Poem # 85 In the dunes, Port Fowler, South Australia

Sitting behind the dunes
in the midden
surrounded by ripped tents
half buried in the sand
for quite some time, along with
broken fibreglass tent poles,
and wrecked eskies, and
possibly some ancient artefacts
from tribal culture,
a wild dog steps just inside
the rim of glow cast by the
embers. It is a large dog
black and yellow with
vertical stripes running
top to bottom,and
a large powerful head, and I
wondered what would bring
a dog to this obscure place
at this time of evening.

It is wise to be cautious
when confronted by strange dogs
- read the signs carefully, but
this animal moved in a way that
forestalled feelings of dislike. It
seemed to be watching,
judging me.
I stared into the animals eyes
for some time occasionally
glimpsing myself in miniature
sitting by the fire,
and for a moment felt
some kind of recognition,
and then the dog disappeared.

Poem # 86 Death of a Roo

" If you don't own it then shoot it!" said the farmer.
"Forget fair, there's no such thing
as fair. When the lion eats the lamb,is that fair?
We're all part of the food chain.
Get yourself some fresh meat.
It's all there passing by in the night.
Yours for the taking.
Don't hesitate those rabbits and roos
can be dangerous don't let them make
eye contact just pull the trigger.
Here I'll show you how it's done."
He shot the biggest and the best.
A noble specimen that didn't deserve
to be shot, but he did.
This was a huge roo
as tall as a tall man.
It jumped a two metre fence
no run up, just jumped,
clear over it.
He shot him. In the head.
The roo shrugged it off.
He shot him again.
The roo turned, just like he was
offended, then he
kept going.
In my heart I knew something
was not right about this,
but there was no going back.
He shot him again,
the roo fell but he got back up.
I felt my eyes moisten.
The pastoralist kept firing.
The big buck never gave up,
he kept crawling.
I could tell that this was a new
experience for him.
It ended with a shot into
his eye.
It was done.
My eye wet with tears,
his with blood.
A proud individual,
quivvering he
finally, finally, finally
died.
As did something in me.

Poem # 83 Redfern Station Summer

Train carriage packed
 sit on the steps
personal space is minimal
get baked on the sunnyside
with heat blazing in.
Humid air smells of
sweaty bodies and
strengthening odors
air vents sigh a few breaths
like a wheezing ashtmatic
a brief taste of how
it should be is worse
than constant heat.
Let the wisp of air
caress your throat
like fingers and hope
nobody will collapse.
Third world experience
in a first world nation.
Land of the
stubborn cross.
                              

#82 Moroccan Slippers

I have some shoes
from the souq in Fes
like Bing and Bob
Morocco bound
long long toes
Babouches
Pasha Persian slippers.
The shopkeeper told
me when I wore them
they would make me
a real man,
a strong man,
a locomotive into a tunnel
all night long.
When I play the tabla
tap tap tapping
Maqsum, chiftertelli,
Ayoub, women
dance the camel and
the serving girl and
when they shimmy my
slippers toes curl
tighter and tighter with
the rhythms of their
undulating bodies
and when they stop
the toes uncurl again,
slack, flaccid, but
when they move again
the toes curl tighter
and tighter and tighter.
When I tried those
slippers for the first
time I embraced the
shopkeeper stroked
his back blew warm
breath into his ear.
Effendi!Effendi!
he cried in alarm.
Stop!Stop!
You've got the shoes
on the wrong feet!

#81 Soul Travel

When he was first born
a character was already there.
Where did it come from
was he an old soul?
I could already see the
character and it was
proven right. He is that
character now.
Where did that character
come from, was it a
parallel life? Where are
we now in our souls'
development?
Inside our genetic
string what is our
souls progress?
We are always
evolving or
devolving.A
succession of
interactions with
kindred spirits
precedes and recedes.
Do we move on or
just exist.

#80 The Night Sky

Exerted by a call natural I stood outside
my cabin awed by the night sky.
It swept, a stellar cresent  from west
to east and back again. I could see the
perspective of space unfold, the
constellations expanded in depth,
the firmament turning in every
direction. A space that contains
everything and is contained by
no boundary, and only a thinning
of its weft, like a path opened
towards Venus, to make it stand
out alone over the frame of
the earth, with a steady slash of
light exploded and concentrated
at one point.
I was mesmerized by the silver
moon, an opaque disc, a
luminous sphere outlined by
the obilque rays of the sun,
but this appeared to mean nothing
to the grey, blue, white, and
brown owl standing motionless,
eyes wide, on the apex of the roof,
who only blinked once and
seemed not to be impressed
at all.

#79 Court Dog

The accused Suspect X was summonsed
to the central court for a mention.
Bold and fearing nothing he tied his
trusting dog Unconditional Love to
the railing outside but lo! He was
sent down for two years!
The dog looked with increasing
worry to the only exit as the
afternoon shadows lengthened
into evening.
A young female barrister from
the DPP spotted love, knew
the offender would be longer
than anticipated and fostered
love into her own home.
Cuddles were exchanged and
praise heaped upon her kindness.
In the glow of this action
the inner city appeared to sparkle,
even toilet paper felt softer.
Eventually X, now on parole,
was able to lay claim to his
best friend and was duly presented
with an invoice for $73,000 for
the maintenance of
Unconditional Love
during his incarceration.

#78 The Shadow Reader

She sits opposite
the swami Anilkumar
in newly purchased
saffron cheesecloth
acquired recently for
a pittance, eyes fixed
in rapture.
He is a soothsayer,
a psychic Phd in the
school of shadow knowledge.
In sonorous tones he can
divine ones entire self
past, present, and future
by calculating a paper cut out
of your shadow measured
with arcane rulers made from
fresh palm leaves and marked
with mysterious symbols.
He stares with intense brown
eyes and nods his shaven head
sagely.
In her previous life she was a highly
born spiritual and intellectual identity
in the upper Himalayas
......... but wait! There are
problems! He reaches out and
cups her breast, lightly
brushing the nipple, there
are blockages in her 'chakra'
energy centres .Healing sessions
will be needed at 3000 rupees each.
She will need many, many,many
sessions he states with multiple
sideways movements of his head,
but how else will she remove the
curse he can perceive has been
placed on her by an evil shaman
she did not notice in Chandigarh
where, he has observed from the label,
she purchased her outfit.

#77 Sleep

The kangaroos thump outside
the green metal shed
in the night and
my dogs bark their desire
to chase them.
I can barely recall what
it means to sleep well,
A sort of abscence
wasn't it?
A stillness like the
farm dam on a hot
summer night.
From time to time
like a passing breeze,
a dream will ruffle
the otherwise
invisible surface.
Then the intimate
horizonless darkness
closes in again
and the next thing
you know
it is morning.

#76 Tempo

Sometimes life
can pass by quite
quickly decades
even, as you age
the faster it goes.
Sitting there
trying to decide
if a picture is
hanging straight
not noticing that
the water has boiled
the kettle has
switched itself off
and the little red eye
under the on button
is slowly dying.

#74 Snow flakes

Snow is cold and wet
but also magical.
There is magic in
the mathematically
perfect flakes
that fall after
the still chill,
soft as down,
hard as frost,
a contradiction.
As I watch them
in the twilight
this July evening
a couple of flakes
swirl hither and
thither, aimless,
unaffected by
gravity and their
own will
apparently.
They will land
wherever chance
dictates, and
then they will
melt and vanish,
and I wish that
my life was
similar
There would be
some comfort
in that.

Poem # 72 Old Service Station and Hotel

This servo sits high on a
curving mountain road.
The signs and windows now broken
and patched with fibro.
Once a Golden fleece beckoned,
now only a shattered and broken
ring on top of a tapering pole.
The pub nearby has become
less profitable
and is now a peeling
castle for superannuated
trivia buffs, middle aged
drinkers and lonely souls
on the look out for
other lonely souls.
It still has a crumbling beauty
sitting on the rain-wet
overgrown terrace
overlooking the beautiful
vista of the
valley below.
A scene always impressive
be it illuminated in sunshine
or wrapped in fog,
but now this rest stop
is emotionally bankrupt,
all assets transferred,
an ex lover with
transferred affections.

#73 My Dogs

My dogs can experience sorrow, grief, and joy.
They can plan ahead, laugh,
and even deliberately deceive.
They have cognitive ability.
As I gaze into their compelling eyes
I wonder why it has taken
humans so long to accept that
our fellow animals
think and feel like us.

# 71 Holmes and Watson

The incomparable Holmes and I lay side by side, our fingers entwined beneath our heads for comfort on the spongy moor, staring up at the sweeping celestial vista above us. "Tell me Watson",he said "what is it that you think of when you look up at that magnificent panorama of sky?" "Well Sherlock", I replied taking the liberty of using his christain name because of the intimacy of the situation. " when I look at that sky at night I think about time and space and the amazing complexity of it all - Sirius - always the brightest, Orion, then the planets - Venus and Uranus. The constellations travelling slowly across the roof of the world from dusk till dawn. The precision of it, the quiet orderliness of the stars, that endow oneself with such a sense of freedom. - Why do you ask that question dear friend? Tell me, what do you think of when you observe that sublime grandeur. " It's elementary", Holmes replied after a pause for thought " someone has stolen our tent "

# 70 On a Roman Road

With a grinding of cams and gears the bus slowly meandered down country lanes cut very low by cart wheels hundreds of years before. " " The land of fog and mists!" quote Julius Caesar when first his sandelled feet stepped out of the Trireme onto the shores of this our emerald isle..... from wence come you, oh dusty traveller? " He spoke with fruity tones of rum pot richness cultivated in Oxford and Cambridge. Haunted by echoes and spectres of shirt lifters and pillow biters I didnt deign to reply. Later she admonished me: " That vicar was trying so, hard to start a coversation with you, but you wouldn't even reply!" For two decades I tried to make up for that mistake. In all regards I acted with kindness, sensitivity,and empathy. I did unto her as I would have someone do unto myself. I tried not to speak unless it was kind, true, or necessary. With love and affection I tried to illuminate the dusk of our relationship. Finally slowly, oh so slowly, I felt I had atoned for that mistake back in the heavy airs of Avalon, and I stepped out the door knowing that alone in my darkness I had indeed become a Cain in the wilderness.