Poem: Ex in the Ocean

I walked right out on the windy pier
And thought I saw your head – bobbing there.
No, not there. A bit to the right. Yes, there.

I told my better half, a blonde Retriever
That I should probably fish you out,
If only I’d brought my pole.

I forgot to mention I can talk to my dog.
Probably should have mentioned that.
Nevertheless, Jessie, as she liked to be called,

She looked at me with those humanbaby eyes
And I knew she was going in the drink.
“Wait,” I called out, for I’d remembered I hate you.

I stood at the railing, watching her sadly.
For on her own, she meant more to me
Than all my Exes in the ocean.

I couldn’t look. I shut my eyes until I heard her
Padding along the pier. I looked.
There she was. Wagging happily, with an old boot.

“Lucky she’s deaf,” I muttered, then mouthed silently,
“Good dog. You found my boot!”
I put the soggy boot on to continue the ruse.

Jessie watched me as I did it. I stood there,
Watching you floating in the distance; then
Jessie went and found the sandal I’d hid in the bushes

She dropped it next to my foot,
Sore from the waterlogged boot,
And looked up at me. “Not impressed.”

B.C

Poem: Birthday Suit

Last night I was waiting to cross the road,
When a man wearing no more than Speedos
Came abreast of me and stopped. My fingers
Tightened around the fly-spray can I’d gone to get.

I prayed, for the first time in years,
For the lights to change or the man to go,
Whichever got hit by a bus first
(Sorry, I mean whichever came first…)
When I inspected his facial area
And discovered him grimacing in regret.

I didn’t want to be that guy, but before long I piped up,
“You’re a little underdressed.”
He smiled like a straight man on reality TV,
“I’m freezing,
But it was so humid in my apartment.”

B.C

Poem: Globes

All the little globes
Stare out across the sea
Blink their eyes then die.
That’s life on an ocean liner.

Sep, 2007.

Blog: good poets you may not have heard of.

Tattoo

The light is like a spider
It crawls over the water.
It cralws over the edges of the snow.
It crawls under your eyelids
And spreads its webs there –
Its two webs.

The webs of your eyes
Are fastened
To the flesh and bones of you
As to rafters or grass.

There are filaments of your eyes
On the surface of the water
And in the edges of the snow.

- Wallace Stevens

Voyages I

Above the fresh ruffles of the surf
Bright striped urchins flay each other with sand.
They have contrived a conquest for shell shucks,
And their fingers crumble fragments of baked weed
Gaily digging and scattering.

And in answer to their treble interjections
The sun beats lightning on the waves,
The waves fold thunder on the sand;
And could they hear me I would tell them:

O brilliant kids, frisk with your dog,
Fondle your shells and sticks, bleached
By time and the elements; but there is a line
You must not cross nor ever trust beyond it
Spry cordage of your bodies to caresses
Too lichen-faithful from too wide a breast.
The bottom of the sea is cruel.

- Hart Crane


I'm Nobody Who Are You?

I’m nobody. Who are you?
Are you nobody too?
Then there’s a pair of us.
Don’t tell-they’d banish us, you know.

How dreary to be somebody
How public – like a frog –
To tell your name the livelong June
To an admiring bog.

- Emily Dickinson


O Me! O Life!

O me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring;
Of the endless trains of the faithless--of cities fill'd with the foolish;
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light--of the objects mean--of the struggle ever renew'd;
Of the poor results of all--of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me;
Of the empty and useless years of the rest--with the rest me intertwined;
The question, O me! so sad, recurring--What good amid these, O me, O life?

Answer.

That you are here--that life exists, and identity;
That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a verse.

- Walt Whitman

Poem: Multiples of Leopold I

Anything beautiful
Is surreal
Except this sentence
And me when I breathe
Loud and obnoxious
In hopes someone will look my way
Say something strange
Like, oh how unexpected
A man who means something
Out of context.

I sing songs and you read books,
And this is the line that links us
If it says anything good.
Drafts of papers reproducing
Industry news and who’s who’s
Are portals Leopold chose to take
Years before we were watching.

He dove like a butterfly
With wet wings; tectonic shifts
Into oblivion and beyond
Lay an off chance Leopold would grow up,
His pleasures co-existing
But never awakening him.
But one life wasn’t enough,
Leo tried a couple at once,
No time for lying in flowerbeds
All day starting fires.
So Leopold was faced with a grave decision:
How best to exterminate someone dear to him.

He rolled the balls of his feet
On his stone lion’s forehead
And attempted metaphysical suicide.
I sing songs and you read books,
And that’s all there was between us.

Poem: Drunken Conversation

If I was a pillow I’d stay
Here all day with you.
If my fingers were keys
So I had, like, key-hands,
I’d never lose my keys;
And they'd be ready,
If you’d follow me.
I don't know about touching you...
I might just have to say nice things,
And hope that was as fulfilling.
What if you were so normal
It surprised you
My wearing a pink bow
And saying “happy birthday,”
Brain leaking
Out across my cheek?
I can go ages without seeing you
But I can’t ever leave once I do.
If the windows had bars…
Do the windows have bars?
Anyway, I’d do the same thing
All the time. But if I died,
I’d come back; make things up;
Have you believe them.
Or I could teach you to fly
So high we asphyxiate.
Or even higher.
Depends how far away the sky is –
From down here, it looks like a while.

Sep, 07.

Poem: Abortion

I was born
The other day
It was strange.
I didn’t have
A thing to say
Or anyone to blame.

I began
In a round
(Wrong around)
About way
Wet with stuff
From inside mum
And tear ducts.
I didn’t know
I didn’t think
No-one did,
‘Cept I came
With no hair
And went with
No sense.

I lived;
I live;
But if that’s all,
Is it enough?

Does one word
Follow another
Because it doesn’t
Know any better? like
A line of ants?
What if I
Got my hand
And stopped

Poem: My best and shortest poems

Surgeon School
This guy’s made a tossed salad
of my insides.
I shouldn’t have given my body to science
while I was still alive.

My Culture
I love a skin cancerous country
A land of babbling blokes
Who wouldn't know high culture
If you shoved it down their throats.

The Great Australian Bite
I took a bite out of the ass of Australia;
Spat it out, it tasted like shit.

Bonfire at Night
The sweet smell
Of a bonfire at night
When you have a crush
On someone nearby.
You’d give the world
To touch;
And nothing separates
The days.

Poem: Hole in the Ear

I’ve got a hole in my ear
Its not the regular one; its further in

Where maybe something should be
But no-one remembers enough to mention it.

Its got an eye of its own
And a shutter, closed.

My doctor made it a woolen jacket
Which sounds like hearing damage.

A broken ear is worse than a holey ear
Which can’t be bad (if you know your Bible).

Holes can let light in; or souls out
But they don’t think, so they’re safe enough.

Holes are the reason why no-one can
Find the mind; it slipped out, at some point.

Or so I heard.

Poetry: Strange Phones, Chairs and People I Know

Strange Phones and What They Know


All day
Strange
Phones
Mention me to their mammals

They say,
Seize
Throats
Before they seize up

Take a
Trip where
Frogs
Climb devil’s vine…

But with
Lead
I arm
Blank pages from love.



No Chairs

Famous strangers
Lap at the shore
Faces gape up
In thanks

For ceilings
Mantlepieces,
Places called home
And dreams.

The eyes tunnel –
There’s heaven up there
But no chairs




Sixty People I Know

There’s like
Sixty people
I know

Trapped in
Introductions

Meeting
By accident

Trading nothings
Freely

Liking each other
And the arrangement
Just fine

Poetry: A Series of Patriotic Poems

The Great Australian Bite

First Published, without my punctuation (which I would insist on these days) and under 'Ben Parker', in the four w Anthology No.16.

Took a bite out of the ass of Australia...
Spat it out... It tasted like shit...



My Country

I love skin-cancerous country
A land of babbling blokes
Who wouldn't know high culture
If you shoved it down their throats.



Six Signs I Saw at the Hospital

Due to a decision
By hospital admin
Bathrooms have been removed.
Please feel free to hold
Till a more convenient time.

Due to a need to free floor-space,
Waiting rooms have been removed
Please feel free to wait
In your homes, anywhere
But please... Not here.

Due to news we learnt
From our Aunt Margret,
Beds have been removed.
Turns out hard floors
Are really better for backs

Due to more learned intelligence
Our pills have been set free
Water and fresh air should do as well
If pain persists, out complaint place
Has recently grown out of proportion.

Due to a strike admin
Responded poorly to,
Doctors have been removed.
Things should run smoother now...
Hope you get well soon.

We've enjoyed doing what we can, but
We have to think of our preservation...
Its not our fault we've been bought out
Its a question of revenue...
Canteen staff are welcomed to stay on by,
Your Benefactors, McDonalds.

Poetry: Series of Notes Discovered In A Desk

Memo

Glad to see you're settling in,
Remember to stop by the staffroom
Where we keep the list of initiation rituals
See you behind the bleechers at lunch.

R.S.V.P

Can confirm will not attend
Self-aggrandising birthday as
Only pretended to like you
To get ahead in life.
Would not be sorry if never
Saw your sorry face again.
R.S.V.P if any questions.
P.S, see you at work on monday.

Plz advise

Plz advise whether time-portal
Still in same place as before
Need to settle an old bet
Only way to resolve it.

Dear Mum

Gone to meet woman of dreams.
Am a big boy now, so plz don't wait up.
P.S, remember to wake me up in morn.
And plz pop my electric blanket on 4 me.

Urgent

In love with you
Hope to father your children
Plz advise.

Phone Call

Nice to meet you
Let's catch up soon.
Tomorrow? Bit too soon, 'fraid.
Need a week to recharge the old batteries.

A Formal Apology

It seemed like a good idea at the time
If I could take it back, I might,
I usually don't do that kind of thing,
Even when i'm alone at home,
I always blow my nose, or just
Leave the snot encrusted in the rim.
I do apologise for my possession
Of a nose, a functioning nose,
Which expels bodily fluids,
Its not a good look, I know,
I'm sure the the news will retain
File-footage of my famous pickage
So that I might never forget it - nor you.

Poetry: Poems Too Close To Home, Pamphlet

The Ladder
First Published in The Mozzie magazine, aka Micropress Oz, out of Queensland.

I looked up at Grandpa
stretched to the sky, &
I held the ladder tight.

I could smell him - and my childhood...
Windows broken by backyard cricket
giggling while he slept in his chair and growled!
Teaching me to play golf, listening
while he played me songs from
His childhood. Oh Danny Boy...
In a second I was there,
So many places at once
In so many times.

I wanted to hug him
But he was too high, so I
Held the ladder tight…


Stale Mate

He pricks her fingertip
With her consent
Her cheeks bunch up…
The seduction ends.

He supplied an alibi
For inner-office pastimes
He hardly came by
To fix the fax line…

He tuned her world
And found her girl
Became a stale mate
And stayed anyway...