Orca

Intelligent air breather immersed in the sea

‘My head is full of killer whales
and they are trying to get out!’ he said
face bloated
eyes popping under pressure of orcas
the mettle of deep spirit forces.

The incarnations of orca are many.

Spyhopping in cold ocean water
with warm blood and majesty
brutality cloaked by ethereal beauty,
tear-like haze covering black eyes that grapple my soul.

Showing off – porpoising in dark waters
breaching to good effect
displaying a strong, white chest like a silverback gorilla
black glossy back disappears into the depths
reappearing to display again.
I am mesmerised but not afraid.

Don’t get too close!
the force might suck you in
momentum
mass of savage flesh creating dire chasms in the water
juxtaposition of fascination and fear.

Then, hunting in pods like packs of wolves
speed, ferocity, synchronicity
wolves of the sea
following the bleating of lambs
a blanket of fear smothers my warm breath.

Conscious mind immersed in dream.

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‘Orca’ was published in the Third Eye journal (Vol 1, Ed 2, Dec 2009)

* photo by Gabrielle Bryden

the show must go on,

Now I know how Dorothy felt when the tornado picked her up in Kansas and whoooossshed her to the fantastical land of Oz to be with a bunch of witches, the scarecrow, tin man and cowardly lion. Now I know how a cork from a bottle of rum feels when thrown overboard by a pirate (concentrating on the melody of what shall we do with a drunken sailor while scratching his itchyaaarse and dancing with a mermaid of his fantasy), tossed up, down and sideways on the black, tumultuous seas, longing to be safely back in the dry ship cabin. I must be hallucinating, I’m sea-ing a pink snail floating on fairy floss or is it slithering along a shimmering martini, too many incantantations to digest,
never mind that, I can see the washing machine waters beginning to settle, a little, and the sky tonight is red so another day will bring a sailor’s delight of calming seas, for sure
peppermint tea anyone …

he would have it no other way
the show must go on,

Doing the jitterbug (haiku)

Australian Masked Lapwing (Plover)

Australian Masked Lapwing (Plover)

quick steps, quick steps
masked lapwings two, in concert brisk
like law lords at court, in deep
conversation, natter, natter, natter
what’s the matter?
guilty I say
what say you?
natter, natter, natter,
parading grandeur,
doubly resplendent, in feathered robes,
the legal garb,
with hands clasped, in arrears
handcuffed,
dress pinned, perhaps
busy day, busy day
must be on our quick step way
kak, kak
kak, kak, kak

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For Selma in the City 😀 – we talked about the plover legal fraternity some years ago (finally I got around to writing the poem).

The Magpie (3 Haiku)

Warbling magpie
sings with changing notes in spring,
chicks are growing fast
~
The magpie quavers
and trills in the warm spring sun,
the flowing stream
~
Swooping magpie
protects her young in spring,
cyclists duck and weave

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The Baker

The Baker

The baker wakes so very early
to bake his daily bread,
toasty blankets cast adrift,
he laments the rift from bed.

But once the loaves are rising,
his nose begins to fill
with smells so appetising,
he marvels at his skill.

His brioche is to die for,
jam donuts light and fluffy,
the high top loaf is standing tall,
the sausage rolls are puffy.

His fairy cakes are delicate,
soft mouthfuls are transcendent,
with butter cream of every tint,
the frosting is resplendent.

His pies have all the best of fillings,
juiciest steak and chicken,
the gravy is delectably rich,
he’s a secret way to thicken.

His flaky pastry takes the cake,
the perfect wrap for pie,
the warm light pasties make the grade
and all the mouths will sigh

and sing his praise, gustatory
king of the bakery world,
his pastries always take the prize,
his fervour is unfurled.

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The Volcanologist (Mr X) – a close shave

I haven’t received any Close Shave subs (though it’s not too late folks). Never mind – it is a peculiar subject (probably a theme that I relate to more than others). But I can dust off a couple of poems that I have written on the subject.

So below is The Volcanologist (Mr X).

Years ago I read an article about a Volcanologist who became so obsessed with lava flows that he made a boat and tried to float in the river of lava – the ending wasn’t happy.

I tried to track down that story but had no success (so if anyone knows the original story I would love to find the source).

You’ll have to read my poem to find out what happens to my Mr X, another obsessed Volcanologist (they’re everywhere 😉 )

Warning: Cuteness Overload

puppy sleeps –
the discarded slipper
holds onto the warmth

~

The Perfumer

The perfumer

By night he dreams of three exotic ladies in harem pants, adorned with beads and misty coins, whirling together in a heady dance.

The dance of the three ladies, beginning with the light touch of one that awakens his senses to the fleeting now, shimmy from the top; then the heart and body of the second dancer snaking and shivering with the middle notes, the music punching the air, staccato hips; joined by the final dancer, who lingers over rich, base notes, infused in the atmosphere, undulating torso.

Arms and bodies fuse in a confluence of silk, flesh and hazy smoke, forming a pyramid of inspiration burning in his

nose.

 

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Note: the fragrance pyramid consists of top notes, middle notes and base notes to create the perfume, that the perfumer will create

 

Nuddernote: wake up and smell the perfume 😉

 

Nuddernuddernote: a repost

Warning: This Poem is Revolting

Warning: This Poem is Revolting

The reader’s face was blank
the words had not sunk in.
The poem had been read
but then he chucked it – in the bin!

He didn’t like that poem,
didn’t ascertain its meaning,
he was busy contemplating pies
and the cost of his dry-cleaning.

But this story is just beginning
for metaphor was pissed,
his very being was compromised,
he didn’t like being dissed.

Simile was similarly outraged,
like a prisoner denied a smoke,
he didn’t like this reader
who was dumb beyond the joke,

and narrative was spewing
she was livid, through and through,
she told as much to subject and shape,
and they were fuming too.

Symbolism was gnashing teeth,
a cross tattooed on her back.
Infuriated – an understatement –
she wouldn’t take no flack.

Outrageous cried the first stanza,
turning to the second,
this reader – talk about acting the goat,
is that what you would reckon?

K’noath, that’s pretty much how I do feel,
my tone is smoky red,
I’m only short but misunderstood
is not the way I’m read.

By now allusion was going crazy,
cartoon smoke came out his ears,
bit like the lies from Abbott’s mouth
before he safely engaged the gears.

Now rhythm and rhyme were plotting,
they were going with the flow,
let’s take revenge on this dim-witted dude
he knows not how low he will go.

The attributes of the poem united
in ranting, and bristling and bridling.
The theme would be taking revenge
and in this there would be no dam idling.

They gathered their weapons so swift –
there were knives, a chainsaw, an axe –
oh yes, they were ready for battle
and reader was not watching his back.

The reader’s face was blank
as you’d suspect from someone dead,
he had failed to hear the music,
so they cut off his empty head.

(soundtrack to the poem)

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Note: Recently there was an interesting comment thread on Aussie writer Nigel Featherstone’s blog where we were talking about a ‘poem … going to go wild and violent due to being shunned and misunderstood!’ Nigel asked me to write the poem (we will soon be making the movie 😉 ).