Poem # 87 Cape Tribulations

The pub was in a clearing
in the rainforest in the
far north. On Friday nights
they had " Bull fighting"
where a pair of males, or
females, or mixed would
have their hands  fastened
behind their backs with
plastic ties and then head butt
each other until one could
not stand. The patrons would
bet , stamp the dust, and yell
and cheer on their favourite.
Above the bar, foreign, torn,
and defaced notes were pinned.
Some were from the time
when only FJ utes, Jeeps,
Landrovers, and trucks
passed through on narrow
dirt tracks. They bore
messages " Woz and Baz's
honeymoon", " Cane toads
rule", and " Support mental
health care or I'll kill you!"
The huge head of a boar was
mounted on display above the
bar, it's tusks as long as Arab
knives.Stuffed cane toads dressed
as hookers or swaggies stood
erect next to the spirit bottles
their pouting lips an azulian red.
A huge stuffed rat guarded the
cash register. A sign proclaimed
" Largest rat on record shot at
the No Name pub".
Through the trees across the
beach I could see trawlers
moored. Black silouettes
against the moonlit horizon
illuminated by a slowly descending
red//orange/yellow glow. A sharp
contrast with the noise and
aggression of the bar.
When the hard Chechen next
to me downed his ninth vodka
shot and told me " the rat was
telling him to do bad things."
I knew it was time to go.

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.