posted on December 17, 2012 at 8:52 pm
         my mistake

my mistake

daddy long legs going for a moth

howl of wings crack the summer evening inaudible except to a microscope

mosquitoes queue up to hover and harass

summer night i have known you by the thousands

sounds of celebration sounds of fast cars

sounds of waves pounding the shore

sounds of wind ripping through the trees

sound of clouds screaming silently as they slide through thin air

the purple blue night with yellow eye windows

with palm trees and chimneys and shadow and blur

australian night primitive night

nights of storms nights of warm gentle rain

night from a dream a night from a song

a night from galilee with its strange salty air

a portentous night filled with hope and with dread

a night like all others with trees and with stars

a night filled with strangers who drive by in white cars

a night filled with echoes from summers in halcyon glow

times too lovely to try to describe

when things were much better and life was so smooth

in a lovely apartment the band sat around

and we laughed and smoked pot and listened to pet sounds

high up above the pacific ocean over a pool

we were famous we were young we were living it large

we argued and bickered we joked and we laughed

81 i guess it was towards christmastime

but its now

and that was a long time ago

yet the night is the same night

the same gentle slightly misty warm feeling

the feeling that something is going to happen

and well

it might

28 Responses to “daddy long legs going for moth”

  1. avatar
    Kohl Ette | 17 December 2012 at 9:26 pm #

    …did you feel me
    feel your musical integrity
    it moved me so I couldn’t keep still
    filled with magic, electricity,
    earthed tribal trance dancing
    past earthly fancying
    so that fantasy was forgotten
    and fantasising left to rot
    I forgot to pop backstage
    I assumed you’d be otherwise engaged anyway
    I wandered off as if in a daze
    eyes glazed heightened or asleep awake
    away away
    within without
    day in day out
    I don’t know what it’s about
    that I can really say.
    But it was a good long day into night into day
    it touched me without touching my sides.
    Insides, yes.
    It was you.
    You did your best
    better than any little drummer boy
    par rum pa pa pum.
    Bass in the best possible way.
    Me in sixties pixie kitten heeled pumps
    Pink pumps frowned on by frumps
    me and my drum.

  2. avatar
    Anonymous | 17 December 2012 at 11:21 pm #

    little orphan annie and ovaltine: the anticipation kept them tipping those cups!

  3. avatar
    BROKEN TOYS AND HEROS | 18 December 2012 at 1:06 am #

    1981 was a great year !!!

    I remember the early 80’s like yesterday …
    I practiced day and night and had my first true love !!!

    I really love that shirt ur wearing , where did u get it ???

    Have a great week Killer, my entire house has the most wicked
    case of colds/flu and its almost Xmas…My heart breaks when children
    suffer …this has been such an awful couple weeks of illnesses…can’t even
    catch ky breath…but I do my best to survive…I hope u and all the girls
    are well….and everyone who reads ….BE HAPPY – HEALTHY – AND SAFE !!!


  4. avatar
    andy | 18 December 2012 at 1:38 am #

    ooh…lovely guvnor!

  5. avatar
    nost' in aus | 18 December 2012 at 4:18 am #

    Ah, the secrets hidden just behind the veil. Would love to hear more of this. Was that the house with the white interior where the band photos were taken, the ones with the Furs’ album on the floor? And will you ever reveal the name of the now-famous Aussie actress you were involved with back then?

  6. avatar
    verdelay | 18 December 2012 at 9:22 am #

    It has happened
    It will happen
    It will have happened
    It is happening
    Our grammar is a struggle in language
    With all the attendant possibilities that a moment offers

    When the clock strikes gold it is time for me to bow out
    Not bend or distend
    Simply to end
    It is time for Harry Flowers to call it a night
    My call, so Harry shows:
    A lay-down misere
    A right royal flush
    All the hearts
    None of the diamonds
    Thank you Mr. K
    For the music, the air and graces and aces
    I will follow you still
    Your every movement
    Broadcast, downcast, upbeat or beat up
    If you sell it, I’ll buy it
    If you give, I’ll take
    If you leave I’ll come too
    On a silk divan under damask swirls
    With nary a memory of the evening past
    The same evening as this one
    Spinning endlessly like scratched vinyl

    I’ve a couple of records left in me myself, of course
    It’s nice to have something in reserve
    One day they’ll tear me apart to get out
    And my insides will drift softly through the aether
    A melody at once familiar and wild
    The aroma Jasmine sent
    The witches companion
    Ah yes, but which?

    My riddles are addled
    It’s no pun anymore
    As the great man once said
    On the back of a record I once owned

    Thank you and goodnight


    yours in song

    • avatar
      Admin | 18 December 2012 at 5:09 pm #

      does that mean you arent commenting again, harry?

      • avatar
        Anonymous | 20 December 2012 at 9:34 am #

        The glib reply would be
        that I couldn’t possibly comment
        but of course I could
        and are
        and will

  7. avatar
    Chris | 18 December 2012 at 1:00 pm #

    The meaning is in the waiting….

    R.S. Thomas

  8. avatar
    Anonymous | 18 December 2012 at 8:24 pm #

    Dude, on 7th October you said “I am resolute. This is the end.” Glad that went the way of all resolutions!

    • avatar
      Admin | 19 December 2012 at 11:05 am #

      i am large
      i contain contradictions

      • avatar
        Anonymous | 19 December 2012 at 8:45 pm #

        The Churchband rulz 4 eva!

    • avatar
      Steven Krut | 19 December 2012 at 12:21 pm #

      Wait! So The Church aren’t going to end? I guess I haven’t been paying attention. I get so wrapped up in my own life when I should be focused on Steve’s. 🙂

      • avatar
        BROKEN TOYS AND HEROS | 19 December 2012 at 2:18 pm #

        …ha ha ha …I laughed so hard while drinking from my
        new Steve mug …I spit up on my MmM shirt while listening to
        Garage Sutra !!!

        Fuck !!!

        Who stole my new tote bag ???!!!!!!!!

  9. avatar
    hellbound heart | 18 December 2012 at 8:40 pm #

    the fragrance of frangipani and night-flowering jasmine and the almost-audible crackle in the air of an approaching storm and the wind caressing your bare skin with warm humid fingers……

  10. avatar
    Ingrid | 18 December 2012 at 9:39 pm #

    I really like that line in “Bel Air” “A palm tree nodded at me last night…” (and I do like palm trees). A great song and of 80s vintage which is where I was transported with this poem today!!! I must say they really were good times back then (so to the 70s), I liked the simplicity and innocence (back then) which is somewhat lacking now. Although all generations look back on their youth with yearnings of nostalgia, I can’t help think even if I was this age living then I would still love it as much as I did. Calming and soothing (much like the tea I’m just drinking), I really loved this xxx

  11. avatar
    Kohl Ette | 18 December 2012 at 10:42 pm #

    Not at all. Pardon. I thought you were talking to me. Harrif Lowers.

  12. avatar
    hippy | 19 December 2012 at 5:27 am #

    The technical term for this is “The Unguarded Moment.”

  13. avatar
    Lady Di | 19 December 2012 at 10:59 am #

    On the 12th day of Christmas
    my true love sent to me
    blah blah blah
    2 turtle doves
    and the bassist in the church band

    la la la
    ho ho ho

    Merry Christmas SK

    Love Di

  14. avatar
    Anonymous | 19 December 2012 at 3:55 pm #

    i really like the last few offerings!

  15. avatar
    Anonymous | 19 December 2012 at 3:56 pm #

    a gust, a tiny wren
    bobbing across the verandah
    he looks familiar
    like my window crash victim
    healed in a shoebox
    not to worry if he dies, a neighbour said
    there are millions
    like third world masses, they are all the same
    to an undeveloped imagination, dullard, dunderhead, pudding head
    like poetry on some long days waking inside a leather glove
    shielding the curve of a hand
    with metaphors conjured from a teacher’s domain
    skeletons courted before eventide
    without heart or creative bone
    beyond the shifting, merging of blame
    just layers of cheesecake left too long in the sun
    yes i too know the way to the wax museum
    i only need step forward
    but i wait and wait and i wait this time
    held by the weight of a more brutal tide
    by grooves
    paths deepened by water
    erosion, deviations
    the marks we leave
    with every breath
    some days more knowingly than others
    sometimes blandly unaware
    too often with another’s measure
    it feels like nothing is about to happen
    ever again
    will my breath be enough

  16. avatar
    Kohl Ette | 20 December 2012 at 4:21 pm #

    Do men hunt women?
    she wondered and remembered
    nearly years ago now how
    she fell headlong in and yet
    it was not necessarily about her
    she felt she was the jaguar the perelandra
    why? it was with a mixture of fear and pleasure.
    She lost a leather glove (cold hands warm heart)
    and bore some claws.
    There was some excitement
    knowing she could at least half rise to the occasion.
    Indeed she feared being hunted.
    I will show you the jaguar side of perelandra
    she thought. Why? she didn’t want to feel bought.
    Now she fears the fear she may have wrought
    but gladly she may be over the hill
    tho not far away
    there’s good and bad still at the end of the day
    her ambition was not to teach but to reach teens
    with empathy ideally and really
    even in her academic domain
    poetry was often regarded with disdain.
    Poetry she’d loved since kindergarten
    well truly forever.
    No she didn’t want to marry young
    she didn’t want to be shunted along
    without power.
    She has experienced times of empowerment
    easy come easy go
    she knows you can lose everything
    seemingly and find another kind of power in that freedom.
    Practically harder.
    Practise imperfect
    yet the fear
    gets a little less
    pleasure increases.

  17. avatar
    Kohl Ette | 22 December 2012 at 8:15 am #

    Yes it can be said women hunt men.
    Stripped of opportunity
    many either consciously or subconsciously
    live through men vicariously.
    A fairy mushroom upon a tree.
    I sometimes feel my life is lived
    Isolated from my deepest creativity
    necessarily connected with maternity?
    I constantly trawl my conscience
    to hunt out hopeless helplessness or cynicism.
    At the end of the day what to do?
    Is this the thing with Darwinism?
    Survival of the ’emotionally’ and physically fittest
    may also be survival of the most emotionally
    and spiritually impoverished?
    If I could have made my own way
    I would have lingered,
    singing in dappled glades.
    But in either blazing sun or black shade
    I linger in dappled glades of my own making.

    • avatar
      Admin | 22 December 2012 at 9:56 am #

      thats beautiful actually
      lovely stuff

      • avatar
        Kohl Ette | 22 December 2012 at 1:57 pm #

        Thanks, I saw this just before I got into futura this morning. I bought two discs: ‘Uninvited’ and ‘Back with …’, a t shirt, ‘No certainty…’, another art book not really church related and two little beaded figures which ended up being for free. The last two things that is. I paid for the rest. Happy morning, and not too crowded anywhere at that time yay. I saw bunches of stocks for sale at the farmer’s markets in Bondi 🙂 but I bought lillies.

        • avatar
          Admin | 22 December 2012 at 4:05 pm #

          thanks for your custom
          other sydneysiders should go to FUTURA bondi rd for all church and SK needs

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