muse
dance
sing
music
swing
songs
stomp
harmonize
stomping
big beats
drums
banging
stomping feet
musical
cut a rug
cymbals
tinging
lyrics
singing
in tune
good vibes
bells
ringing
dancing tribe
intermingling
tingling
solo voice
hands raised
fingers
all that
finger wagging
inner fire
soul muse
flames
fiery souls
arising
sparking
engaging
sparkling
vibration
tagging
old time
ragging
rag time
music fazes
staging
raging
new age
into song
people singing
emotions dancing
vibration creating
people romancing
dreaming being
tribal reeling
heart and soul
what we're feeling

         * * *

 

I see
you wearing
your second skin
I've watched
incendiary you
light up
all those
magic places
where we
all of us
have been
you are
openly bearing
your magical
mystical self
along with
your mystical kin
bravely wearing
all that tragic
yet marvelous
magic skin
we're all in

      * * *

 

holy crow
it's suddenly
nineteen eighty four
only it's
forty years later
holy red cow
what we see
has landed
upon our varied shores
only it seems like mostly
foreign danger
holy white raven
what if the sun
won't rise for ever more
it's brother moon
who has been shaken
to its sacred core
holy white buffalo
such is sacredness
forever more
God's graciousness
filling spacious creation
thus those holy
true love and more
yet human folly
black drones
God's omnipotence
didacting imitation
mark those king's castles
fortified bunkers and towers
seeking domain
two thousand twenty five
gaining power
ungodly drones
everywhere now
cameras and I phones
still somehow
that holy red cow
damn this recurrent
nineteen eighty four
that holy white whale
in its droning
deep sea world
sea through sky
of droning drones
what dawning soul
that holy white buffalo
beyond urgent big brother
universally learned creation
beyond depressed and immoral
beyond tragic perversion
of yearning civilization

             * * *

 

 

adamant war
that madness
part of mad men's
ultimate reason
gloomy outlook
who delivers
utmost treason
maximum people
over population
just too many
gloomy rooms full
of compulsive people
more social gore
more sadness invading
this startled season
every feasible cranny
every abysmal nook
ultra-rich people creating
those damnable crooks
we're under that
giant cold thumb
either bold economy
war's novel copulation
just too many weapons
simply too many deadly arms
desperate into death
what's left for more homeless people
fentanyl survival views
just too many
hopeless people
population that is screwed
every single nation
or some other variation
such detrimental trauma
by this uncivilized world
as so much fucking war
is ultimately unfurled

           * * *

 

life has so many
hard parts to it
right from those
painful beginnings
being squeezed out
of our mother's birth canal
at that point in time
life isn't fitting us
like that warm fluid womb
or mother's soft vaginal glove
we really don't see or understand
at that juncture in life
we only truly yearn and feel
for our mother's warm and tender love
all those harmful times
as kids and youngsters
accidental falling down
incidental bruising knees
getting those small cuts
being deeply scratched
by sharp things and other flaws
like your kitty cat's prickly claws
then we have to endure
those hard times that hatched
growing up unsure
going to school
where other kids
other youngsters sure
might push us around
tease us
pull our hair
then we cry
as a momentary cure
then we wonder why
so much hurt out there
suddenly those teenage years
when we begin to discover
that opposite sex
that puberty thing
can we ever recover
shackled with all those crazy fears
so immaculately confusing
so heartbreaking at times
stacked up with hormones raging
teenage hearts breaking
young minds racing
trying to figure things out
trying to find out who we are
what we are
how we fit in
when at times we sin
how we don't
life is hard
but life has its sweet
in those magical hours
those sweetest of dreams
then all those hurt feelings
times when our pride is wounded
if we get through all that
without giving up
without giving in
without becoming dumbfounded
maybe we find the courage
to carry on with life
carrying all that baggage
along with misguided steerage
as muddled young adults
climbing saddle backed mountains
discovering wondrous things
falling into addled love
again so much hurt and pain
falling out of fad and love
at times so many torrential tears
maybe we find that soul mate
or we settle for someone
we might be able to live with
making long term plans
hoping for some very best
those long time wishes
those heartfelt dreams
though it often seems
wishy-washy life is difficult
life is hard and trying
we try and try
sometimes we cry and cry
maybe we end up all alone
no loving partner
no making that loving family
suddenly after our testy thirties
we wake up in our distressing forties
some of us suddenly panic
realizing life is passing us by
life is some whirlwind
we never truly expected
or ever foolishly wanted
life might taunt us
making us ghoulishly feel
things that make us wonder why
things that make us too often cry
still most of us continue to try
try and try and try
into our trying fifties
those after mid-life years
when saturated reality sets in
when things become so damn real
we might start seeing some difficult end
we might begin wishing
we had lived something completely different
in our listing sixties
old age begins creeping in
things are shifting and aching
our bodies begin complaining
what now old girl and guy
things are definitely sagging
deary me and my oh my
our brains might begin lagging
maybe we drank too much
perhaps we smoked up all those years
what if things had been different
what if our dreams had come true
suddenly we turn seventy
what a shock that can be
if you haven't done
what you thought you might
what you imagined you would
your life can become a little twisted
your view of days and nights
can become undone
finally if we're amongst those lucky few
we might reach into eighty
when old age has taken hold
robbed our shaking lives
with so some hurt and pain
right out of that constant black and blue
looking around you
what did you do
why can God be so cruel
still we might go on
some wake up in their nineties
perhaps because we prayed to some deity
maybe prayers mean nothing
what if God doesn't exist
what if life has no meaning
maybe by that elephant age
having grown big ears and long nose
we've seen some divine light
feeling decrepit having broken that one long tooth
each slow step and constant struggle
even breathing can be hard
especially if we've consumed
too much refined sugar and deep fried lard
at that elderly age
we likely look around
seeing all that senseless youth
relentlessly bouncing up and down
maybe it looks degrading
maybe it seems rather uncouth
learning lessons we learned too
but in our ancient nineties
most of our friends are gone
we inevitably end up with so very few
when we still manage to dream
even about all those magic things
as we continue to live
our sometimes tragic lives
but still somehow
this frantic world turns
pathic days arrive
transforming into telepathic night
just like on this mystical planet
where magic seeds sprout and grow
where untold measures of flowers bloom
where treasured winds sometimes blow
life is and has a long and varied list
of excessive trial and garrulous error
challenges and tears
we must try to overcome
so many nightmares and fears
who knows how or what
perilous life will be
sometimes a complete disaster
sometimes for those lucky ones
we get through plucky life
feeling like all those cards we were dealt
might be considered really good
maybe life was administered
as something almost fair
maybe on our last day
we'll see that dark side
revealing the other side of sister moon
maybe on our final other day
we'll understand what in lovely life
had been for us honest few
all those menial things
that had been good for us
even certainly meaningful
and advantageously true

                    * * *

 

Haiku Wednesday

living with your life
enjoying your hurt and pain
we go on giving

         * * * 

category one
ultra super storms are here
category five

         * * *  

climb inside the mouth
writers speaking dialogue
let's see what comes out

         * * * 

that fire inside us
incinerating our souls
so into the void

          * * * 

more more more more more
more more more more more more more
more more more more more

           * * * 

 

there they are
three tarantulas
perhaps five
maybe more
living with us
skulking along
unmolested indoors
down on Claude street
two dusty tattered rugs
one atop its musty other
on that crusty lounge room floor
covering up some ancient history
even lovely carnal mystery
Choy and Django
are hovering there with us
lovers you and I
no matter where we go
we sit next to each other
staring at your outdoor garden
moving just outside
your Armidale door
there they are
those tall eucalypts
you planted them all
grand neighbours
alongside your Canadian maple
under that attentive
storied Australian sky
you sit smoking
drawing your slim legs up
like a yogini
or are you manifesting
a sage bushwoman
or a bodhisattva
you readily drinking
your heady black tea
nirvana sips
between samsara puffs
of awakening smoke
I sit there
what thinking takes
about red kangaroos
and brown snakes
dreaming about
how we were
about how we are
making love last night
as I drink that
gawd awful
powdered brown
that tinned cheap
Australian instant coffee
we watch all
those magnificent birds
as they brilliantly flutter about
from tribal eucalypt
to medicinal eucalypt
we are strangled
by our medicine dreams
all that imposing love
so impossibly tangled in that
resplendent web we weave
I'm dancing in a streaming world
walking my dreaming songlines
beneath that fond Southern Cross
while we're naked and dancing
romancing at our Woodstock
thinking I should
drink black tea
like I once did
in far-off Yukon
all those years
way back in 1974
it was still bitter
coffee in distant 1973
when Christmas Evans
with friendly Jimmy Teszay
mystified twenty-year old John Gleshka
and twenty-year old sidled me
ancient consensual stories
about goldrush residential Atlin
where some old prospector fellows
paid a local dance hall girl
one of those mellow
ladies of the night
adorned and unfurled in all
her frightful goldrush glory
paid to sprint naked
down main street
way way back
in those dirty 1930's
so we two young men
listening to those two old Yukon boys
drank strong tea
laughing together
sitting by that smoking
hot wood burning stove
settled in that green
pine wood shack
wood that was green and damp
out at that frosty
Skookum Jim camp
while we read
lost between lines
amongst those costly paragraphs
columns in Yukon News
a small volume in that Whitehorse Star
those 1974 newspaper views
inked headlines about
some new-age streaker
running unfazed and naked
down Whitehorse front street
a 1970's stage of Yukon fun
in that cold bold spring
old Tis and I
smoked rollies
drinking strong black tea
made with snow water
Yukon bushman's best tea
Tis always said
John and I agreed
Jimmy sat quiet
mostly quite silent
his native Teslin nature
tribal for sure
but you and I together
dreaming an awkward future
up on Claude street
we couldn't stay
silence wasn't where we'd meet
we had so much
love to share and words to say
carving continental landscapes
into each other's heart and soul
marvelous stories and rhymes
between those poetic times
when we so often
made passionate love
our lasting moans
so many orgasmic groans
leaving us dripping
wet and out of breath
love talking with us
primal walking along
our breathless songlines
while three or five
or even more alive
being quite serious
that is no lie
tarantulas keeping us
delirious in spider company
beneath your loving
brilliant Australian sky

             * * *