Poem # 40 Towards the Nullabor

Towards the Nullabor

Highway drafted across
wide brown landscape
a drawing line
shimmering graphite grey
into the west,
explorers footsteps.
Cool breeze in my hair,
and the motor sings its
highway song.
I am the soul of the van.
We glide past gargantuan
harvesters and headers,
they have no soul.
Up ahead in the distance
shimmering water
never there.
A lonely isolated service centre,
a frontier outpost.
Was it there before?
Does it really exist
amongst the twisted
denuded blackbutt branches
dry reaching for the sky?
I am surrounded in semiology.

Poem # 39 Kalymnos

Kalymnos

The sea, pearl turquoise,
mountains ash-blue in the windless heat,
a puppy fat caique puffs past
in a line like little ducklings,
its bow wave a dark miraging
ripple on the creamy blue
surface of the sea.
All that is left of its passing
is the tiny tongue lap
of the transparent blue water
on the stones,
the waiting green crown of pine trees,
the tiny motor chorus
buzz of insects, and
the enormous landscape of silence.
My eyelids droop in
the thin shade of a pine,
in the agelessness, the
absolute dissociation of
a natural, wild
Greece.

Poem # 38 Art is

Art is

ArtisfashionArtisjoyArtisthemusicofthesoulArtistheliefromwhichwelearnthetruthFirstyouseethehillsinthepaintingthenyouseethepaintinginthehillsWhentwopeopleviewthesameartworktheydontseethesameartworkArtisworthwhatyoupayforitArtdoesntmaketheworldgoroundbutitmakesthetripworthwhileAllartispoliticsMakingtimeforartismoreimportantthantimingthemakingofartLetnofreemanbedeniedtheviewingofartThisisadrawingArtshouldbepowerfulArtshouldbecompellingThereisalwaystimeforartAnythingyousayisartisartyoumustthendecideifitisgoodartornotAllartismathematicsAllartishistoryLifeiselsewhereandartfindsitAnartistshouldsupportsocietyratherthanexpectingsocietytosupporttheartistYoudontstopmakingartbecauseyougetoldyougetoldbecauseyoustopmakingartArtneverasksyoutomakeanappointmentArtisnothinglikethecatalogueDoesartimitatelifeordoeslifeimitateartorisitpossibleanymoretotellthedifferenceWithartahappyendingisguaranteedFriendscomeandgobutartisthereuntilitsusebydateArtisworthwhatyoupayforittherichnessofartcomesfromtheartists'inspirationArtwillalwaysbemybestfrienditknowstoomuchaboutmeMoneytalksbutartsingsIsthepurposearttobedecorativeorprovocativeDeepdownmyartisprettysuperficialHappinesswithartisaninsidejobArtworkalwayspusheswhattheobserverseesaspossible

Poem # 37 Snow Angel

Snow Angel

Little one
A manga panda
In the pristine snow.
A dream scene,
Snowflakes brush your
Face
Light as loves kisses
And melt on your
rosy cheeks.
A snowman
lays broken and
half buried
on the ground and
you turn your small
round face
up to the sky
and close your eyes.
You feel the snow
On your lashes
on your lips
as you revolve slowly
arms spread
like a cherub.
It is the taste of winter.
The taste of innocence.
The taste of happiness.

Poem # 36 Extraterrestrial Activity

Extraterrestrial Activity

Who am I to doubt
his veracity,
the electrician maintained
he had been captured by aliens
whilst returning from the
Rooty Hill RSL - Vegas of the west!
He was teleported up, still inside
his twin cab ute, and given the
mandatory anal probe.
Initially he decided to keep
the story quiet,
fearing ridicule,
eventually he told a
reality television producer
how the experience had
given him insight into
his past lives and
rejuvenated sex with
his wife who had also
been a pharoah.
He passed lie detector
tests and stood up well
under hypnosis.
Now he and his wife
do very well from a
wealth exchange at
income for knowledge
workshops and are
considered authorities
on the effects of
the full moon.

Poem # 35 Cairo

Cairo

Cairo at dawn
in crepuscular light.
Across the Nile,
the sky a cobolt blue,
from horizon to zenith.
Behind the low line of hills
to the east, a glow,
pale gold and oyster pink.
Ra the sun rises,
grey brick buildings
become red and yellow
and blue and green and orange.
Scarlet sands towards
Israel lands turn to
bleeding cuts.
The minerets and dome
of the mosque blaze bright,
and bronze stars wink
along the walls where
the rising light
touches the spires.
On our terrace
a few flies stir sluggishly.
One,two,and then three
birds chorus in
the persimmon tree,
their song drowned
by the traffic
that begins to
flow down the streets.

Poem # 34 Contents II

Contents

Thirteen Minds
Discuss
Punishment
People
Wrong body
Alone against odds
Summer
Identity
Experiments with poetry
Find out about
Two cheers
Sticks and stones
Names
First lines
confined
Fear
2280 A.D.
Transcendence
What's going on
Labels
An enquiry into his past
Pick-a-pocket
Contest
in time
Omega