in what remains of
my unravelling life
must be quick to recognise her
in that simple dress
before she disappears
into the crowd

I will embrace her
hug her tightly to me
with gratitude
with humility
start again
live simply somewhere
somewhere blue green and quiet
just the two of us
far
far
away

Jelly Fish

Neilsen Park
a great place
to hang out
in a heat wave

jelly fish
think so too

POW PROMPT 20

I thought this well known picture of James Dean in New York would make a good prompt. It suggests something gritty, inner city and aloneness... A look that can be recognised in any city, anywhere in the world.

This is a poem by Charles Bukowski which in my mind relates to this picture. It is called " Young in New Orleans "

YOUNG IN NEW ORLEANS

starving there, sitting round the bars
and at night walking the streets for
hours,
the moonlight always seemed fake
to me, maybe it was,
and in the French Quarter I watched
the horses and buggies going by,
everybody sitting high in the open
carriages, the black driver, and in
back the man and the woman,
usually young and always white.
and hardly charmed by the
world,
New Orleans was a place to
hide.
I could piss away my life,
unmolested.
except for the rats.
the rats in my dark small room
very much resented sharing it
with me.
they were large and fearless
and stared at me with eyes
that spoke
an unblinking
death.

women were beyond me.
they saw something
depraved.
there was one waitress
a little older than
I, she rather smiled,
lingered when she
brought my
coffee.

that was plenty for
me, that was
enough.

there was something about
that city, though
it didn't let me feel guilty
that I had no feeling for the
things so many others
needed.
it let me alone.

sitting up in bed
the lights out,
hearing the outside
sounds,
lifting my cheap
bottle of wine,
letting the warmth of
the grape
enter
me
as I heard the rats
moving around the
room,
I preferred them
to
humans

being lost
being crazy maybe
is not so bad
if you can be
that way
undisturbed.

New Orleans gave me
that.
nobody ever called
my name.

no telephone
no car,
no job,
no
anything

me and the
rats
and my youth,
one time,
that time
I knew
even through the nothingness,
it was a
celebration
of something not to
do
but only
know.

For The Weekend

Dare I call this great?
The essence of an angel
Practically perfect

A breath of fresh cool air
Respite from wallowing muck
Thank God for music

3WW

The Lament of Reverend Fred Piles

" Hide, oh hide those hills of snow,
which thy frozen bosom bears
On whose tops the pinks that grow
are of those that April wears "

Tis unseemly that sweet fair maids should
desport themselves in such foul fashion
Sultry sights of seductive firm orbs could
lead to thoughts of lustful passion

Yonder scantily clad nymphettes
frolicking free on the shore
slattern subjects of temptation to curious youth
reputation stained, tainted, become cheap and tawdry

But hark, who goes there?
Fear not, the feint stirring is in my own sad cod piece,
Proof indeed, this dangerous spark of life
is making a mockery of my hand
Delights that should be the domain of my wife
not Mistress Palm and her five nieces

Begone beastly intrusion
Blindness is born from
the devil's manual sport
Dexterity causing confusion
leading to madness and damnation

Cover thyselves o wretched women
Thus jezebel temptresses, this is my conclusion

POW PROMPT 19

A quote from Shakespeare this week.
'Measure for Measure'
Act 4, Sc.1.

" Hide, oh hide those hills of snow,
Which thy frozen bosom bears
On whose tops the pink that grow
Are of those that April wears: "

Looking forward to some interesting and original responses next Wednesday.
This could be a novel way of getting high school boys interested in the study of Shakespeare.

NUMBERS by Dorothy Porter

Chester Porter (Dorothy's father)

Dorothy Porter


This poem is from Australian poet Dorothy Porter's last anthology called 'Bee Hut'

J D Mackenzie has written a poem 'Goose at Counting Zeros' for POW prompt 18 which expresses similar sentiments.Take a look. http://jdmackenzie.blogspot.com

NUMBERS

I get magic
(sometimes I get more
than I bargain for)

but I don't get
numbers

Numbers do worse
than humiliate
or elude me

they don't add up

I am no algebra tart
ravished
by the meretricious music
of the spheres

My eyes and nose
never streamed
with incontinent ectasy
through geometry classes
as my disastrous triangles
collapsed in a cacophany
around me

FOR THE WEEKEND

I love driving to this. A tad too fast rendition. Tempi is always too fast these days. Rallentando everyone!

Driving Down New South Head Road

Off I go
Roof down
Haydn On
weaving down the affluent trail
to Double Bay

Sail boats bob on the harbour

Through leafy William St
up the fig tree hill to St Marks
down the slippery dip road to
Rushcutters Bay
home of the marina and cruising yacht club

Serious sail boats bob on the harbour

If you see a sheila
wearing white wrap around sunglasses
and a wide grin
driving a black SAAB convertible
roof down
taking this route
playing Haydn
WAVE
c'est moi

SYDNEY HEAT WAVE

Blistering heat
Scorching abrasive sand
Inferno rocks
Thousands flock to
the beaches
Pissing
in the already
Tepid sea
Hot wind
A handful of
ice blocks
soothes burning skin
Eggs could fry
on head tops
Fried frazzled brains
Hot nights
without a breath of air
Sleep loss
Thank God for Air Con
Except we don't have one

3WW