Day 13 – sport (& fashion)

13 jerk.jpg

For about a decade of my life, Saturdays in Autumn & Winter meant sport: football & netball. For the first time in forever, that’s how I spent my Saturday.

*****

Autumn day

it’s as if I’ve just finished playing u/17s
& we’ve come down to watch our girlfriends
(or more likely) those we wish were —
except the ones i played with are fat & bald
& the girls i once fancied, grey & chubby

everything else — the tinkle of coins
as goals rustle metal nets; the wild calls
of support; the choc of ball on court;
insistent whistle chirps; the scent
of homemade soup; kids queuing
for lollies too excited to choose;
others sausagerolling down the mound;
stars of yesterday cunningly disguised
as grandmothers; repeated complaints
about the too cold wind — the same

the minor differences — infinitely
more stylish uniforms; better hair
cuts (only one mullet); & everywhere
smartphones plastered to every palm

sadly there’s still that one jerk
father cheering too hard; screaming
pressure pressure; always over
aggressively; threatening to blow
his gasket; as if a gold medal
is on the line

 


 

BONUS POEM: April 13, 2018

A slightly lighter toned pome, just for some variety.

*****

lemmingwear

The North Face
clearly seems
to be the current
accoatrement
of choice
for the fashion
conscious
rambler

— or it would still be
if not for the fact
my mother
recently bought
one each
for her & dad
sending stock
prices tumbling

as if from a cliff

13b North Face.JPG

Day 11 – intertextuality (& introspection)

11 elephantwater

Book Club selection this week was Water for Elephants.

*****

big top potpourri 

granted Water for Elephants
has been read before
but the deja vu familiarity blends
into The Night Circus, Cirque du Freak
numerous history of circus books
from when I was researching
my play The Menagerie of Broken Flowers
(later renamed Ugliophobia)
countless kids books by Enid,
others starring Paddington, Olivia, etc;

dozens of celluloid iterations
The Greatest Show on Earth,
Marx Brothers, Freaks, Elvis
probably worked at one in
the mid-60’s, a misunderstood
troublemaker; U2’s dreamlike video
to All I Want Is You; even Dumbo ;
& of course the exquisitely surreal
dustbowl drama Carnivale.
Plus: managing a kids circus;
working for Cirque du Soleil;
meeting many of Australia’s
talented carnies & contemporary
circus artists

means the words & situations
all blur together to fabricate
a simulacrum of  surely  every
eternal     childhood     dream

 


 

BONUS POEM: April 11, 2018

Final David-inspired pome (for now?). 

*****

marble thoughts

schoolgirl groups
giggle, turn away
countless digital zooms
capture closeups
of my junk

others slide out
the extensions
on their ubiquitous
selfie sticks
pretend to balance
me on their palms
or once again
point how small
my tinkle is
(won’t even deign
to mention how cold
his studio was in winter)

some do little more
than click & walk on
one more cultural
checkpoint ticked off
the list

a few of these awful
smartPhone snaps
are even well framed

miss the days
people
actually looked

11b thoughts.JPG

Day 15 – poem about the least dark thing I wrote today

end_of_the_sea_by_xiaoxinart-d5nq1eb

This weekend (& this date in particular) is always difficult & painful & poignant & ugly. So too was most of what I wrote today. I have attached the least bleak piece, regardless of its merits. In a slight deviation from practise, I’m also using the picture that inspired the poem as the choice for today’s NaPoWriMo blog pome. I frequently write (first drafts at least) from artworks, but when I do I prefer not to share the image for fear of overload; that both pieces will fight each other by saying too similar a thing, but I don’t have the energy to find something more abstract tonight.

wyndhame

somewhere cerebellum deep : everyone : wants : their own : fantasy castle : storybook sentence : painting lifted : from the pages of childhood : rooves of saltwater green : gold stone isolation : glinting : beautiful exile : at the end of the sea : the edge of the world : but few : are brave enough : to truly live there : among cloud fragments : erosion : bewildered fish : suddenly plummeting : & the perpetual fear of falling

Day 30 – first late poem of the month

Well the end of NaPoWriMo 2015 has arrived & I’m pleased to announce I have my first late poem for the month. I had intended to bookend the month with a less cheeky poem about Jazz (Day 1), & maybe even revisit “big angst over a relatively small number” (Day 15) & give you all a second BONUS POEM about the beauty of books/terror of how few reading days remain in all our lives. But my sickness, a drive to the country & back for a new job, & getting 4 poems into two competitions which closed today (30 April) meant it was all a best laid plans kind of day

Instead you get a poem I’ve only really worked on since midnight (i.e. half an hour) but I’m simply too knackered to keep on with it — so you get it in its raw state.

Thanks for coming along the ride with me again this year. I had about 26 new people follow me this month which is delightful — & numerous likes from lots of my longer-time followers. Thanks NaPoWriMo for encouraging lots of lazyarse poets to get out & make some poems. Apart from the 31 I shared on here, I wrote another 20 or so, of which 3-4 are real crackers I hope could find themselves published sometime in the next 12 months. I’ve also enjoyed reading blogs of my fellow poeters around the world. Love ‘n’ light.

*****

missed

hammer horror films tell me
mist obscured landscapes
& skeletal silhouette trees
should feel funereal & spooky

but if i furrow deeper
into the fog of memory
which is my too-long-gone
childhood then i remember

deep cloud-descended days
brought comfort physically
& emotionally — warm inside
book reading by a wood fire —

when the valley filled
with smokewater
& my whole wide seemed
shrouded in the whispers

of imagination, the wisps
of dreams & the bleak border
between worlds blurred
as if i could step into it

arrive somewhere else
& never be missed

*****

pines

Day 10 – not the sort of guests you want sharing your picnic blanket

Another topic crossed off the list. Third of the way through, really feel like I’m smashing this NaPoWriMo. (Car crash to follow soon…)

After seeing 100’s of these little critters over the farm all summer, I’ve finally been able to give them a poetic shout out.

*****

6 short poems about Myrmecia forficata 
(inch ants)

1. The Scientific
100, 000, 000 years
of evolutionary simplicity
single chromosome pair
lowest count of any creature
cousin to bees & wasps
— endemic to Australia

2. The Philosophic
furious will to live
— as proven by sadistic
philosophers who cut
them in two in order
to activate individual
head v tail fight clubs

3. The Metaphoric
with its blown glass abdomen
it’s a brown bloodred pin
on steroids ; a segmented
chitin tank ; shiny obsidian
suit of armour ; a spinning
exoskeleton compass — complete
with scissors & a ringmaster’s moustache

4. The Literal
technically should
be called 25.4mm ants
owing to our metrication
— but it doesn’t have
the same zing to it

5. The Unusual
their well-developed vision
means they can follow
intruders from a metre off
— try hiking in the bush
knowing inch ants
could be stalking you

6. The Personal
pincers pinch the skin
worse than when
your sister caught
a piece of your cheek
between her strong nails
during a childhood brawl

it was long ago that fight
& though you’ve forgotten
what it was about
you can still feel
that slapsting as sharp
as yesterday

— the inch ant bite
is worse than that

*****

DinAus4