Tag Archives: humour

Day 3 – energy + Eiffel

Ironically I’m sitting at the puta writing a poem about energy when I am exhausted after a very long day.

Two Notes:
1. Formatting is an issue (the poems don’t look as good as they do properly formatted in a word doc) as is often the way with WordPress.
2. The old maxim, sorry about the long poems, I didn’t have time to write short ones is particularly true tonight.

*****

*****

Australian Energy                             —                          a call & response poem

Australia is 
the third-largest exporter of coal in the world 

no, it’s the biggest

home to two of the 10 largest coal mines in the world

four of the 10 

Australians believe  {of the total workforce} :
the coal mining industry makes up 11% 

in reality it’s just 0.3% 

oil & gas employment make up 20%

just 0.2% 

Australians believe  {of GDP} :
the economic value of the gas industry is 12.4% 

2.5%

coal mining contributes 13.6%

2.6%

50% of Australians believe  {of what we should be building} :
new gas power stations

only 21% believe we should be building new renewable energy projects

my apologies i was confused

let me try that again

50% of Australians believe:
new renewable energy projects

only 21% believe we should be building new gas power stations

the 2023-2024 Australian Federal Budget has been released 
fossil fuel subsidies (such as the Fuel Tax Credit)
– will cost the Budget over $41 billion 
over the next four years

significantly more than all the funded climate initiatives combined

despite fossil fuel industries being the past

& clean energy initiatives, the future 

(perhaps, assuming

we survive)

*****

Funfact Day 3 – TIL how to grow iconic French architecture 

Paris’s brutal metal heart
— the Eiffel Tower can be 
as much as fifteen to sixteen
centimetres taller in summer

{ thermal expansion heats the iron up
the particles gain kinetic energy 
& in so doing : take up more space }

think how tall she will get
when The Iron Lady starts 
experiencing month long 40+ degree days

when Ville-Lumière becomes Ville-Chaleur 
& Ville d’Amour becomes Ville d’Sueur

{ City of Light melts into City of Heat 
& City of Love drips into City of Sweat }

*****

Funfact Day 3 (bonus)  – TIL other Eiffel things

i.
the Tower was initially 
intended for Barcelona
but those pesky Catalans
thought it an awful eyeful (ouch!)
so Gustave pitched her to Paris instead

ii.
initially the French weren’t 
overly impressed either
metal-shaming her as
“useless & monstrous” 
“a stupefying folly”
& “an odious column of bolted metal” 

always something of a prickly loner
writer Guy de Maupassant 
dined every day at the cafe directly below 
— the only spot in Paris he claimed
he couldn’t see the damn thing

but they grew to love her
— as did the whole world
till she became what she now is
(like so many modern landmarks)
little more than Instafodder

Day 2 – heating + pleating the eggs

Not sure how long the poems will synchronise but today, as with yesterday, they do. The whole first poem is included as it didn’t turn out, quite as I intended …

*****

morning zoo kookiness 

mid-january 2019 : an Adelaide-based : morning breakfast radio crew : conceived a whacky notion : can you really fry : an egg : on a car bonnet : on a hot enough day : the forecast was for 45º : so using a brand new car : provided by a car dealership : i shall keep remained nameless : as a cynical : free marketing opportunity : they cracked : a couple of eggs : (& sadly : more than a couple : so-called whacky jokes) : before throwing on : some bacon, snags & hash browns : the eggs : allegedly : commenced cooking : straight away : thrilling the cool gang : except a deeply concerned : car paint expert (that’s a thing?) : who called in to explain : why you shouldn’t try this at home : raw egg will eat right through your paint : he wheezed : yep : that’s the takeaway : not that the world : today : was really farking hot : & only getting hotter 

*****

Day 2 – TIL about Chefs’ hats

a good yolk 

i. 
according to ancient culinary legend
the pleats of the “toque blanche”
the tall white chef’s hat
subtly represent the many skills 
acquired over long years of kitchery

ii.
furthermore & specifically
the 100 folds supposedly show
the chef knows the 100 
different ways to prepare eggs
— but let’s be frank —  
if you can poach properly
you’re tiptoeing towards … perfection 

iii. 
today i also learnt
upon doing a little extra 
interwebbing that this
so called “fun fact”
culled from some 
chirpy digital listicle
is actually total BS

bonus
iv. 

The One Hundred Egg Preparatory Methods are:

hardboiled (15-20 minutes) : medium (5-10 minutes) : softboiled (3-4 minutes) : coddled eggs : curried eggs : scotch woodcock : pickled eggs : beet pickled eggs : tea eggs or soy eggs : deviled eggs : angeled eggs : hammond eggs : egg salad : egg tetrazzini : over easy : fried hard : over medium : sunny-side up : eggs au beurre noir : frog in the hole : toad in the hole : scrambled eggs : cloud eggs : baked eggs : shirred eggs : shirred eggs and ham : eggs mornay : eggs florentine : egg nests : eggs in potato nests : eggs in tomato cups : omelette : cheese omelette : ham omelette : omelet fines herbes : baked omelet : puffy omelette : omurice : frittata : quiche : quiche lorraine : poached eggs : poached eggs in red wine : poached eggs in soup : spanish eggs : eggs sur le plat : scotch eggs : eggs benedict : meringue : cheese custard : creole eggs : egg casserole : cheese egg float : cheese pudding : dutch bunny (old time egg pancake) : yorkshire pudding : souffle : cheese souffle : asparagus souffle : chocolate souffle : vanilla souffle : eggs goldenrod : french toast : eggs a la king : eggs fu yung (foo young, various spellings) : egg timbales : egg drop soup : creamed deviled eggs : eggnog (not usually cooked,  i know) : creme brulee : floating island : baked custard : custard pie : custard soufffle : frozen custard : coconut custard : chocolate pots de creme : zabaglione : coffee custard : rice pudding : custard sauce : angel food cake : shakshuka : ham kedgeree : eggs au gratin : nicoise salad : piperade : coin purse eggs : iron pot eggs : steamed gold-and-silver eggs : huevos revueltos con totopos : huevos revueltos con chorizo : huevos rancheros : higaditos : enchiladas sencillas : whipped cream omelet : sweet (or jelly) omelet : three pepper tagine with eggs : kefta tagine with eggs

*****

Day 1 – slow time in a fast forward age + solitary maw

April is here again & so thus Na/GloPoWriMo 2024. I’m moderately motivated by the month ahead though I always enjoy it, as things kick into gear. 

As late as mid-afternoon, I wasn’t sure what to focus on this year. My themes-based approach to Na/GloPoWriMo which has worked so well over previous seasons will continue — but I wasn’t sure which direction (or project) most appealed. Then it happened. The collection of poems I read today (I always try & read one volume a day during this hectic month) was bought for two reasons: because it had herons on the cover & because the poet is an acclaimed activist/political poet.

So that’s what my focus will be each day — an activist poem (a poem about one of the many issues I feel I should be doing something about, but aren’t). Hence, writing poetry — because we know all how that a few lines of well-crafted verse can change the world.

However, as with last year, I have a project in mind which may depend on the poems not being made public prior to their appearance. So I won’t be posting the entirety of each poem on my blog, but a [hopefully] tantalising snippet (many journals/etc refuse to accept poems even if they’ve just been on personal Facebook pages or blogs with only 100 subscribers). 

As a wonderful compensation for skimpy serious verse, I’ll be repeating my daily Poetic Factoid poem assignment from last year — which I thoroughly loved & from which I got some absolute cracking poems.

*****

bad timing

this crisis is so slow moving — and intimately place-based
a flower blooms early — an insect’s life cycle alters by weeks 
& suddenly birds have nothing — to feed their chicks

*****

Day 1 – TIL more about cool Japanese words

solitary maw

i.
i’ve long suspected the Japanese do words 
better than us — ever since learning electron 
means electricity child — today’s discovery is
Kuchi zamishi which describes the act of eating 
when you’re not really all that hungry 
but because your mouth is lonely
Koo-chi-sa-bi-shē is how it appears phonetically
— & honestly it could be on my family crest

ii.
it’s kind of “peckish” : but not
— less brazen than “stress eating”
— technically you’re not starving : 
but you keep checking the cupboard 
every 7 mins or so to see if something 
new & delicious has somehow
miraculously appeared in abstentia
— only my eyes want it : but 
i’ll eat it anyway : & so food 
silences mouth

iii.
sure we could cultivate awareness 
become mindful when we devour
overcome our unconscious consumption
through gratefully savouring each bite 
as Zen Buddhists do — but honestly
where’s 
    — the bleedin’ fun 
                 — in that 

Day 19 — Poem AId + ReAlIty TV

A different kind of day today as I played with form/function/generation a little. There is something which links all 4 of these poems (almost everything on this page in fact). I’m wondering if anyone can work it out.

Sonnet 1
Of Orpheus’ lyre, the ancient bards did sing,
Whose melodies could charm the savage beast,
And make the rivers dance and trees take wing,
While all creation listened to his feast.

With golden chords he wove a magic spell,
And drew the shades of Hades to his side,
To rescue his beloved from the depths of hell,
And bring her back to earth, his blushing bride.

But fate was cruel, and jealous gods did frown,
For mortal love was not for them to bless,
And so they tore his love away, to drown,
In the eternal night of loneliness.

Yet still he played, his music pure and true,
And all who heard were moved, and loved anew.


Limerick 1
There once was a man named Orpheus
Whose music could calm any ruckus
     He played with such skill
     The trees would be still
And rivers would cease their loud gushes.


Limerick 2
Orpheus played the lyre with grace
His music could slow any chase
     He sang with such skill
     His voice could even still
The ferocity of a wildcat’s race.


Sestina 1
Orpheus, the bard with lyre in hand,
played music that made the gods weep.
His voice was like the sweetest bird,
and all around him would gather to hear
as he sang of love and tragedy,
of loss and hope, of life and death.

His love, Eurydice, met an early death,
and grief consumed Orpheus like a brand.
He journeyed to the underworld, full of tragedy,
to plead with Hades, and make him weep.
The god was moved by Orpheus’ voice, so dear,
and allowed him to bring back his beloved bird.

But Orpheus, in his haste, lost his bird,
and his love was returned to eternal death.
Heartbroken, he sang a mournful song, so dear,
and played his lyre with a trembling hand.
His music made the underworld weep,
as they listened to his tale of tragedy.

Orpheus’ life was marked by tragedy,
as he mourned his love and lost his bird.
His songs made even the gods weep,
and his voice was as mournful as death.
But he continued to play, with steady hand,
singing of the past, present, and what he held dear.

Orpheus’ lyre was his most dear,
as it spoke his heart’s deepest tragedy.
He played with a steady, sure hand,
telling the story of his lost bird.
His music echoed with the voice of death,
as he made even the underworld weep.

His voice, like the sweetest bird, made them weep,
as he sang of the things that he held dear,
of love and loss, of life and death.
Orpheus’ life was a tale of tragedy,
but his music, like his lost bird,
lives on, guided by his steady hand.

Day 19 – TIL about my relationship with Reality TV

True Man 

Truman syndrome 
is a mental condition 
some people suffer 
where they believe 
they’re the star 
of an imaginary 
reality tv show.

You’ve got to feel
sorry for those people
living their sad fantasy worlds
given i long ago realised 
that i was & am the centre
the focus of attention 
of millions & millions 
of adoring fans worldwide  
— my family & everyone 
i know merely actors in a charade 
which makes me the rightful
focus of the world’s attention.*

That being said — you’d think 
they’d have gotten better 
actors to play some of the parts 

*paraphrasing words actually said by someone who suffers from Truman syndrome

Day 28 – white magick cleansing 

A more playful poem than some this month, because after all, I do still have my sense of humour.

 

 

*****

deep cleansing the past month

week 1: a necessary exorcise of Her

my friend Charlotte convinced
that to provide clarity & clear 
the psychic air around me i must 
exorcise Her negative energy
from my  home  head  &  heart 

together we assemble two strands 
of black hair & one of henna;
a handwritten letter; & the sole gift
i ever got (a clue in itself she whispers) 
a copy of Her favourite book

i must burn them at midnight 
of a new moon ie tonight
i’m tired i tell her & it’s cold out
she’s long gone when i sacrifice 
Her meagre possessions to flame

— it makes no difference 

.

week 2: Spell for Aura and Energy Flow

disappointed but not deterred
Charlotte has lent me her
White Spells for Modern Wiccans
with multiple pages marked

turning to the first post-it note
her neat handwriting declares: this spell
is perfect for purifying one’s aura 
or the energy flow between two people

things i need

bundle dry sage
“loaded” white candle
a feather (purified)
photo of each of us

having none of these items
Charlotte swiftly visits 
& watches as i perform
the spell under her steely gaze

   i. put candle & sage
   on a silver platter
   with the two photos

   ii. light candle
   burn sage carefully
   creating smokeless smoke

   iii. with the feather 
   sweep smoke towards
   the outside of the house

— it makes no difference 

.

 

week 3: Enchantment to ward negative energy from the home

on a waning moon day
peel & quarter an onion
form in a cross on a white plate 
in front of a brown candle
light the candle, chanting

   Creature of fire 
   Bringer of tears 
   Hear my desire 
   Banish my fears 

   Power of three 
   Set this home free
   Cleanse it today
   Long may it stay

travelling counterclockwise
walk through the house

saucer in left hand, candle in right
turn three times clockwise in every room

leave the onion & candle in the kitchen 
until it’s completely burnt down

then throw the wax on your lawn
& bury the onion far from home

— it makes no difference 


.

week 4: spell of my own devising

go into the garden
pluck five sprigs of fresh mint
return inside
heat some water
(from the tap is fine)

tear the leaves 
from the stalks
& drop in a mug
pour hot water over
breathe in deeply

pop your patio chair 
in a patch of warm 
autumn sunshine 
but take a rug too 
cos there are clouds above

sigh loudly after sipping
open the given book
(course i didn’t burn it
i’m no monster)
lose yourself in reading

— it doesn’t fix everything 
but it makes a small difference 

Day 21 – not all poems have to be about my experience of love (or the lack thereof)

As the title says.

*****

perfect relationship

when my parents retire
dad wants to live in darwin
mum in cradle mountain 
mum says they’ll meet
for a month in the middle 
(in our country’s
so-called dead heart)
every five or so years
& it’ll be the perfect 
relationship, lol

Day 20 – pity party (& binge bash)

20 mudwallow_buffalo.jpg

This was actually begun as a poem for someone else … & took a wrong turn along the way, which improved it immeasurably.

*****

wallows

was happily wallowing, wallowing;
in my heart of broken glass pain;
my sad song that never ends;
my woe-is-me tale of eternal misery;
with my wounded soul lying in a cave;
like a hippo in mud;
like the proverbial pig;
like the …
                  when i got to wondering
what other creatures like a good wallow.
a quick interwebbing told me
   elephants & elephant seals
     warthogs & rhinoceroses
        tapirs & bison all do; some deer too.

accidentally learning along the way,
it’s a comfort behaviour, free sunscreen,
insect repellent, wet brush to enhance
moulting & remove parasites; as well as
aids social cohesion & play in young animals.

by which, i’d forgotten my mopery
(though i was a good deal    itchier)

BONUS POEM: April 20, 2018

After a scare with their prepaid Skip the Line tickets I finally saw my mother (Old Ma Jones) & my niece inside, when I thought, WTH I may as join the end of the queue & see how long it actually takes. Seemed a shame to be so close & not even try.

*****


shadowvale

I did not leave
myself all day
lost in the space
I’m always lost in
— from here
I glimpse
things stranger
than I have known
things I could
once have been
were it not
for the shadows
in the vale

20b hyde park.jpg

Day 18 – dog praising (& flag waving)

Kiara's Chezzy - side small.JPG

Today’s pome is inspired by a poem I read part of yesterday & wanted to i) play around a bit, ii) try attempting a different form, iii) honouring a subject I rarely write about (haha). 

The extract I’m referring to is taken from a very long poem Jubilate Agno (Latin: “Rejoice in the Lamb”) by Christopher Smart, written 1759-63, during Smart’s confinement for insanity, but first published only in 1939. Divided into four fragments A, B, C, & D the whole consists of over 1,200 lines: all the lines in some sections begin with Let; the other sections begin with For. The poem is chiefly remembered today for the 74-line extract wherein Smart extols the many virtues and habits of his cat, Jeoffry. It begins:

     For I will consider my Cat Jeoffry.
……For he is the servant of the Living God duly and daily serving him.

& I will use the same/similar lines to begin my (considerably shorter paean).

*****

Jubilate Canis (shout out to my dog)

For I will consider my Dog Chester.
For he is the servant of the Infinite who is throughout the universe.

For this he performs in ten degrees.
For first he wisely sniffs every piece of food offered to him
For secondly he quickly, softly, licks my toes should a leg drop over the bed’s edge
For thirdly he rests neatly, his forepaws politely crossed
For fourthly he sleeps wildly, upon his back, legs sprawled in 9 directions, completely at peace
For fifthly he always stretches his back properly upon awaking
For sixthly at dawn he wishes to smell all that his new in his yard & let others know of his return to dominance
For seventhly, beneath the desk even as I type, he reaches out a paw to ensure there is contact with my foot
For eighthly believes when he has the ball, all others want the ball, & it is his sworn duty to protect & retain the ball
For ninthly he does not consider himself too big to climb onto my lap & cradled like a babe
For tenthly he still whines excitedly (& only a little pathetically) at the gate, when I have been away a long time, as if he did not believe I was ever returning to him
For food
              for walk
…………………………..for pat
                                        for drive all delight in equal measure
For he is optimism beyond all reason for hope
For he finds joy in the simplest of things.

For while I claim he performs divine duty in ten degrees
For sure I could easily list ten times ten times ten more.

BONUS POEM: April 18, 2018

You don’t see as much of this in Australia, though it is getting worse…

*****

flags

proudly flapping
every where you go
patriotism overload
overwhelming, cloying
we have hung
them everywhere
outside our homes
along the roads
on tree branches
twigs, bushes, brambles
caught on wire
strung from fences
in towns, cities
& isolated country
hideaways
places you wouldn’t
places they shouldn’t
shreds of flag
shards of flag
a sliver, a scrap, a slip
the smallest fragment
enough to remind us
you can’t escape
the jingoistic fervour 

despite the propaganda
it’s hard to take pride
in any of our billion
billion plastic pennants

18b flags.jpg

Day 27 – poem about bad hair

g&g

Some days a poem just writes itself. This was one such. From a few notes jotted while I was visiting my gran in her “retirement home”, the tone quickly established itself & made me laugh out loud as the various descriptions presented themselves.

knot me

in the quiet blue of my gran’s tiny
room a photo of a long-haired kiss-
curled cow-licked feminine-faced lout;
smug in a purple-striped shirt under
neath an all-white knitted jumper
(as was, I hope, vaguely fashionable
in the Miami Vice trashed late 80’s);
set off with a heart-shaped silver bolo-
tie for fuck’s sake
                                 although i recognise
his confident cock-eyed grin, his too-
smooth clean-cut chin, & once-pride&joy
full-but-already-thinning head of fine
wavy hair, my stomach double knots
in grief & pity — for he does not yet
know all he has, nor all he will lose