The Happy and the Healthy

We need

To stop talking

About the rich

And the wealthy,

And start talking about

The happy

And the healthy

Collective Fear

Funny how,

With the amazing

Spectrum of colour,

We all paint

Our houses cream

Out of fear.

Religious Freedom 002

We had a vote on marriage equality

But the Christians couldn’t just stand there quietly

They had to have their share of attention

So, they made up religious freedom

So, they didn’t feel left out.

Poor Christians pout

It always has to be about them.

Claiming, more people want religious freedom

Than those who voted for equality.

Of course, they did,

(roll of the eyes) We all said.

Afternoon

The sun shines.

Golden,

Long afternoon,

Stretches toward tomorrow.

The melancholy of it going

Takes our sorrow

And prepares us

For another day.

Life

Life is,

Fresh butter,

And fresh honey,

On fresh bread.

Holding hands.

Sun on your face,

Your toes in the sand.

Cold water on your skin,

Your lovers grin.

Sometimes,

We overthink this thing.

Disco 1995 Good Times

Mid nineties disco was hot,

boom dahdi boom, dahdi boom, boom, boom.

Deep House,

doompa, dar doom, dar doom, doom, doom.

The sun shone down

and the sky was blue

doompa, dar doom, doom, doom, doom, doom

As we left the club

our eyes we'd rub.

Fuck me!

I cannot see.

We'd stumble and fall

I remember it all.

Monday morning

sunglasses and yawning

Stretching our threads

and scratching our heads

the world spun around us

with fairy dust and lust.

Then the 9 to 5 peak, 

would come into view, eek!

Monday morning spew

sometimes, it is better for you

And then we'd laugh

and point and gnaff

and thank the universe again

that we weren't one of them.

We were invisible

our dancing treats made us invincible

freaks at the freak show

having just been let out.

They looked at us

as if we were going to hell,

Ah, I remember it well,

we thought they were unwell.

Doomp, doomp, doomp, doomp, doomp,

still thumping in our brains

and we had enough in our veins,

to remain under the witches’ call.

We'd tumble into a taxi,

the suits were our patsy,

laughing and pointing again

we had no shame.

Sunglasses on.

Headphones

When people pass me in the street,

I always imagine they just vaporise

when they get somewhere behind me,

I’ve thought that for the longest time.

Monster

It’s good to bid farewell,

To another monster.

And the whole world says, "Harare!"

Joy

I love gospel music,

I hate its preoccupation with god.

Kind of ruins it for me.

Spring Days

Will I remember these days,

walking into the shimmering haze,

sun on my face,

happiness in my heart?

Spring.

Space.

Fresh air in my hair,

cool on my skin.

Perfume in the air,

not a care.

Blue skies.

Shadows dapple on the ground.

Everything is new again,

with a cool breeze

on a spring day.

Collective Outrage

Collective outrage

has replaced action.

Thoughts and prayers

are another excuse

for doing nothing.

Sign a petition,

preferably online,

you don't even have to leave your house.

And our conscious is clear.

The Breast Feeding Problem Is?

You make a big deal about woman breastfeeding.

It is inappropriate, it is disgusting, it is rude!

Your barely concealed dirty secrets swirling in full view.

It’s a problem!

But really, that problem is you.

Mummy be nice to me, mummy feed me, mummy make me feel good.

Sucking a woman’s titties freaks you, and takes you away.

Admit it mate, you want to jerk off when you see a woman’s breasts on displayed.

What else can it be?

I just can’t see?

I wish I could?

Detached

Peripatetic heart,

I like it like that,

people are dark.

You know, if you

never stop moving,

you never get hurt.

It is only

when you settle

that you get torn apart.

Skin Deep

We’ve all become such collective snowflakes,

there are trigger warnings now on information.

We’re happier with news that is fake,

if that’s what it takes,

to get us through.

Self focus is so intense.

Every CD has a language warning,

isn’t that a problem in itself?

And everything in the end

gets a positive spin

just in case there is money to be made. 

Religious Freedom 001

The religious types

feel free to criticise,

anyone they like

because belief in god

gives them that right.

But if they are criticised,

in return,

they call it bullying

and their outrage burns,

for eternity, one would assume,

isn’t that the way they say

it goes.

The big guy’s

Love thy neighbour

As your own?

When I Was Six... (Ed Sheeran)

It always seemed too late

to make a difference in my life,

I never really knew why.

I wanted to play piano

and sing into a mic.

I was six when I was told

I was too old for the keys,

my mum didn’t know

that wasn’t the case.

I was thirteen when

I stopped singing,

my voice having broke,

never to hold a tune again.

I was twenty when I got a guitar,

I taught myself in my room.

Not long after my housemate

smashed it, being dramatic,

and then it was too late.

But, I wrote it down from an early age,

that much I could save.

When I was six

I was told I couldn’t play the piano,

at that age, I was too old,

my mother wasn’t to know.

When I was thirteen,

my singing career came to a stop,

my voice broke,

I never sang another note.

When I was in year 12,

I was told, I couldn’t design buildings,

“You’re a business student." Shake of the head.

And I went to one of the best schools there is.

When I was twenty, I got a guitar,

I taught myself in my room.

Not long after my housemate

smashed it, being dramatic, and cute.

And, once again, it was too late.

But, I wrote it down from an early age,

that much I could save.

Connected World Problem

I find going everywhere with music and my headphones in,
Quiets my mind, stops the poetry that is just naturally writing there.


* Paul Kelly sang Before Too Long, and I couldn't think of anything to rhyme with long. Seemed like far too much irony to use song.

The sun shone, there was a cool breeze, the birds chirped in the trees.
Fresh air, not a care.

Going where?
Headphones across my hair
On the way to the supermarket with a list
My reusable bag in my fist.

Bread, juice and sultanas
I practically went in my pyjamas
Early morning, it is true
Rolled oats, milk and coffee to brew,
Home quickly to my baby
(that’s what breakfast today be)

That’s how it goes
It’s sweet
The two of us
Give and take

Paul Kelly sings, The Pretty Place

Sunday Morning

The birds chirp in the trees,

outside.

My partner plays a game at my knee,

click, click.

The dog sniffs and shifts about between us,

pant, pant.

My laptop warms my legs,

coffee still tastes on my lips.

Sunday begins.

Miss You

I miss you,

or at least, I think I do,

and I say I do,

as I try to convince myself

that I know what that means,

because I know I should,

know.