No Hope (134 of 365)

Day 134 of the 365 day poem challenge.   

Word of the day meaning licentious meaning: "lacking moral discipline."

No Hope

Hope is a cool water in a stream

I am parched 

Trapped underneath responsibility 

And regret 

My heart is torn and bitterness is easier now 

Gratitude so quickly rent apart and

Spoiled 

Reminisce on innocent ignorance knowing better

Licentious largesse discoloured veins and obese ineptitude 

Hope is a cool water in a stream

I am drowning in hopelessness 

I feel it coming (133 of 365)

Day 133 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day kleptomania meaning "the inability to refrain from the urge to steal items and is usually done for reasons other than personal use or financial gain."

I feel it coming 

Soundtrack sonic ohms watts

That cornucopia kaleidoscope world 

Speeding swelling soaring 

Fancy free kleptomania

Holding fast and soaring

Like Eagles in a neon sky

Riptides burn rhythms fast

Onto the soul like slithering snakes 

Names we know

Emotions we know

Feelings we realise

I feel the pulse pounding

I feel the rise in heart beat like a roaring lion

I feel the discordant drummer beating so desperate as if for me alone

I feel it all

I feel it coming.

Playlist (132 of 365)

Day 132 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day Taciturn meaning: "Reserved or uncommunicative in speech."

Playlist

We never go out of style

Starships are meant to fly

Diamonds in the sky

Are you ready for the ruffnek base

God made me cool

We're crazy sexy marvellous 

Loving every minute 

Loving each day 

I want your soul 

It seems ugly but it could be worse

I am lost without you

We're so bored so sick and tired 

Baby you're a firework

This fire 

Light up the world tonight 

You're my best friend

Play the game of love

Don't stop me now 

I feel it coming 

One more time 

Last night I had a dream about you

We seek out the taciturn

The killing moon

You got that super bass

Harder faster stronger 

You give me something

Say you'll remember me ...

In your wildest dreams.

Legerdemain (131 of 365)

Day 131 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day legerdemain meaning "an illusory feat."

Legerdemain 

I would say that there is little for you to gain in reading this poem

Please do not read any further

These are thoughts spilled on a page

This is a mess 

This is messy and broken and oily and imperfect

Please you're embarrassing me

This has my name on it

I write like a toddler

Did you know that?

Do you want to know anymore

Are you hoping to get to the secret of this poem

This is not a poem this is a waste of time

This is monotony and you have nothing better to do

And you'll read this in two seconds and it took me only twice that to write it 

Four seconds isn't much

But why waste it stop please

I don't want you to read or know this

It's empty hollow 

My head is filled with one lonely whining voice now it is on this page 

The narrator is a construct

I am a construct and I am blurring reading and writing and you are buying into that aren't you

Don't read this

Don't read this

Don't read any further 

I learned repetition is a good way to get your point across

Do you like the swaying in and out

Did you notice how some lines go on and on and some thoughts 

Meander and curves and then

Some 

Don't.

The Youth (130 of 365)

Day 130 of the 365 poem challenge.

Word of the day impecunious meaning: "not having enough money to pay for necessities."

The Youth 

Impecunious idiot inhibited 

Proclivity pompous perfunctory

Magisterial manipulative machiavellian

Ideal ignoble inimitable 

Prelate parliamentarian prestigious

Majestic mentor methodical 

Ionic ignored immaculate 

Predestined prefect perspective

Morose melancholy machinations

Idolator impregnable impassable

Palpable permeating periphery

Macabre malevolence misappropriated 

 

The Circuit (129 of 365)

Day 129 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day hegemony meaning: "the dominance or leadership of one social group over others."

The Circuit 

Jarring cyclone headache

Beating down my soul 

Gears grinding of a public service

Broken and rusted and spent 

The cogs are laughing and joking

They have demon faces 

Filled to the brim of desperation

I saw a fellow and a lady stare in confusion upon the threshold

Of declared but rotten justice

I saw the public lack confidence

I saw nothing change

I saw the moth balls of frenzy and failures collect like head lice

Thrashing hadron-collider 

Blast my particles to bits

With inanity and archaism

And lack of judgement and lack of courage and lack of preparation

And overly sodden gears and grinders

And overly geared parts slick with 

The oil of youth and inexperience

To be lorded over and 

Talked down to 

Hopeless spiralling cataclysm 

Like a train crash

Whining careening screAming 

At the rending of steel

And shattered 

Presiding the nepotistic oligarch 

Like the gods Saturn and Jupiter ensnaring all the bit players in their rings 

Presiding hegemony posing as the rule of law

Presiding arbitrary and capricious 

Presiding unformed and unprincipled 

Presiding ill formed and grotesque. 

First Love (128 of 365)

Day 128 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day pert meaning: "characterised by a lightly exuberant quality."

First Love 

And the girl was pert and she danced and she giggled

And she met him the boy

Unlike the others 

She saw him and cheekiness 

Became her and overcame her

He chided her with false promises

The meadow of dreams was made

The possibilities soared through their brains like fires burning

The girl who was pert is ugly without curiosity and unknowing

She cannot unsee she cannot

Undo what has been played upon her

Stolen words enchanted scenes

Amazing sights and sounds 

The blurring of light and sound and sense

Her old colours seen illusory

She wants to grow petals of bright purple and plant her feet bury herself into the ground and bloom into something beautiful her soul

Dissolving back into the earth 

To be content to be nibbled on from time to time be bees 

Those stolen joys 

Those words caught in the throat

Those ideas of destiny and hope and love 

All dashed and there she is 

Broken 

Jaded.

The Angry Judge down on the Junior (127 of 365)

Day 127 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day pejorative meaning: "expressing disapproval."

The Angry Judge bears down on the Junior 

The flap of his ropable lips

Hung like a pejorative horse 

Postulating and me in my ignorance

Did much nodding and smiling 

The talented mute Mr Raging 

Donkey thinks to himself

Handing out a diatribe

Like unwanted porridge stain

There is no white flesh to the course mangosteen 

Of his palpable rage and contempt

Be like a mouse I say to myself

Be timid and unsure and futile

Be useless and condemn thyself

So the declaration is handed down

Disappointment rains down 

Indemnifying my blue soul

With self-righteousness.

There is Peace (126 of 365)

Day 126 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day palliate meaning: " 

When you palliate something, you try to make something less bad."

There is Peace

There is peace

As there is silent bliss

There is peace in a fractured skull

There is peace in suffocating mud

There is peace in decay 

There is peace in the slow pull of Autumn in all things

When the urge to palliate and repair is lost there is catharsis and there is palliative peace...

There is peaceful surrender in doom

There is bliss in ignorance 

There is joy in never being frightened in never being never ever 

There is an ending in war and blood

There is an ending and there is peace.

Chiswick (125 of 365)

Day 125 of the 365 day poem challenge. 

Word of the day neophyte meaning "any new participant in some activity."

Chiswick

Glasshouse, white, fresh, white coloured 

Neophytes, munificent, dour middlings, jabbering jays

Garden, marble, footpath, Boardwalk

Seats, stools, stilettos, steers, schooners, smears

Leaves, grass, roots, legumes, cattle

Noisy, subdued, glasshouse, sun, dizziness 

Chinking toasts, matte foundation, Crimson and lilac lips

Children, posies, well oiled waiters, incompetent photos 

Penumbra (124 of 365)

Day 124 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day penumbra meaning "the partially shaded outer region of the shadow cast by an opaque object."

Penumbra

His hands on hers

His eyes beyond

His eyes searching

His eyes preying

Her lips pouting

Her lips twisting

Her hands twitching

Her eyes tentative 

Her eyes down and unfocused

His eyes on the other

His eyes like antennae

He picks up a glass

The top of the water is unseen

as it courses 

Silently down his throat.

Thief (123 of 365)

Welcome to day 123 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day mawkish meaning "excessively sentimental or so sappy it's sickening."

Thief

Riding in the back of the car

The lights are flashing red 

In the black night like the 80s

A mawkish melody

There is music and insects

The radio crackles 

The road is deserted and in this light romantic

Two people

His eyes are off in the distance and on the wheel

Then they're full of lust

Those white balls 

Impenetrable and frightening 

The touches are delicate

The searching until he finds 

The soft folds he has been thinking about 

He places those soft hands on 

His lap not forceful

The noise of insects is replaced with sweat more powerful than aeroguard it kills the world around

There is a frantic scrambling

There is no noise no smile not laugh

Nakedness is palpable 

This could be anywhere

Images of animals on their backs 

Permissive and open come to mind

There is no pain just numbness

Then it is done.

Forever.

Colt (122 of 365)

Welcome to day 122 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day Colt meaning " a young uncastrated male horse, in particular one less than four years old."

Colt 

I once read a book

The girl was so disenchanted with

Humanity she became a horse

It made me sad

She was lost

Cartoony flair aside 

She would prefer to stay this way

I could not comprehend

It was impossible of course

But there was no moral

Or rhyme or reason

I found myself observing horses

I saw some wisdom in what

I had always assumed to be dead eyes

But the expressions of their bodies

We're more powerful than

Mine their feet and straight faces

Knew which turns to make 

and how to step

I saw a language and beauty

I considered galloping must be like flying or driving

At once the pedals of their hooves disappear

And sensation is lost in gliding through grass over fields

I considered for a moment

The life of a Colt

The wind in my mane the sense of freedom

Then I saw the fence 

I realised then we were the only ones truly free.

The tale of the schlemiel (121 of 365)

Welcome to day 121 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day schlemiel meaning: "a stupid, awkward, or unlucky person."

The tale of the schlemiel 

Good day sir said the schlemiel 

Good morrow replied the fat reprobate 

They strolled on each to their own business 

the schlemiel could not connive why such beautiful trees bloomed by the river

He tipped his hat down to the mayors wife Lillian, who strode across the bridge

The schlemiel being fond of 

Wide bosoms trailed behind

Unbeknownst of her small-town nobility

Good day, gleefully he sang

She replied being dour and cheeky

She had him if only for her jealousy

Reprobate husband

Who happened to stroll by 

In the meadow two blonde

Souls nestling about 

The schlemiel looked up and saw despairs 

Lillian crooned and smiled mischievous 

The schlemiel fled 

The reprobate chastised the woman

So they say but others say 

She crushed him beneath her pleasantness and constant indifference.

LSD (120 of 365)

Welcome to day 120 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day penny-farthing meaning: "a type of bicycle with a large front wheel and a much smaller rear wheel."

LSD

Projections of ghosts fill the horizon

Chords of light wail and yawn

Dispensing lasers divide and carve the flailing crowd 

The embryo of boiling life 

Gestating within the smouldering scampish urethral track

I am the excreta of s profound hallucinogenic God

I am the many armed demon of destiny Vishnu

I am the shifting of cerebral hemispheres

I am the lobotomised robotomised

Host of internal Polaroids

That snap and crack onto my brain

With pulse pounding precision

There are flashes in the dark

Whether from the strobe or my synapse 

Shooting dopamine

Shooting norepinephrine

Shooting serotonin

The air dances with fire flies the burst out of rotating finger nails

And the mouths of the crowds 

Entangle and fold into each other's

Like grotesque fleshy butterflies

Unicorns are born here

Penny farthings speed over rainbow laser roads 

Rotating rotors roar like propellers 

From trees that bloom pink and green on the blushing ceiling 

Pound pound pounding

Of the heart and soul 

Race for equilibrium 

The colours the colours 

Where am I...

What am I...

What 

Cervid (119 of 365)

Day 119 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Cervid meaning "a mammal of the deer family."

Cervid

Hung drawn and quartered 

The deer stood before its reckoning

The rifle at the ready

The scope saw destiny

Caught between the cross-thatch

One violent shot rings out

It sears like lightning

The thing is undone

And prised apart 

Thousands of miles away 

In marble halls with marble knives

Venison passes ones lips

They laugh as the blood trickles down their throats 

Like century old vintage.

Escalator (118 of 365)

Day 118 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day officious meaning: 

"being annoyingly eager to do more than is required."

Escalator

No I don't agree

Fuck you fuck the point

I can't 

No you don't understand it's impossible not in my language 

Screw you dog piece of dirt

The choice is yours to make 

Back off or get lost 

Words can sting

My words will leave behind a shrill belch irradiating your ears

I hate you

I hate this place

I hate these angry words

Back off you're ruining this

I didn't do anything 

I never do anything

It's always you who 

Fucks it all up 

You're rotten 

You're officious 

You're better forgotten

You're useless

A pansy, a faggot 

You're a cunt

Words have a curse and a ring

I hope your spine caves in 

With all this 

I hope you die

I hope you go to hell

I know you're a coward

No one could say these things if they weren't true

These grotesque things are all justified 

You made it so 

You deserve it

I deserve to say what you are 

You are nothing 

I will make you nothing 

I will reduce and define 

Until there is nothing left that is you

Just the acid sting of slurs.

Dandenong (117 of 365)

Day 117 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day munificent meaning "very generous."

Dandenong 

The hills are dotted white

With tiny flower stems 

Lost in green banks of moss

There is a solemnity 

In the gardens the slow drip of

Water like a broken faucet 

Spring is here in the bright

Purple of the jacaranda 

Spring is here in the red and pinks of the posies

Spring is here in the flowers in the bridesmaids hands 

The thorns draw some blood 

There is no breeze

But the sky is clear and glad

The trees appear huddled together

Into a cosy bouquet 

A small water course trickles 

Down a procession of trees

Gathered as if in ceremony

How many years have the taller ones known whose boughs span more than ten arm spans across

There presence is munificent 

This place is best without people

It is best without the sound of car engines and the stomp of feet

The roof of the Forest with its broad deciduous leaves 

Is like a stained glass window 

This is a cathedral here 

The silence is beautiful 

Beneath this glorious canopy

The red dirt is regal

This is peace.

Roast Lamb (116 of 365)

Day 116 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day largesse "liberality in bestowing gifts".

Roast Lamb

I can smell Sunday 

The sweat of potatoes sweet and salted

The honey scent of carrots in sparkling oil and 

soft pumpkin hungry for my tongues caress

I see the dour sweaty faces 

Around the table

Hands are pawing and trailing grease

The lamb itself innocuous and bland

Then it is wreathed in all of its finery and the table is spilling with plates and the largess of it all

Makes my belly ache

I watch the thick butcher knife

Slice open the lamb

The pink bloody flesh is inside

It calls to me 

I feel the fibres of its beautiful 

Death on my tongue 

The flavours of salt and the blood wine in my throat

The cooling mint sauce refreshing with a hint of vinegar

The bloating continues

The potatoes grow cold

The peas roll off my plate 

Onto the floor the gravy forces my t-shirt to bulge as I transform

Into a sloth

Laughter is drowned by food

Talking of wide grotesque lips

Drowned in wine and flesh and blood

My cracked lips stained blood red

With red red wine. 

Iconoclast (115 of 365)

Day 115 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day iconoclast meaning: "someone who attacks cherished ideas or institutions."

Iconoclast 

You must serve the greater good

You must persevere against spittle rebuke and condescension

You must decide to be better

You must

You must avoid staples of vulnerability

You must stare cold and straight

You must ignore your suffocating anxiety 

You must

You must conquer insurmountable dread 

You must have courage 

You must have a strong stomach 

You must beat them down

You must crush them if they do not listen

You must

You must forget everything else

You must realise nothing else is relevant

You must beat and hurt and punish

You must succumb to violence

You must be violence

You must avoid the impulse to self destruction 

You must project self assurance

You must do the impossible

You must remove anything from you

Which will not assist.

You must.

Fortitude (114 of 365)

Day 114 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day hapless meaning "unfortunate and deserving pity."

Fortitude

The person of fortitude 

Weathered the storm

Spoke with the enchantress 

Across the wild whipped sea

Who stole his heart kept it for a trophy and spat it out creating the blood Red Sea

Now hapless he stands cold and alone 

The person of fortitude 

Conquered the torrent

She assailed the highest peaks

The sage greeted her and

Spoke of how his heart 

Had been torn out 

The people of fortitude 

Clamber across chasms of destiny

They feed each other 

They hold each other 

They are warm and bored together

They are dredged in mindlessness

They are smiling 

Perhaps they are happy

Perhaps they are as they now appear.

Light Years (113 of 365)

Day 113 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day Equanimity meaning "steadiness of mind under stress".

Light Years 

In many years I'll be lost

In many years my ways 

Will be considered other

In many years I'll rust

Having lost equanimity 

My family turned to dust

In many years I'll maybe see

Light shining in the stars

In many years my skin 

Will sag and crawl

In many years I will not be safe

Nor a sage, nor wizened or wise

I will be lost light years away 

Violent Collisions (112 of 365)

Day 112 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day cabalistic meaning "a way of saying “secretive,” but with negative connotations."

Violent Collisions 

Red as night 

I was more oh so more

The food and dance and drink

I was more than words

I was more than I could taste or bare

I was more

The pounding of the night 

The synth rhythms 

The Jazz and the strings on guitars

Were scintillating 

Secrets danced in hidden alcoves

Scents of mine and others mingled

It was a chase

I was a predator

I was perfect in the night

With eyes distilling this essence

This freshness that cut through the cold

I was the warm throng in the mosh pit

I was the blooming curiosity of youth

I was the objectified 

The objective

Fervent beats and sweat 

Reduced to cabalistic innuendo

The tap of my heels

On dried carpets 

And beautiful star canopies

And tequila and glass tumblers

In our soft nubile hands 

The grace of my breast 

The kiss of the wind 

And the embrace of lust and longing and wrongness

Violent collisions 

And gasping whore notes

Punctuate my mind

The blood shooting through me 

Like a monkey in heat

The fire of my energised soul 

Is a super weapon ripping apart all the night 

I bask and stare out over the city 

I know it is all mine 

And I am more and 

I want more and I am satiated 

And I am ravenous and lustful and forever doomed to be forever wandering consumed in this fleshy 

Prison as Queen of the colour drained night.

Violet Town (111 of 365)

Day 111 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day calumny meaning "a false accusation of an offence."

Violet Town

Through the reeds and 

Beyond ploughs

Through fields of shorn cane

Where wind tickles daisies, sunflowers and rhododendrons 

I met my first love in Violet Town

I recall the vivid colours 

Of the basket she carried

With strawberries to the quaint 

Market by the creek that was blue

In all the yellow and brown

Spring had become her 

The scent of pollen buzzed

In my heart and tall tractors

Wove perfumes of grass and grease and grasshoppers chirped

There was the yowl of a grouchy elder of the town she was miserly and sallow and short as a barrow

There was also a balding grocer by the name of Kent he had wares that he sold and lent 

There was a collective yawn 

On the wooden stoops of the town

There was a collective curiosity as cars drove down the cracked solitary road and drove on and away drawing exhaust over the flowering fields of violet gerberas and posies

It's wheels spinning on into the horizon

It is knotted in my memory and heart like frayed twine 

I recall days of pleasant nothing 

The name continues to emote something, which claws at my innards and causes me pause and regret

I still recall the tears on her solemn cheeks 

From the calumny I spat upon her and that town 

Whose character I could not comprehend

Even so...

Time's wheels are not kind to Violet town

Time's wheels have spun me on

Time's wheels have turned its back on this place 

The world's colours are neon 

The world's colours are ill-suited for flowers 

The world is ill suited for girls bearing strawberries and hand thatched baskets

I fear the world is not one for Violet Town

I fear only my nostalgia is at home in this place 

It invents and imposes itself upon the cracks and groaning sorrow

Of untold droughts and neglect

Of the forgotten craft of smallness and neatness and earnestness 

It is lost and hollow

The faces are new but are old

The land is haggard and dying

The wooden boards once lacquered and watered are now dry like the bones of a drying fly beaten carcass.

Names will never Hurt me (110 of 365)

110 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day presage meaning: "a foreboding about what is about to happen."

Names will never Hurt me 

He wasn't sure what to say

The words never came

He couldn't take it back

The vile things and shame

She was torn asunder

Her heart was ripped into pieces

She was scornful and changed

Her feeling of presage 

His concerns were unmet

His disdain cast a heavy shadow

He was forever defensive

He would not wake clean tomorrow

She believed nothing from before

Her world was only the biting present

She foretold a future of turmoil 

Her mind was bent on resentment

He could not bring himself to apologise

His mind broken as it was

He could not recognise wrong 

His days ahead were alone.

Seven (109 of 365)

Day 109 of 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day inure meaning: "To inure is to get used to something difficult or unpleasant."

Seven

Seven chants I'll never dare

Six brides I'll inure to 

Five galaxies to explore  

Four minds-eyes

Three dimensions of love and pulp fiction

Two realms of misbegotten deeds 

One final bastion for this poem

Two yawning chasms of despair

Three eggs to crack 

Four gorgon states of hate

Five manipulated bureaucrats typing

Six fatalistic children crowning

Seven lines I'll never dare.

Marmalade (108 of 365)

Day 108 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day meaning grandiloquent: "is a fancy term for, being fancy or pretentious. In fact, you might say grandiloquent is itself a pretty grandiloquent word."

Marmalade

Hearth sombre marmalade 

Grandiloquent and oozing 

Toast and toasting

Mornings and midnight 

Spread it thick 

Spread it slathering and dripping

Peel and teasing 

Pulp and candy 

Honey and orange and lime and cherry 

Laughter became the moisture 

The jam jars reflected golden 

Marmalade delights 

Longing and suspension as the suspension hung like a hungry lolling tongue dripping down 

My throat. 

Abstruse (107 of 365)

Day 107 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day abstruse: "Abstruse things are difficult to understand because they are so deep and intellectually challenging. It might be hard to figure out how a toilet flushes but the technology that goes into making the Internet function is abstruse."

Abstruse 

I peered at her like I would an 

Andy Warhol

So transparently poised 

Books will be written 

Which may get close to that

Singularity 

There was a wicked Mona Lisa curl of her lips 

There was androgyny

In her outfit the denim jeans 

And the bowl of her hat 

I paused and thought at the nature

Of things and stared at 

Our images between tall columns 

The passing shadows 

Became an impressionist canvas

Of wailing Spring colours 

There we were indecipherable

I wanted to scream out 

Like black splattered upon a canvas

There was such a pleasant rose garden void between the two of us

But strangers were all we were

And would ever be.

Survivor (106 of 365)

Day 106 of the 365 day poem challenge.

A topic I often encounter and dwell on. I want to introduce a word, a familiar word, to everyone's vocabulary. If you know anyone experiencing family violence or domestic violence, they are a survivor not a victim. 

It's easy to forget how much strength and courage it takes to survive constant denigration puts down physical and mental. These people who survive they somehow rise above all of that. Hence the title of today's poem.

Word of the day extant meaning: "still in existence; not extinct or destroyed or lost."

Survivor

I want to drown 

Crushed by the hopeless

Resolve of the hopeful

There is a pincering

Syringe that burns hot ice

Inside of me 

The burning is peace beside

The sound of my scalp smashing

Against the tiles

But no one hears 

I might as well be drowning

There is a dark pleasure in

Feeling my useless flailing arms 

Beat against steel cruelty

And the iron lungs of grotesque

Laughter shrieking doom and death

I can't wait for death 

I pray for it 

I might as well drown

Deep in the wide vast needle sea

And feel the blood and the sting of infection and the pounding in my head and my blood 

I am become a wailing banshee

My animal howls 

Have disfigured me I am choking on ugliness and misconception

And the contempt of the outside 

But the inside is so cold and alone and I might as well drown

No noise can enter hear

No plea can leave here

No light can enter my darkness 

I want to drown 

Crushed within my own 

Darkest turmoil 

I want to drown 

And take the world burning down

With me 

There is so much power 

In my lovely bones 

There is so much only I know

I have the knowledge 

Of doomsday 

I am a witness of life and death 

I am extant 

I am sinking down

And it feels like falling with style 

The cold water of anxiety burns like acid should 

But I am numb and

I might as well drown.

Before the Bench (105 of 365)

Day 105 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day Inimical: " not friendly."

For all you non-lawyers out there "the Bench" is a reference to a Judges bench.

Before the Bench 

Idly I doubted 

Idly I pounded my head 

Idly I demanded more

Idly I paused considered 

Discerned 

A miasma of competing 

Anxieties rose up to meet me

Possibilities formulating and stewing inside of me

Idly I watched the decision be made

Idly I sit on my hands

Idly I blush red in fear in rage 

Embarrassed 

Must my hands fidget

Must this room compress in on itself

Must there be so many eyes positioned upon me

Idly I ensure my demise

Idly I listen to orators 

Idly I flap my lips

Idly I turn the cheek

Foolishness 

Must it be so inimical 

Must this be my turn

Must I subjugate myself before

Authority 

Must I condemn myself to impotence  

Idly I draw my body down

Idly I kiss the earth and cross

My heart and hope to die.

Voyager (104 of 365)

Day 104 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day azimuth meaning: "the horizontal angle or direction of a compass bearing."

Voyager 

The stars are so vast and distant

I am a Captain

You are a supernova erupting

Beyond my finger tips

Beyond time 

The quasars pull you in

The impossible destination

I cross to reach you

Starward through cosmos 

Past milky galaxies and nebulae

Into interstellar space and beyond dimension and beyond form

And beyond comprehension 

And beyond gravity compression 

My love has the supreme gravitational vortex of a black hole

The centre of all your matter is drawn cloyingly and uncomfortably 

Claustrophobic onto me and upon me and inside of me 

And the stars are not enough 

And the Suns are sweet perfume and nectar and they are you

And I am lost in this purple pink fluorescent phosphorescent haze of brilliance and you are shimmering and erupting once more

And I am so close

But your smouldering super nova heat will consume me and

I feel my heart and soul and the stars burning apart

I feel the beautiful heat vaporising me

As your passion etches a deep eternal trough into the void 

Now I am forever burned into its tapestry and I am dust beside you

I am dust 

My celestial trajectory is ended and my azimuth is 

Commingled with you.

Functions (of love) (103 of 365)

Day 103 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day raison d'être meaning: "the most important reason or purpose for someone or something's existence."

Functions (of love)

I am a function of you

Your world views are functions 

Of my self and a collective conscious

Which are functions of other functions 

I function and am apart

But function implies you must be there

You are my function 

How might I have function if not for you

My function is unclear

Unless defined 

A function is our relationship 

Is a relationship 

Please give me function 

What am I without function

Existentially of course 

I may not function 

But yet have function 

I may not function with you

But function with the earth and clouds and the water

And with spoons and forks 

And various other tools utensils

And gizmos 

Functions are fascinating 

But ill conceived and abstract things 

You give me function

You are my raison d'être

My primary basis 

This justification

This task this purpose 

This goal this premise 

This consequence this outcome

This solace this peace

This impermeability this infinity

This function.

Monkey suit (102 of 365)

102 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day ping meaning: 

"A computer networkadministration software utility used to test the reachability of a host on an Internet Protocol (IP) network, and to measure the round-trip time for messages sent from the originating host to a destination computer and echoed back to the source."

Monkey Suit

It takes a great deal more

It takes a great mind 

Not some monkey suit

Most ought keep this in mind lest they rewind 

Some have passion for it

Others acquire the skills unwilling

Not some suited monkies

Most are not apt or willing 

Some drink away displeasure

Others mope and moan in equal measure

There monkey suits are wrung out

From tears and crushed memories, their treasure 

It takes soliloquy and ponderance

To become great and remarked 

A monkey suit is but a mask

It is not a matter for which an answer may be asked 

Heroes are forged in obscurity 

Toil creates great things 

A monkey suit alone misleads 

This poem at lasts ends and pings.

(To you web browser)

The rocks on a Friday afternoon (101 of 365)

Day 101 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day paroxysm meaning: "a sudden attack or outburst of a particular emotion or activity."

The Rocks on a Friday afternoon 

The camera man chops another piece of history

My aching blisters tear at my heels

The wind stirs teasing the commuter, spectators and Friday revellers

The pavement riddles and confuses cracking underfoot 

The trees sway under a sweet cool caress 

The bridge towers solemn proud and rusted 

The jogger jostled past his pack swinging uncomfortably left to right 

The cab driver parks in the centre lane ignores the chorus of horns behind him

The men on their iPads keep their eyes down and move forward blindly 

The quiet streets hope for more use and pray all the same to remain undisturbed

The basketballers twist and spin and toss to pumping anthems 

The dog walker raced to catch her exuberant hound

The folk sit in and out of the pubs

Checking their friends, phones and mouths 

The elderly gent stands confused on the corner clumsily clutching his mobile 

The tunnels echo peace and serenity and magnitude 

Friends wave, colleagues chant, acquaintances are met and drawn near 

The young man sits in a park watches the spring leaves fall

The young women saddle about with their bright hand bags 

The lone motor cycle weeps at the sight of the water

The aged stone stand still stiff and confused a century is a second to it

A paroxysm strikes me down between the mundane road signs and the towering pylons and the gates of harbour and water.

Tribute to a Special Girl (100 of 365)

Day 100 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Well three digits :) we are here more than a quarter through, less than a third and only one day after trump was elected president too.

Word of the day diaphanous meaning: 

"so thin as to transmit light."

Tribute to a Special girl 

I love being soggy in the rain

With you 

I love feeling angry and tired 

I love these unfortunate fortunate memories of ours 

I love it when you wind me up 

And send me around the bend

I love it when you cause me to scream with delight, shock, perplexion and vexation 

I do not so much love that unbearable tightness in my chest like a nuclear heart attack 

I love our feeding, cooking and domesticating 

I love our bathing, exfoliating, masseuging 

I love our burping and other private things 

 

I am homeless without you

What we share is diaphanous 

And cannot be caught 

Described, touched 

But it is felt

Even when I cannot be bothered it 

Is always there and thoughts intrude

And panic and anxiety 

And excitement and ecstacy 

All in the same breathless breath 

Odi et amo

Tragedy and humour 

Pain and pleasure 

I love the possible futures ahead 

I love the Unknown

All of it 

As long as you are there.

That Day (99 of 365)

Day 99 of the 365 day poem challenge.

I can't help it. In so many ways the US election has nothing to do with me in Australia. It's what the soon to be confirmed presidency of Donald Trump means symbolically to me that boils my blood. Still there's probably reasons other than immigration people are voting for him,  for example his economic policies are obviously more attractive for big business. 

But I digress, let's just say it seems to me that there is a painful message that is being reinforced over and again in recent history. That is just how selfish most people are and I'm not leaving myself out of that. Anyway that's enough from me. 

For those of you who have been following my efforts thank you. I appreciate this challenge I've been doing for almost 100 days now, is for me alone. So any page view, I am so appreciative of. Thank you for your time and attention. 

Word of the day partisanship meaning: "prejudice in favour of a particular cause; bias."

Do You remember 

Do you remember the day

When they kicked them down

When they spat in their faces

When blood ran in the streets

Do you remember that day when

Silent moans rose in mouths

Where divergent views turned

Into a hellish storm

Where misinformation reigned supreme

Where the word hatred had been

Given new flesh and colours and faces

Where sportsmanship was dead

Where good and evil were never clearer 

Where anger broke down civilisation

Where partisanship at all costs was worth more than compassion 

Do you remember the day

Nothing changed

Our catatonia was pointed out 

To us 

Our selfish apathy was exposed

Do you remember the day

When you stopped believing 

That you could effect any positive change

Do you remember the hopeless tremor of the persecuted 

Did you care 

Or did the white noise drown it all

Do you remember feeling afraid

Do you remember feeling alone 

Do you remember that insignificant day

Do you remember the day when you

Recognised the essential selfishness of human nature and greed

Do you remember the day

Where there was no happy ending

But a crowd cheering alone for themselves

A crowd of strangers 

A crowd of robots 

An ugly fleshy thing jeering and cajoling and shouting: "We are best, we have won"

Do you remember the day

When it rained and you stood

And felt the water hot and sharp

Where you could not move

As the droplets rolled down

Cold and icy over your palms

And you spread them and you

Felt like you were bleeding

And you wanted to bleed

You wanted the sky to tear apart

You wanted it all to crash down

But instead the droplets splashed down harmless and never ending...

I do not want to remember.

Frozen Coke (98 of 365)

Day 98 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day carouse: "engage in boisterous, drunken merrymaking."

Frozen Coke

It's raining and technology

Cannot keep me warm

I stand in a frozen coke 

Of people and there is someone with a giant straw and they regurgitate us and we all congeal miserably together running in into the rain

The colours run into each other 

brown and pink

The wet hot sky carouses 

And vomits us all out like

A spoilt drunken man

And this is the sweaty mess of

The commute 

There is no sanity 

We might as well be sloshing 

Out of the machine 

And be slopped into a cup

And sucked up 

by the guy upstairs.

Treasure (97 of 365)

Day 97 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day atrophy: "a decrease in size of an organ caused by disease or disuse."

Treasure

One day my dearest treasure was stolen from me

I was lost in tears 

The world was tasteless and foreign

Laughter was a hideous parasite

Without my treasure

I roamed outside of my comfort

Hoping solace would find me there

But instead snakes buried themselves black and tearing in my intestines 

It was like nerves I'd forgotten 

It was like being young again

That terrible Unknown

That fatal doom to be lost

My tears sounded as though

They came from a child 

I lost more than my treasure 

I wandered and none could suffer

My loathing and my mindless loafing 

I wandered aimless without my treasure and without a rail to grip

Without a support 

I prattled on in circles of friends who demonstrated no interest

I divulged my woes next to acquaintances who avoided my like an illness

I bothered strangers with my tale

And they spat on me 

Then I did not speak

I fell silent and remained so

Until the trees whispers were screams beside my silent and

my tongue atrophied 

They, former friends, waylaid acquaintances and scowling strangers, did not know nor care

That my treasure was lost 

I stopped and froze

In the ice of my own heart

I froze and suffered five deaths

The first was my flesh as it slipped away from me becoming gelatinous and rotund 

The second was watching my nerve being wrenched from me

The third was to see my loneliness sucking on my marrow like a parasite 

The fourth was finding myself divested of all mortal caring 

The fifth was losing a fire that kept me from mutating into a frozen statue to grow stiff and return to my treasure.

I tried to make the last journey 

I stood at the threshold of it 

With only the ugly matter at hand

I tried but then I knew

My treasure was gone

And even then in nothing

It would not be returned to me

So I turned and walked headlong into my despairs and ugliness

I saw it all the way into the horizon

The walk was gruelling, is gruelling

Nonetheless I continue

I dream that my treasure will return

I dream and drown in hope

But I know one truth only 

My treasure is gone and she shall never return to me.

Heaven (96 of 366)

Day 96 of the 365 day poem

Challenge.

Word of the day immaculate meaning: "perfectly clean, neat, or tidy."

Heaven

This is the crust in the eye

On a Saturday 

This is the brining sun 

And the knotted toes of lovers

This is the jostling of 

Dogs that lick toes

Bottled rum 

Caramel hops 

Bubbles hissing

Consumerism calls

This is the absent protest

Of fatigue at the end of business

This is the blushing of heat 

And tanned nakedness

This is the empathy denied 

And then granted 

Candy smiles

Tight thighs 

Beautiful frames 

Sell-out sensuality 

This is the kinetic flow of 

Organs pulsing sex

This is the exfoliation of 

Abrasive thoughts 

This is the pounding of the

Heart in the final throes 

Tremulous eyes

Jittering knees

Servile poses 

Virgin Artifice enshrined

This is the ardent halo

When desire is exhumed

This is the ending of 

Shallow contemplation

This is the hollow shell

Of immaculate heaven.

Lavender (95 of 365)

Day 95 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day supine meaning: "failing to act or protest as a result of moral weakness or indolence."

Lavender

I know a girl that I think of

As lavender

A complex mixture 

Of nuttiness and the butter of 

Flowers

Long supple words and thoughts

She opines with such grace

Her subtle muddling

Her trembling purple 

Her docile nature

She is readily supine 

And prone to agreeableness

Yet the piercing way her eyes twinkled

Murmuring soft and invisible secrets

I suppose she is an enigma

She is a concoction and a

Blatant fiction 

Sometimes though I am convinced 

I feel the touch of her breath

On the back of my neck

And the lemon scent of her finger tips trail my spine.

Implied (94 of 366)

Day 94 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day emollient meaning:

"a substance with a soothing effect when applied to the skin"

Implied 

Buff masculine broad

Slight feminine serpentine 

Teasing 

Lusting licking

Jostling jumping jamming 

Moaning maw-ing mating marinating

Playing Pumping pashing pawing packing 

Groaning grinding grating gushing goring gyrating  

Cradling crushing crooning cramming clawing climaxing creaming 

Naked entwined neutral 

Relaxed bodies recline 

Elation applies emollient.

Good morning (93 of 365)

Day 93 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day discomfit meaning: "cause to lose one's composure"

Good morning

I see you through 

Lovelorn eyes each morning

You turn and struggle 

Like a caterpillar emerging

From your cocoon

You make adorable noises 

And turn about 

You spread your wings in a manner of speaking

While picking at your eyes and nose

Your toes wrinkle in and out

You are fast asleep and I am

(Perhaps) voyeuristic and studying

You

When you emerge from 

Your coma your eyes are wide 

And lips undulate between 

Solemn grins and floppy clownish

Imitations of wide grotesque mouths

I smile back

Your wide open eyes are 

Discomfiting portals 

They open up to a wide alien world

I might slip and stumble inside of them

I am scared and alive (strangely)

I wonder what it is that you see

On and in me

You touch my hand

And I touch yours

I kiss your mouth

And this means peace.

Wanker (92 of 365)

Day 92 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day minge: "vulgar term for a woman's pubic hair or genitals"

Hey all, there's been a lot written about cultural shifts and about respect and necessary attitude shifts in how men ought to treat women. I want to make clear that the following poem in no way reflects my own feelings, rather I'm trying to emulate the voice of the person fitting the description of this poem's title. 

Now that that is out of the way, here is...

Wanker

Like a bat out of hell

She was charging me

She was frothing 

She was a wild dog 

Like a caged animal

She was all scrawny

She was ready to pounce

She was getting her claws out 

Like a bitch in heat

She was raping my sensibilities

She was moaning like a whore

She was pissing me royally off

Like a mentally deranged narcissist 

She was begging for more 

She was screaming out to leave

She was my shit to clean up

Like a deranged psychopath

She was my grotesque minge

She was in need of putting down 

She was ripe for drowning in her own congealed vomit.

Tales of Time (91 of 365)

Day 91 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day ephemeral meaning: "lasting for a very short time."

Tales of time 

I dreamed of doors in the sky

And of worlds that I could touch

So familiar and distant to my own

My fantasy was to become and

Drift out into that unknown universe 

The clouds were candy lime 

There were gates tall and brass behind which were taller secrets

I imagined that just beyond 

My grey reality were rich tapestries

Beyond expression and beyond words

Beyond colour, fluorescent streaming beauty constant ethereal 

I wrote poems to poke into unknown realms and to write stories about twisted time 

Stories in which I was the hero 

And anything was possible 

But it was so far away and the colours were bright and the clearest blue and there were shouts and cries so exuberant and warm and comforting but they were beyond my sight I could not 

See who made them 

I could not see 

I could only imagine

And write down stories 

And ponder

And glimpse in my mind

Those ephemeral worlds 

Dancing beyond reach

And beyond comprehension

Invisible and bitterly real.

Irrepressibly entitled (90 of 365)

Day 90 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day rictus meaning 

"a fixed grimace or grin."

So we have completed our week of poems for each day. Today, a bit of verbal diarrhoea from an unpleasant but lasting impression from my last happy customer and work today.

Irrepressibly entitled

Ever have a day where you

Feel the vomit in the back of your throat and you dream about smashing your brittle skull into

A speeding freight train

The cataract is lifted and the sight is bloodless and luminous

There is no answer though for the sharp prodding demon in my mind

Detonating my front lobes

And raising the cortex 

My lips curl into a rictus

Belying the blood curdling screams

The sweating neurones of my worn out brain that aches and kneels in subjugation "please no more!"

Send me dashed down into a cooling waterfall

Send me breaking through the mountain sides

My molten core and my pounding head will absorb it all

All that brain damage I've endured through my cheeky lobes

Would that I were now deceased and entombed

That would be less sombre 

Than the dread burning fire bending dread that becomes my waking self 

Have you ever had the menace of an irrepressibly entitled person 

Have you ever wanted to murder 

Inside your calm little she'll 

I am throbbing now with murderous intent

But I shall not lift a finger

All I need is space and time

The volcanic spread of my rage

Will cool in time

And from it will emerge a new wonderful island 

Fingers crossed.

Sunday (89 of 366)

Day 89 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day beguile meaning: "

influence by slyness."

Sunday

It was all yellow

It was all final

It was all so simmering in

The gloaming light 

It was spectacular 

And exploding like a Phoenix

To recede back into ashes

It was aplomb

It was applause 

It was a show a brilliant show

Tears came to mind as the players bowed and we left back out

Into the cold chatty auditorium

Where noise became delirium

Then we slipped back into the humdrum weekly world

It was a crackle

Like fireworks only muted 

By dread soaked pillows 

Of days tumbling after days 

Of tasks rearing their ugly heads

Of minutiae and micro-minutiae pummelling the brain meat

It was so wonderful

It was so beautiful

It was so magnificent 

It was so beguiling...

It was yesterday now.

Now it is gone.

Saturday (88 of 365)

Day 88 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day carbotinage meaning: "behaviour befitting a second-rate actor, otherwise known as hamming it up for the audience."

Saturday

pleasure fancy calm

But this is a Smokescreen only

Frantic panic tumult

acrimony

Is this the truth? 

Sometimes 

And sometimes also

Pleasant peaceful palatable

When the dust settles

The morning is nice enough

There are no obligations

There are expectations 

But these can be drowned with a pillow

Is it better to self-combust under the strain of too much fun

Or to crawl up inside under covers and ruminate what will or should be?

The days are endless and heady 

There is an end but it is far enough away to enjoy

The dread is kept at bay

By a different sort of dread

Adrenaline which sends one skyrocketing and tears away the rail lines 

This is the end of the week

A week of carving animals into

Cages called work 

They aren't sure anymore what to do with themselves...

Shall they frolic or feed

Bemuse one another with ambling ramblings 

Fall deeply passionately in

Love or collars idly and pass out and pass over 

The carbotinage of strangers

Through their long laborious night.

Friday (87 of 365)

Day 87 of the 365 day poem challenge. 

Word of the day dearth meaning: "an insufficient quantity or number."

Friday

A soft sigh echoes 

Down a long corridor 

This long exhalation 

A fellow clicks his heels

Bounces by eager pedestrians

Exalting the weekend gods

Miserly folks stand at attention

Their eyes are muddled perception

Dark ringlets percolate 

A drawling yawn billows 

Cascading out of bars

This ecstatic combustion

Roamers can hardly tell

Their faces are pebbled

Poor lost souls

Flame-tickled foods and drink

Pickled brains dance about

Smattering the streets

Plagues of hard hitters

In brimstone jackets

Gamble their nights 

Dancers flamenco, salsa, ballroom

Percussion beats on soiled floors

Seducing twisting forms 

The lady folds in

Her land is inside of her

Busily her mind ticks 

Repugnant snacks wished on foes

Pantry woes force Contrived 

Half-baked ideas

A dearth of deceit

Stirs his melancholy just

Prior to sleep...

Thursday (86 of 365)

Day 86 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Glaucoma meaning: "is a group of eye diseases which result in damage to the optics nerve and vision loss.

Thursday 

The sun rises and loops

Back it is Autumn after winter

It is trepidation before sunshine

There are flowers here

There are heavy hearts

There are shards of broken thoughts and scattered minds

Nietzsche postulated why

I postulate why does it continue so

This breath seems so taxing

This destination seems so fleeting

And is it not merely another way-point?

Melodrama was my forte the girl at the bar says 

She doesn't know the meaning of the word

She doesn't know what fortunate means

She understands that in four hours she will be asleep and somewhat richer and somewhat more impoverished 

Warning signs, self-help, sage words, not so sage words, booze, smokes, ciggies, bottom-feeding, dredging.

Coma. Glaucoma. 

Bliss.

Wednesday (85 of 365)

Day 85 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Ebullient meaning: "joyously unrestrained."

Wednesday 

Bells toll 

This is the bump

The mean the median

The mid-point 

Goliath rises his arms

Stretch down towards earth

Now we bawl towards the end

And ebullient cheers are still 

In the distance nagging like gulls

There is no protest

Today is like the rolling of the oceans

And the crescent slides and slips

And falls down

The current is flattening

The harvest is ripe and ready 

The dreams are yielding

The kernels are bursting just slightly from their opaque sheaves

Nearly there and nearly not 

Yawns arrive 

There is little care here 

In this middle mess this mildness

Then away it slides and on to night

And off to bed.

Tuesday (84 of 365)

Day 84 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day dour meaning "relentlessly severe, stern, or gloomy in manner or appearance."

Tuesday

I like this day it is amiable 

If I were to have a discussion

It would be with amiable Tuesday sensible Coffee soaked Tuesday

Shake me about out of my ruse 

The paths today are brown and golden

The hair on my temples is blistering and my boots sodden with a pleasant fatigue 

My brain is drenched with ideas 

There is a coming and drowning 

Wading through potentiality 

I could be a physicist

I could be a chemist

I could be nuclear fusion careening out of the sun and igniting the earth

All the faces in this crowd are dour

And crushing 

Oppression is appealing though dangerous 

But it is impossible today 

The day orgasms in orange, brown, blue and pink 

The night is welcome

The night is for drinking

The night is for sushi rolls

The night is for skyscrapers 

The night is for warm hands and a cold mouth

The night is for bodies entwined

The night is for hopeless glances and deep looks

The night is for precious embraces

The night is for laughter that warms the tips of ears

The night is for secrets buried and lost on pillow cases.

Monday (83 of 365)

Day 83 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day baleful meaning "threatening harm; menacing"

Something different this week - days of the week. First up my friend Monday.

Monday

Mourn-day comes

A nickname

A frosty day a bitter biting 

Hot day a resentful hateful baleful day 

Roller coaster 

Heart palpitations 

Emergency and tedium 

Panic and loss

Sprinting and trudging 

Cardiac arrest 

Aneurism 

Collapse 

Today is for mourning

Of happy times and days 

Calamity, crisis, doom arrives, despair is here, the end of times, the reckoning, the fading into grey, the drawing on of day, the complacency of noon, the monotony of afternoon and the brilliance of twilight and the decadence of evening meals of fat and grease and spoils and the dread of the pillow and the dread of mourning and Monday.

When I was a boy (82 of 365)

Day 82 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day ostentatious meaning: "characterized by pretentious or showy display; designed to impress."

When I was a boy

When I was a boy

I saw chanting and yelling girls

Their movements were strange

Their movements drew my eyes

Their movements caused me to gasp and groan and demand to run away

When I was a boy

When I was a boy

I saw the freckles, dimples, the beauty marks, eye lashes, wrinkles of their smiles

Their faces were the same as mine

Their faces were shaped not so different

Their faces somehow froze me

Their faces caused me to pause and stare and daydream and conceive ideas and stories and romances and my life unfolding

When I was a boy

When I was a boy

I knew songs and melodies

I knew how to dance and shake

Yet when I saw them

The girls who had always been mundane the same

The melody left me

The song left me

My lips were parched 

My throat was caught between youth and adolescence 

My movements were exaggerated, ostentatious and flawed 

My words became false 

My truth became less clear 

My path began to tremble as I did

When I was a boy 

Whore (81 of 365)

Welcome to day 81 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day compunction meaning: "a feeling of guilt or moral scruple that prevents or follows the doing of something bad.

Whore

Compunction drove me out 

Back into the night air

Away from the gruesome smells

And the sway of her cucumbers naked 

And hanging down like droopy hoses with dripping bloated nozzles

The grotesque way her thighs spilled over 

And the way her naked dirty hips

Swung back and forth

There was a stink there and a death in her morose eyes

They had lost life 

They were orbs 

crying lust and hunger

That only take

The red chord dividing the droopy flesh of her backside 

Which she rotated so casually 

In slow motion 

her lips hanging open 

Splayed apart like a silent whimpering dog

Her hands were on me

I could not resist she took me like a slug skidding her filth over me

She trailed slime on her afterward

She spat contempt from her emerald eyes and smirked 

So much loathing upon me

The room was hot and humid

The smog filled air parted 

And a light drifted in exposing

All of the stretch marks, the pockets and folds of her 

The gruesome imperfection caused me to recoil and retreat

Her hair was sticky and it was stuck 

To my busy fingers 

The same funk enveloped us both

And I felt the hot touch of her skin

The grazing of us in this horrible friction that stirred me to moan

My heart moaning deep down in my chest 

Moaning to leave

Screaming at the whore to leave

Screaming at the horror of her and the death in her eyes and the hell of this place and the disease of her presence and the irredeemable fungus perfume of that place.

The homeless man in Bourke street Bakery (80 of 365)

Day 80 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day doleful meaning: "

expressing sorrow; mournful."

The homeless man in Bourke street Bakery

He manifested from the mists of the concrete jungle

The shaman stood before the counter

Talisman in hand whistling pleasant 

Melodies 

He was beyond the pale 

His tattoos were anachronistic

There was an earthiness to him

I avoided the intense earnestness 

Of his gaze as it fell upon the room

He was staring in all directions his eyes were his skin 

He bore proudly his talisman

His pillow over one shoulder

It was so light and mystically clean 

He turned to the manager

The manager smiled doleful 

And with an indulgent nod

The shamans eyes bloodshot 

With incense and of pilgrimage and hardship and memory and kindness

"One more..."

"Not today."  The manager replied terse, his skin was tight to his skull 

Which seemed to ripple like the markings upon this musty shamen

Who then unshaken strode out 

The bristles of his beard catching

In the wind twitching this way and that 

And I watched with bowed head

And waited solemnly for a moment

Before I approached the counter.

The Shark (79 of 365)

Day 79 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day periphrastic meaning: "( of speech or writing) indirect and circumlocutory."

The Shark 

Jack of all trades

Gift to humanity 

Sales person extraordinaire 

The sweet music continues

Like a biting sticky balm

The trawl of periphrastic verbosity 

Wags it's ugly tail

Sunshine out their arse

Glory be to them

Saviour of my soul

Sloppy reptile lines on top 

Of grey suits 

Digging down to the refuse

Shovelling it away like coal

Paragon of the people

Master of the world

Knower of all

Powder keg explodes 

Word vomit sticks to the floor

Verbal diarrhoea both stings 

And caresses ears 

Like a poison draught for youth.

In the Waves (78 of 365)

Day 78 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day conflagration meaning: "a very intense and uncontrolled fire."

In the Waves 

The sand is hot on their feet

The boys pause and observe

Dutifully the three girls beside 

Them today they are on the cusp of something

They laugh and their mouths are wide and shrill and jubilant 

Into the waves

Their Awkward pre-adolescent calves 

Crash up and down in the shallow water 

The air is cold here and goosebumps form and eyes are confused and lost it seems there 

Is nowhere safe to look and nothing

Safe to feel or think

The boys look and then look away

Pretending not to see changes in

Their companions and one will find

Them to be angels and one will

Protest and wrestle them into the water all the while wondering

And knowing what that aching sensation is that dark impulse behind all the smiles and laughs

The last boy will watch and pray the day will end he shall have the darkest fantasies of all 

A conflagration in his heart and groin burns powerfully and silently

There are images where the girls mouths are twisted open and adoring lost in something he does not yet have the words for

All this plays out 

As the group stands Stationary

With waves lapping up and down

There is a fascination in simply 

Being present bodies near each other

One boy notices a girl shivering beside him notices the goosebumps from her neck down to her chest notices and then looks away 

It may have been ten minutes or less

They return to the burning noon sand and nestle their deep buried desires as they lay back and watch the sun pick at their skin.

Hicksons Wharf (77 of 365)

Day 77 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day arboreal meaning: "of or relating to or formed by trees."

Hickson's Wharf

The barnacled posts 

Have no time to them

They lay and bake in the sun

Their labour is their life 

The wood gently rotting

Under their lips

As the caws of nearby gulls

And the stamp of feet on wharves are easily ignored

There is a beautiful calmness 

Written on this afternoon and the 

Way the light dances between the peers and the rippling movements of the tides and the straight lines of shadows and shafts of light 

That mimic their arboreal selves

That anchors this world together 

There is dust and lichen and moss

The world never moves here

And it is always moving.

The abrogation of sense (76 of 365)

Day 76 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day Abrogation meaning: "the repeal or abolition of a law, right, or agreement"

The abrogation of sense 

We are here to help

Please fill in form A

Sorry did you say that you had 

This type of problem

Please also fill in form B and

Ensure that you provide a signed copy of the important document 

With your face on it

The same face as in this picture on the back of form guide AB

What you want to know what you should do

I can't tell you that 

But if you take these brochures

You can find out other numbers 

You can call to get help

But before you get help you'll need to complete form ABC and provide 

This statement and that statement

Why

Well we are not they

In fact they have their own forms 

I'm not sure what they are

That's not my department 

That's all I can help you with today

Now is that all clear 

Great have a nice day.

Absence (75 of 365)

Day 75 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day privation meaning "the loss or absence of a quality or attribute that is normally present."

Absence 

Serenity came knocking one day

The emergency of the moment 

Faded and in its absence came clarity images of waves and water and glass and drink and wine and clouds drifting lazy 

Seek the absence a voice said 

There was a void opening and it was like a glorious bottomless chasm there was no sound no feeling nothing 

There was no violence no poverty no guilt no expectations 

Today there is blinding light the nerves are frantic trying to process the boards and the voices and the words and the sounds and the clutter of it all the see-saw of jerking trains and cars and the tumbling up and down of boats and oars laziness is a remedy 

The desire for privation of company is now fixed in me

In this meditative silence is my bliss

In this selfish space is my eternal gratitude the rays of pollution and chaos cannot touch me here in my own blank canvas my void my solitude my absence 

The Mythology of Friday Afternoons (74 of 365)

Day 74 of 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day quotidian "of or occurring every day; daily."

The Mythology of Friday afternoons 

The quotidian ritual would offer some surprise 

The terminus of the day would approach and with it an end

The gulf of possibility would shrink and by so doing expand 

The hopeful would transition from hopeless 

The wishes of persons behind desks would equate to ambling freedom

The pretence of authority would dissipate in leisure

The cavern candle light would dissipate before the glorious sun

The melancholy trudge would be consumed in gallant strides 

The motion of persons would slow and horizons approach 

The fickle would become intricate and perplexing instead

The tantalising would grow fascinating not merely distracting 

The quiet whispers would become loud drumming laughter

The caucaus would turn to their adversaries and chuckle at insults exchanged in jest

The gates and doors of assemblies and councils would open up and bloom in so many colourful voices 

The bored and disenfranchised would look up at the tapping of shoes 

The young would be lost in each other and taken with thoughts of lust and possibility 

The old would cradle comfort near and adventure close in equal measure

The risk of equality would be found to be false

The myth of otherness would be found to be discredited 

The fallen pink lady sky Apple would give way to the creamy milk of the moon

And the tethers of the quotidian ritual would crumple and fall and shatter and then ...

Anything might be. 

Maunder (73 of 365)

Day 73 of the 365 day poem challenge 

Word of the day maunder meaning "move or act in a dreamy or idle manner."

Maunder

I wonder what it is to be a star

I wonder what they must think

Blaring so bright 

Is it pressure or arrogance that keeps them burning so tall

I wonder what business atoms have 

I wonder why they insist on behaving so erratic are they indigestion 

Or something more insidious 

I wonder how they are part of me and I am not responsible for them

I wonder at the sky

I wonder why it is blue and know there's an explanation but laziness is fun and I delight in silliness 

And the sky in my imagination might be just as easily pink, yellow or red 

I wonder after cats

I wonder about dogs

I wonder at birds

I wonder before lizards

I wonder regarding centipedes

I wonder around peacocks

I wonder of cowbells and of cows

I wonder on monkfish

I wonder upon crocodiles

I wonder soon too much

I wonder why does morning follow night 

Because each night happens before or after and time is relative

I wonder and ponder many things.

Garden of Eden (72 of 365)

Day 72 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day celerity meaning "swiftness of movement."

Garden of Eden

Please yourself she said

Though I knew she did not mean it

She did not mean to give me freedom

She did not mean 

She did not

She

I shall please myself he said

And so she bit the apple

And the snake bit her back

 and everyone knows the joke

And that metaphor

He never intended to do wrong

He never intended

He

So temptation called

In paradise this was difficult 

Nevertheless it moved with serpentine celerity 

Everyone knows the story 

No gratitude

The father punishes those who have no appreciation

The father punishes 

The father

There were two males and an apparition 

That walk all together 

I wonder from whose womb all these bearded fellows sprang

On so many stain glassed windows

And how long it took them to cover their shame 

And How many juicy apples were consumed 

Juicy apples

Consumed 

The gates are sealed 

The vulva is closed 

All is descended from one

None are virgins yet all must be

Original sin is scary for children

Scary stories for children

Scary stories 

Scared.

Journeys (71 of 365)

Day 71 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day jaunt meaning: "

"a short excursion or journey made for pleasure."

Journeys

While jaunting a familiar cove in my youth 

The men with the villain teeth

And villainous intent 

Came and stole something precious 

It required a journey 

It requires retribution 

There was rape and plunder

It was heedless and forests of

One type or another burnt

However I retreated for a time

To feel cool lichen and moss 

Around my feet 

It tickled in cold places

And the cave into which I was led

Taught and shaped me

I found glow worms dangling 

Idle and in them the haunting memory that had forced my hand

On this voyage

I returned from this cave and my love was the sea

It's often violent unpredictable nature 

And my love was by the sea

And they engulfed me and I hungered and basked in sunshine

And on gentle nourishing shores

And I started to forget the purpose

Of journeys and of good and evil

I forgot all about villains in that

Warm embrace and the sense

Of comfort in two beings drawn so close

It seemed my journey was ended

And fancies of youth of rebellion

Of courage and of crossing 

Tall mountains and riding Rapids

It was behind me

I settled down but the nourishing 

Sand turned dry and it was scarring

On my scaly skin and I grew internal sores though I could not see them

A child ran among my legs and the face of my love grew long and

Age did not become my loves countenance 

Another child follows and a predictable path is sewn

Surprise and wonder became metaphors for the trail set before us

Wrinkled and lost 

The world was a desert that turned cold at night 

There was little hope

But the end of the line was approaching

And so that became the goal 

To shuttle up into tortoise shells

To feed and reproach risk 

To forsake the journeys and seas

To avoid any sharks 

There were no villains save those

In my senile mind and between the senile folds of my senile skin 

I recalled the many choices

That led me here so blind

To all else 

I considered the villain and the allure

To hunt and suppose oneself superior to another

To assert ones morals upon another

To be cruel 

To be harsh 

To be apathetic 

I lay then and awaited the final

Coaxing shut of my eyes

My journey would soon be ended.

Pyroclastic (70 of 365)

Day 70 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day pyroclastic meaning: "relating to, consisting of, or denoting fragments of rock erupted by a volcano."

Pyroclastic 

One

Memory

One moment 

Suddenly spirals

Down and out and on

Lies explosions exposures 

Ending dynamically and treacherous

Betrayal 

Longing and lust

Bound together torn asunder

Jutting out into the chasm and void

Tears screams and squeals quashed and dragged to hell

Shell 

Solitary and lone

Demanding grieving and Spartan

Breaking cataclysm apocalypse

Pyroclastic flows and eruptions debris and chasms  

Slurry 

Grit and dirt 

Tar and sinkholes 

Bitumen black and brown

Starvation parched earth cracked

Faded dirt dead fossilised extinct waste

Spike 

Piercing eyes

Grandiose entitled 

Red maws rogue claws 

Mountains quake and river churn

Machete curves and dismembered grace