sheets revisited

The bed hasn’t been made for days.

There are ways,
I’m told, to shake the torpor from the sheets.
The window’s dew-wet. You’re shut tight with the unsaid.
Books lie open on the desk. The shadow cast
By a sole silhouette’s incomplete.

Against the pillow a corner of toast
Floats like a ghost, a memory of the dead.
Coffee grounds squat in their cups, without
A mouth to smile once they’re cleaned up.
There’s silence, silence at last.

Remember the relief,
When, washed-out with grief, you could sit with a clean sheet
At your desk? Remember the sound of his laugh
The time a full glass of wine stained your dress?
Recall your glance from pillow to page, asking which is best?

Yes, love keeps you warm at night. But work gets you up.
That frown you wear’s what allows you to stare
Down the space in your empty cup.
The cup was full when someone was there
But the page was always blank.

Now the room
Is full. Look! Open books, a bed unmade.
But the odour? Mmm. It’s rank.
Love and work have come and gone
But you’ve got me still. You’ve got me to thank.

the campus question (for dada! where's my poetry? competition)

discipline or narcolepsy?
erudite polygots exhaust the quandary
sweltering beneath a soda fountain,
elbowed in a manilla gangland;

nubile pleb with tabloid Venus infatuation!
pursue from any sandpaper orifice a creeping consolation,
defend this rendevous of hold-over gelatinism
those glass amoeba, that gestured apparition.

read faraggo!

(for the 'dada! i need some help with my poetry' competition)

pleb, defend this mundane campus tabloid!
a sandpaper Venus of questions distilled:
‘discipline or narcolepsy?’
any acrid gesture exhausts that quandary!

the analogue polygots ostracise the pursuit,
and an iron lentilist laughing
through a fatuous rendez-vous, squabbles:
'bourgeois frolic or glass amoeba?'

hold in on that wesely ghost through manilla
ganglands! because some nubile apparition
creeps over dominoes with a fudge epitaph.

quench the onion’d orifice
with this erudite consolation:
a polka’d elbow fountain,
avenginging the heart.

smoke (for iraq anniversary no. 4)

for you, the reader

first posted 20th of march

‘as flies to wanton boys, are we to the gods;
they kill us for their sport.’
king lear, act iv, scene i

in these times
i hold you close,
thoughts firm, soft,
& ironic; resolute
-ly comforting and destructive:
a cigarette.

comforting & destructive,
these nuclear times;
where weapons lie
in the mouths of leaders,
in hidden hovels,
in bunkers, in wait.

protectively,
we exhale slowly,
let breaths fall heav’ly
from our mouths:
incredulousness
is the best defence.

the days hang, grey
beneath our eye-sockets
and in our skin
we find new shadows:
experience takes
liberties with the face.

liberty takes nothing
but time
and insight:
the cage is still
there, but we exist
outside it,

our hands metal-cold
between bars, our
bodies slumped
in shameful slumber;
these years of non-alignment
make us bent.

in these times
my thoughts curl
around you &
yours around me,
a knot of love
in twisted times where

the only bleeding hearts
lie cold in rubble,
prayers shake
the foundations
of buildings and
words are as smoke.

let them keep their
buildings,
weapons,
rubble;
their eyes filled
with mushroom clouds
of purest light.

we know we are
but knots of love
tied to an infinite darkness;
we know we have but
each other, and the scent
of rising smoke.

the joke

For J

‘Under the Taliban, women had to walk ten paces behind their husbands.
America brought freedom, and landmines.
Now the women walk ten paces in front.’

We can laugh off what we don’t understand,
Knowing the heart weeps even in laughter,
Violently trying to live and let live,
Here, people carry themselves through disaster.

Knowing the heart weeps even in laughter,
We tell the joke of noble aspiration.
There, people carry themselves through disaster
With forgiveness: an inspiration.

We tell the joke of noble aspiration:
All’s fair in love and war, but hard to forgive
Forgiveness comes: wet-eyed inspiration.
Smiling cynically, we sit and grieve.

All’s fair in love and war, but hard to forgive,
Violently trying to live and let live,
Smiling cynically, we grieve hand in hand,
We can laugh off what we don’t understand.

inquest! (from 'guantanamo' the musical)

Colonel Moe Davis:
Mr. David Hicks,
It is with the conviction of moral superiority
And contempt for the principles of democracy
That we welcome you here today.
So relax, approach the bench
And allow us to present
Your trial by military commission:

Be our guest! Be our guest!
Put our charges to the test!
Get in line, we’ll make it fine,
We don’t need any due process!

Think it’s more than you deserve?
Too bad, we only live to serve!
No conventions or regulations
Just sleep and sensory deprivation!

Seem innocent? We won’t recant!
After all, this isn’t France-
It’s the system
Every court has second guessed!
So let us chain your feet up
Or you might get beat up!
Be our guest! Be our guest! Be our guest!

Don’t appeal, take the deal!
We think our evidence looks real.
Like a trial? Wait a while
For your rights to be defiled:

We’ll tell lies! We’ll pull tricks!
‘Cause it’s not law, it’s politics!
Fairness isn’t mandatory
As long as we can sell our story:

He’s dangerous and guilty
Of giving aid to the enemy
And he'd corroborate
As much under duress!

Don’t think we lack perspective
Just cause the charges are retrospective
Be our guest! (If you don’t confess
We’ll subject you to psychological stress!)
So be our guest! Be our guest! Be our guest!

Phillip Ruddock:
Jurisdiction's complicated
In a state that’s been unstated
It’s not the same if you don’t have someone to blame.
Your government doesn’t want to be useful,
We’d rather you’d just take abuse, who’ll
Be our scapegoat if you refuse to play the game?

A whole five years we’ve all been waiting!
And, why yes, it’s irritating
Since your showtrial's been so long set out.
For a guilty verdict, I’ve been busting
(Although my Amnesty badge is rusting)
It would serve my career without a doubt.

Kevin Rudd:
It’s a guess, it’s a guess
But I’ll defend David if I’m pressed.
Maybe a helping hand to a suffering man
Will boost my electoral prospects!
Habeus corpus, or fair go
Seems to play well. Whaddayaknow?
Being angry and complaining
Works just as well as web campaigning!

I’ll try indignation! I’ll try rage!
Even a show trial has a stage:
And my platform of compassion might impress!
If in the end he’s guilty
I'll just blame Howard government policy
It’s a guess, it’s a guess, and I think it’s best!

Military judiciary:
Be our guest, be our guest!
And never mind the prejudice !
It’s been years since we’ve had anybody here
And we’re obsessed!
With your guilt, your punishment
We won’t stop at solitary confinement!
With the terrorists still after us
No one will mind a miscarriage of justice!

Charge by charge -or just the one-
Til you confess and then we’re done!
You'll be locked up in the manner we suggest!
We would have preferred execution
But we'll play at prosecution!
So be our guest! Be our guest! Please be our guest!