a madness divine
November 29, 2009 at 9:08 am | Posted in poetry, senti-mentality, writing | 22 CommentsTags: poetry, writing
each moment eternal and an end to all fine lines
frills and neat flesh tones niceries removed
madness is the first accusation of those unfeeling
or who would insist their truth is the only unformulated
assertion, the world is full of cowards but few artists
ee cummings mudlovely whistleblower with balloons
was surely no coincidence of mere hooves towing caravans
the question of our sanity is resolved
by aligning certain fences til the
attitudes of others become irrelevant
you see
one thing
true in every situation
time and place and human
it is joy and it is you.
5000 red marks
November 24, 2009 at 6:37 pm | Posted in blogging, writing | 23 CommentsTags: overcoming performance anxiety, radio play, writing for fun
(character voice) – Why must you ignore the rules of grammar? I will have to argue with you about every single one and I already know you will never give up. Stalemate. And stop messing with the tenses leashes and start barking mad giving the characters names so we know who you are talking about.
Signed,
The Editor.
(another character voice) – Holey mackeral, sorry. Grammar is a boojwah affectation. So which was the first red mark again,
guillotine
November 22, 2009 at 2:14 pm | Posted in poetry, writing | 13 CommentsTags: poetry, writing
It is indeed an honour to be included in such esteemed company, this small sorority of song. Comfortably gathered here beneath decks surrounded by those few things we have treasured. Who interplolates, let us drink to the end of distinctions…
between the nouns and the verbiage, the gathering, haha chuckles the old woman broods whilst knitting, we hold these truths to be self-evident
some wiggified frenchified gentleman, one moment madame, a question, to be, i think, oh damn he has lost forgotten flipping through ornate pages, afloat called cabinboys
oh we do so love us a pirate poem
we do love
to live beside the seaside
Happy Birthday, Squires
November 19, 2009 at 8:45 pm | Posted in writing | Comments OffYou are a nut case and I am proud of you,
Andrew.
Thanks Andrew. Here’s to all of them. Every single fallen one. Some barely caught the eye and then were done. Youth all ways always suffers first. Oh I wrote a poem, about the importance of acknowledging your sources for all sorts reasons, so here’s to them too.
wealth as custodianship or wealth as theft
right hand passes over left
after bedlam comes
bedtime
wake again and then rewind.
Taking stock.
November 17, 2009 at 6:34 pm | Posted in memoirs, poetry, portraits, sheer selfindulgence, writing | 18 CommentsTags: poetry, stocks, writing, writing for fun
just because you believe time is not linear does not mean I didn’t used to write this piece as a slightly drunken father on a starry night round a fire, a blur of his tattoo, an English flag long forgot on his forearm round his son saying,
there is still the past, both recent and distant, line them up. Look up boy, you’re always looking at your feet you should be looking for friend or foe, the pass, the defender, the ball rolls by itself. He was alive when they won the cup, ’66, so I was three.
He was a submariner at sixteen and Welsh coalmining stock. Stocks which someone had spent some time building.
Protected: Pam Brown agrees with a drunk bastard.
November 15, 2009 at 1:50 pm | Posted in blogging, contemporary poetry, memoirs, writing | Enter your password to view comments.Tags: australian sentences, memoirs, Pam Brown
The Local Drunk
November 13, 2009 at 7:57 pm | Posted in poetry, writing | 13 CommentsTags: karaoke, poetry, writing
who acts like he owns the place
cos he does
wakes up each morning to his magic
martini these days
more fictional breathing
sea air and minimising
exaggeration and pianola
plunking why not revolution
like a memoire revolution
why not
in a clockwork watch
til one damns the obvious cliche
play that Tom Waits one again
he says stumbling
my way
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