The Time Being | Steve Kilbey

in the dark little shop
the door closes on the busy world
and all is quiet
admidst the rubbery gaskets and malevolent toys
oranges and pieces of coal
pictures of some long dead queen
newspaper hats and brown socks
the bric a bracs all cracks
the plants green and spidery
costumes hang over shelves of old books
peoples lives who have vanished
people who disappear into the ether
as no one notices
someones squeezing the last bit of value out
even from odds and endings
a sideboard full of dead dreams
a suit with pockets of withered hope
novels with flowing dedications
the blue ink fading to brown
pictures of the going going gone world
books about boys adventures
playing cricket and jolly well stopping smugglers
a safari in africa bagging lions
being a ruddy good sport and a brick as well
foiling a bicycle thief and swimming at ramsgate
the school bully gets his comeuppance
and dad gets a surprise thats beastly
long gone dandies in cravats poncing around in a salon
a hardly worn dress thrown away by someones daughter in law
memories for sale
watercolour memories of summer days
trips to the coast with the whole gang
we ate and we drank and we laughed
we fished in the sea and we loved in the dark
we walked through green fields with our gals
we went off to fight the enemies
we were killed in foreign places and sadly missed
we returned to bitter winters and smoke and grime
we sat round the fire and drank cups of tea
and ate cream biscuits
where have we all gone now i wonder
where are all the old gang tonight
where are our old haunts
where are our old houses
where are the sunday drives and the elevensies with friends
wheres towser the spaniel and his wagging tail
wheres dads pipe and his paper and his masonic apron
wheres mums basket weaving class and her turtle oil
wheres mums recipe book from the old country
wheres mums special christmas decorations
wheres auntie pam and uncle reggies chevrolet
wheres that family who lived next door to them
here
here they are
bit by bit
piece on piece
odds over sods
nics under nacs
lamps and mirrors and cups and saucers
a portrait of muriel watson done in oils
a pair of posh shoes polished to a tee
ha ha look at that old camera
the one that took those kodachrome over coloured photos of us
at the lagoon
in our hotel rooms
jumping in a pool
waiting for a ferry
floating on a summer pond
getting soaked in a storm
getting up before dawn to start a long drive
big sister shaking you awake in the predawn black
its time she says
and the light goes on and you blink in the brightness
dad comes in drinking a mug of tea and smoking a fag
cmon on son he says
as you realise finally
today is the big day
the first day of the holidays that will go on forever
dad says
i want to get a good start before its daylight
and your sister says
yes do hurry up
and dads got the car all warmed up outside
and mums running round checking things are all off
and all the other kids are still asleep somewhere out there
as the sun comes up gloriously
you have already reached the mountains
you sip some hot chocolate from a flask
and fall into daydreams

let me look thru the olde kilbey calendar here
hmm
poetry festival in brizzy coming up
hmmm
starts this thursday night with a party
guess i can manage that….
partying with the poets
but what is a poet
who is a poet
are you a poet if you say you are
or is it a title to be conferred?
its a funny word
poetrys funny stuff
not that popular these days
i guess song lyrics have taken poetrys place
fair enough i suppose
there almost the same thing aint they?
no not really
theyre not really the same thing at all
and being good at one
dont necessarily make you good at the other
the poet reconstitutes all available words into marvellous assemblages
poets do love to blab on about poets though
it justifies their own damaged esteem in this philistine world
lyricists got it easy
thats where the money is
and the glory
everyone loves a good song, right?
anyhow whatever babykins
im straddling the borderline at the festival
singing 2 lenny co-hen songs
a song-righting seminar
reading all of froot mashine in one go
attending parties etc
i’ll be networking with the poets
picking up new poetic vocab
and soaking up the general poetic bonhomie
but i dont like that much poetry per se
i love the greats of course
i can give them a little plug here
lautreamont
baudelaire
rimbaud
dylan thomas (fucking unbelievable)
bob calvert
jim morrison(yes!)
apollonaire
breton(for his manifestos and nadja)
antonin artaud crazy poet/visionary
shakespeare
rumi (very trendy)
jesus and buddha
their parables n sutras are spoken performance poems
homer of course an epic poet
wilfrid owens and some of the other 1st w w poets
im afraid everything comes up against my question
“is it marvellous or at least about the marvellous?”
which rules out much of the poetry out there in poetryland
of course everybody isnt after the marvellous
they never really were
the hoi polloi want the obvious and they do indeed get it
in spades
there is always a small group who do want the marvellous tho
and an even smaller group
who can actually occaisionally produce it
this is my thing
my field of expertise….
country poets
lesbian poets
funny poets
rap poets
yeah ok but no thanks
its gotta do this thing i cant define
its gotta transport me
its gotta be extra ordinary
its gotta be far out
or else why bother
if that beauty aint gonna convulse
anyway this is my narrow niche
i guess not everybody else
would by any means think im dabbling in the marvellous
the thing that most interests me
bores most others , im sure, im certain
that weird peculiar thing
that those master poets can do
they can throw you round all over the place
just with words arranged on a page
no music n voice to deliver it
no razzamatazzski
thats a real art
not many do it for me as i say
that shivery weird feeling you can get
when you read something real good
when the masters lay down their coolest word groove
there in black n white on a page
or on a screen
poetry hits your heart first
poetry you can do anything
poetry for everybody
poetry ah whos listening
can poetry ever come back?
i dunno
i dont know if its instantaneous enough for thesedays
its like croquet is to golf
is poetry to lyrics
very similar
but enormously different
one obscure n perceived as antiquated
the other a billion dollar biz
why cant poetry recapture its former position?
im sorry but i dont think poetry ever was that popular
really
i just cant see it
i think its pretty much always been pretty elitist-ish
the common man aint been quotin’ the poets of his day
i betcha
still
its worth while
poetry
i mean
the qld po fest is a blessing in an arid land
an opportunity to see if there is any marvellous stuff out there
put on a beret and smoke pot on the balcony
drink a champers and get your book signed by pierre the poet
yawn and fidget thru the boring bastards (like me….for some)
flog a copy of yer latest booklet
and talk about yer poems in hi falutin’ terms
im sure i’ll get real envious
when someone points out some boring olde boar
tediously reading out his ball numbing twaddle
and says
“he just got a grant for 200 grande to write that!”
oooh that gets me going…
govt funded poets
unless its me of course
i could be into it then
i’d churn out some poetry for em
if they paid me to do it
theyd get all my best epistles
funny how a little huge grant would lubricate my poetic-ness
how can ya pay em to write poetry….?
imagine if rimbaud was getting paid to write illuminations
some public servant overseeing the whole thing
this bits too rude
this bit doesnt make sense
this bit is un pc
this bit will upset the pope
this bit is too sketchy
still
if the minister for poetry
in queenzland or any where else
is looking for a good little poet
to bestow some whacking great grant on
then this is my submission
(is that the right word)
this is my application
just comment below
how much you have in mind
and i’ll start on new prose poem cycle
called
*my memories of the abyss and violet ray*
its brilliant da da or utter tripe, who can tell
not the guy dishing out the grants
thats for sure

had a lovely saturday night with my little one
stumbling on the bucking kitchen floor
a mist formed in my eyes and everything seemed smoky
after a shaky liftoff
i achieved cruise latitude
we drank riccadonna ruby red
and we became lost in our conversations
threading through the avenues of our thoughts
stopping in unexpected night gardens
we made out among the statues
our house expanded to contain our universe
i was telling you about my life w/bush n ghosts
i was telling you a very deep dark secretive thing
i was so lost in my words
my words like a forest
my words hemming me in
my words a grove of sentences
life sprouting everywhere
you were sitting there in the candlemoonlight
listening to me
i could see you
listening intentsly
i could see you before my smoky eyes
and if you were a little cold
and if you were a little sleepy
and if the voice coming out of me
wasnt hipp-know-tizing us slowly
yes i told you about the pictures
yes i told you of my long lost youth
yes i told you about youthful predilections
about the flat in canberra where i lived
when i right and then left home
where slept in my room in wonder
where joe and i smoked homegrown weed
and my head exploded in achingly slow motion
and we listened to some prog record and i saw gawd
and my hands floated up to the ceiling like lianas
i was scared to close my eyes
it was all rushing backwards in my head
towards some point in the distance, fr’instance
and girls who came over there
and the songs i wrote on a one stringed guitar
talking thinking rambling in a strangers soft voice
i was telling you about my weird scenes and my dark thoughts
i could tell you werent judging me though
i could see you were enjoying my midnite confession
i could see my winged words were hitting home
i could feel them bouncing down in your recall
in one ear and out the other
my words were slipping into you
and slipping out of you again
coming out all mixed up and changed
and i said listen
as i wove this web of words
as i weave thru the traffic in my spine
as i wake up that nasty serpent
as i make another fire
there is another world out there
a world of easy pleasure
a world with no outsides
a world of our own
the neighbours come home and bang around
but theyre a million moonlit miles away
in my room i am king jester and slave
in my room i am the whole of the law
in my room with the candles all flickering with little haloes
in my room with my riccadonna ruby
which i sip cautiously
in my room with my suitcase and guitar
in my room with the wine stain on the carpet
in my room with a little high window
one thing ive learnt is how to have a good time
one thing more is how good times suddenly evaporate
one other thing is the mundane doldrums that plague me
let me be in my heads pace
let me run my course
like a river in flood
like a highway that shoots thru your town
like a missile entering enemy airspace
like a hatchet job on an axe hero
like when they hang the wrong man
like christmas on the easter islands
more than that cannot be said
more than that is wasteful
more than that could make you behave irresponsibly
as the ice melts down in the tray
as you insinuate yourself towards me
as you do
as you alight on a chair
as you spin out of control
as you are ever ready
and sleep comes on so gradually
you cant tell whats happening anymore
its all immaterial
a moot point
a shibboleth
a bridge from nowhere to nowhere
a spoonful
a footprint in the concrete
a night locked in the zoo
we face the beasts and animals
they say
we thought you were the animals
they say
dont watch us so rudely
they say
you are incapable of understanding us
now i drift off my baby
my companion
now i drift off to my own world
even you cant come in here ordinarily
but tonight
you can take shelter in the warm cavern of slumber
shrug off your weary things
its deep and pleasant
we’ll swim into it together
only to be parted
by sleeps sweet oblivion

to plan it
or let it all happen
to figure it out
or suss it in a flash
what would someone else have done
art
music
life
which one
make your move
be yourself
it suits you better
think faster
slap it on
take it away
erase it
trace it
follow it wherever it may lead
add stuff later
fix it up soon
throwaway idea
the magnum opus ,day-eye
the mastah peace
the statement of intent
knock em out, boyo
serve it up hot
make it look easy
take anything from anywhere
plunder the past
anticipate the future
open the present
say something worth saying
not too obvious
not too devious
not to even mention pretention
blog in a fog
note in a coat
cmon you take over here for me
hold this world on yer shoulders, soldier
bear the brunt, you runt
back and front
gather and hunt
a garden of verse is growing wild
metaphor flowers blooming in lake poignant drive
an overgrown temple of song
samson pushed at those columns
samson in the columns looking for a profit
samson …says delilah
why dontcha let me cut yer hair, you big strong man?
and samsons locks come undone
half the man he was
his lovely black tresses on the pillow as he slept
snip snip snip my love
oh i bring you my scissors to trim and shape
now you weak brute
unmanned with a little haircut
they chain him to the columns and laugh
and delilah what did you get from your betrayal?
gold?
position?
revenge?
oh its too late
baby
its too late
your ex is bringing down the house
oh whatta surprise
down on him self
the whole biblical night comes down
on him n her
and all the other cats
who happened to be there
anyway
here
its saturday arvo
glenny will cut my hair
i am already weak
so no fear there
i will dedicate this saturday night to all the people out there
cheers
kilbey imbibes
drops trip
lights bone
doffs garments
lights candles
lies back on bed
feeling warm sea breezes
inviting more proems
into this foggy world

ive never met martin kennedy
ive never seen him
or spoken to him on the phone
hell
i aint even ever emailed him
i wouldnt know him from adam
however he and i have created this very nice little record together
oh its a lovely record
unlike my painkiller record it is not self indulgent jamming juggernaut
it is not space rock
it is not harsh or wild or heavy or anything
its kinda easy on the ears actually
its not difficult to understand
theres 13 songs altogether
mk is mixing it with someone in melby
jlk provides b vox, choirs and spiritual guidance on all things vox
miranda jk does some singing on one track
mk always providing simple subtle songscapes
faraway voices when youre not expecting em
little sounds halfway between a voice and a trumpet
little trumpetlike things commenting in some alien language
like on
*my will be yours*
a jazzy late night bleary eyed creature
electric piano
haunting stringvoiced voices
sk comes in
worldweary and tired
my will be yours
you will be mine
i will lose all that i will find
the music rolls away from his words in sad waves of memory
the trumpet voiced sprite joins in
half mocking half sympathetic
you can almost hear a familiar word in there
it segues into
*stretch into the stars*
which is a slow burning piece
gradually gaining a theatrical momentum
sks sings
the night you sold me
i was frozen like the stars
you might have told me
that our love would last
jlks voices curl and whisper like malevolent spirits
the song becomes a swaying tower of voices
then
sk whistles his lonely theme
in some dark autumnal euro cityscape
mks guitar playing throughout
is meticulous elegance in simplicity
it drones and chimes and tinkles and soars
a master of subtle arts mk has learned all his lessons well
never overplaying his hand
his music is glowing in mysterious openess
pop music which is anything but.
a master song architect
these pieces drip effortlessly from him
never sounding forced
never sounding tired
his music is familiar but completely his own
he has his own mojo going
its not a rockstar ego me me me brassy blast
its a craftsman
only his craft is honing the most subtle backing tracks
for someone like me to sing upon
like *another place*
another place another score
im a stranger at your door
go the words
piano and violins
a squirmy little synth
the choruses becoming lush
at the end a kinda key change
and a new affirmation
but it ends on a bluesy feel
*uh i dunno*
actually rocks pretty hard, baby
overshot my sarky (sake?)
awkward old malarkey
sings your humble hero
and lo the bass doth throb
what you wanna do asks the falsetto chorus
uh i dunno replies bewildered sk
*thought of leaving*
another smoulderer
if you were really like you said
i’d put an arrow to your head
and i’d pull the string
everytime i sing
the songs have something of a showtune feel
compounded by trumpets which often appear
playing jazzy solos and pissing off again
*all is one*
has semi religious bent
and lover warning his beloved
that he is her only hope of salvation
and hinting at his own buddha like aspirations
while mk provides an almost western ambience
feedback loops tamed sweeten the electronic haze
those half voice half trumpet things return blowing/singing
a mournful melody
2s an illusion now
i sing
spirit come and fill me now
spirit come and take me now
as the music changes gear into a coda
its lovely stuff indeedy if i may say so
*love increased*
is another wide screen biblical number
ghostly voicestrings like heat rising off sand
the wedding feast
the love increased
the wedding bed
the fire fed
i intone in a patti smith-ish poem at the end
a girls voice singing a lovely melody
the trumpet appears in echo
kahil gibran stuff i guess
a time of joy
pure unalloyed
a time of peace
the love increased
oh
i almost believe it myself
it goes down very easily
i can tell you
*the other place*
(as opposed to another place)
has mks characteristic morse code blips in rhythm
simple subtle melodic gorgeous
his soundscapes are a pleasure to wander in
they inspire words like rain inspires flowers
*friends are gone*
the saddest song
a piano a melody
electronic phase shifting haze scrapes by
sks voice desolate weary
theres always someone hiding behind you
and i dont understand
the lie of the land
all the music exactly where it should be
accoustic guitars strum away
its all immaculate
wonderfully conceived
brilliantly executed
mk has provided moody wonderful music
i tried to match it with some singing
i think this is lovely record for lovers
for enjoying lonely bittersweet fruits of love
it is guaranteed to be an appropo soundtrack
night music
but day music too
music with lots of places to get lost in
thats some of the songs
anyway

a beautiful blue
the colour of a storm cloud they say
i have but merely thought that i saw you
i have felt you somewhere inside
all along
me
a part and a parcel
a part apart from you
none knows why this has happened
how did i fall fall fall
am i awake or asleep
the worlds
put in motion
now like clockwork
they run on and on
they orbit fiery suns and coldstars
the seasons come and go
the nights open to reveal days
soul transmigrates from stone to wood to beast
finally human
human rock n roll over again n again
snake human
rat human
pig human
tiger human
monkey human
finally human
then after many turns
after many rock n rolls of the cosmic dice
finely attuned
you wake up one day
it is obvious
and
you can see the sense in it
one day
i cant make that day happen for you
although i’d like to
one day you wake up
and you cant help but noticing
the leaves
the shapes textures the fine veins of sap
the way they move around in the wind
their shadows and brighter sides fading and gleaming
moving en masse
in a carefully choreographed accidental ballet masterpiece
everyday on everytree
what to say of the flowers
i’ll say this again
each flower
drawing from the same soil
same rain
same sunlight
produces
through invisible processes of life
colours scents shapes
vividly different
each life force brings forth her own version
there are bees who make their honey from one flower only
different bees
different flowers
different honey
the bees who are aerodynamically incapable of flight
how they hover and zoom and communicate somehow
all filled with life
but what what what is that?
what is this life?
what is this invisible silent incessant force?
what is this fragile gift?
in some cases life is indeed a sentence to hell
why why why?
why o merciful one does this have to happen?
i saw a man in a wheelchair at nielsens bay
while everyone was away swimming and playing
here he was on a hot day
parked under a tree
hes all scrunched up and squirming it looked like
no one to talk to or share his wishes and hopes
what wishes and hopes could a man like that entertain?
our simplest freedom would be his greatest luxury
i angrily turned to myself
i say
youre a fool for believing in god
what is the answer to that?
and the answer is
there are some answers i am too small to understand
there are some explanations i cannot hope to deserve
these are indeed the deep mysteries of life
another voice in my head says
that man in the wheel chair…
you have already been him
or one day you will be
there is nothing you can do about that now
maybe one day from another vantage point…..
you see i think we will play all parts
beggar and king
master and hound
husband and wife
sick and well
this knowledge should inculcate sympathy and mercy
this knowledge should bring forth humility and humanity
youre not who you think you are
youre maybe more than that
youre maybe asleep and you dont even know it
the executioner may be the victim tomorrow
the eater may be eaten
the forgiver may be the forgiven himself
love others because they may be you yourself
no one can help who they are
is that really true?
how would i know
and how would you?
whenever a man a points to the sky and says behold
the groovy fucking wondrous beauty, my baybee !
theres always some little nasty thing give you a little sting
i have found this blog to be like that
but that is this plane my friends
welcome to kaliyuga
what did you flippin’well expect
even on its maybe last legs
this is a beautiful world
every piece fitting into the puzzle so brilliantly
the more you find out
the more there is to know
each discovery points to
oh dear
each discovery is pointing us towards a metaphysical component
behind the laws and ratios and colours and mechanisms
there is an elusive hand
there is unbelievable intelligence and love
thats how i read it
but thats what i wanna read
10 000 years ago the indian sages said
all is vibration
long ago
before europe was even a rat infested medieval sewer
these cats said
if you want to dig this trip properly
there are ways of speeding up the process
ways of letting you in to the subtle place
the quiet place
where you need to turn your mind off
your quoting of facts and figures is no longer useful here
that is not what its about
the quiet place is hard to find
the empty place
and they dreamed up yoga
they intuited it
can you believe that
a way of achieving union
whatever the hell it means to you
dont tie me up in semantics
union with your beloved
what does that mean to you
union
think about it
before you say anything
union
as above so below
union return
union reunion
union reunited
union power
union knowledge
union understanding
union union
from the one comes many
back into the one they will go
union with your beloved, child
be still now
let go
relax
let your body be heavy
and let your mind be light
you think you could speak a language without learning it 1st?
this is the greatest work
this needs time devoted
this requires your mental attendance
this requires you to sit still
concentrating on your breath
until your clamourous foolish mind shuts up
then you may begin to approach the empty place
the empty place which is full of everything you want
stop bleating
yoga demands much perseverance
when youd rather just be sitting around
and thinking up reasons why everything is ugly
in your life
then stand in the dog eagle and tree pose for a while
then the triangle
then the warrior
stand on your head and shoulders
finally the corpse
now sit cross legged
meditate on the supreme lord
who is formless indeed
however he is so kind he may come to you as
(insert favourite god here)
meditate on his power and glory and love
meditate on the nature of emptiness
meditate on nothing
meditate chanting the word om
or pronounce it aum
feel christs presence in your heart
or the peaceful extinguishment of nirvana
but do something
its so nice

busy being nothing
wasted on pleasures excesses
some power animates me still
the sea is cold and clean today
i swim through the water unfeeling
i do my qi gong
i feel the air move round my body
i expel my breath carefully
i vaguely touch the invisible source of power
the ocean is more beautiful
than all the pictures ever painted put together
refusing no river
accepting the rain patiently
its mysteries are deep
it reveals them ever so slowly
they say vishnu lies in the causal ocean
as he sleeps the goddess of fortune watches over him
whole universes emerge from his pores
as he dreams everything up
dreaming dreaming dreaming everything up
into each thing a tiny tiny drop of spirit
the spirit which can divide itself like a flame
it can give and give and never be exhausted
oh lord you are so around us everywhere
that like fish in the ocean
we cease to be aware of you
i care not
for people who
never having prayed
say that you never answer prayers
you have always answered mine
i care not
for those who have never meditated
who say
there is nothing out there
for those who have not striven in yoga
who say
there is no union
for those
never submerged in your sweet service
who say
there is no one to serve
o vishnu
to walk and talk with you
ah vishnuloka
your abode
i imagine myself in some eternal twilight
the tulsi flowers
the lotus
birds sing evensong
a flute in the distance
and women singing
a song about all songs
their voices chime like bells
and sustain like a fender guitar
the jungle all around us
the indian night
how i have longed for this everlasting twilight
all my lives have dazzled me
i have been burnt by lifes fire and old flames
mistake upon mistake
life afterlife
now in the fullness of time
after everything has taken place
when all that might happen happened
i find myself here in this wild garden
dressed in fine clothes
perfect temperature
and the warm evening breeze
carries all lovely scents
as you smell them
a million memories come to you
memories of deliciously lovely things
you gathered from your lives
memories of white snow and yellow sand
memories of underwater light playing on green rocks
memories of familiar music
memories of memories
now so faded away and thin
like a gossamer veil
you can look straight thru
and you see
the first time someone told you they loved you
on some warm lovely night like this
someone took your hand
and whispered the soft words of love
someone kissed your forehead tenderly
and sighed in the falling night
and you got the strangest feeling
a dizzy elation
a fulfillment
a deep hit in your heart
but that hit o vishnu
is as nothing compared to
the love that made you dream it all up
the love that caused life
as you set everything vibrating
as you put the planets on their courses
as you figured it all out in a flash
an interlocking everlasting work of art
this whole trip……even im almost speechless
all art is to glorify you
all music is to glorify you
and who are we
but you as well
each in a form they have devised
each in a life they deserve
for if you do not deserve your life….then who does?
each coming back again and again
one more
two more
oops three more
thousand times again
i have at last turned a corner at least
sk will just be a thread in ttbs coat of many colours
look
just there
that little piece
you can hardly see it
along with the countless others
each essential thread of life
to sew these garments i will one day take on
kilbey is a day in a classroom
kilbey is a moment in a game
kilbey is hay in a needlestack
kilbey is a cloud on a huge sky
kilbey is a smile
kilbey is one tear in a river of grief
kilbey is just one more
one of the passing parade
the kings and fools
the stars and the freaks
the mighty and the maggots
kilbey is a note in a symphony
kilbey is a small stone by the side of a highway
kilbey is just here and now
kilbey a while longer maybe…
when this kilbeysuit falls apart
o who will i be then, my dear lord?
let me not forget
the lessons i should have learnt as kilbey
let me retain
let me go on
let me speak with you
alright
its enough

scarlet moon
pretty as you are
fall down on me
a mortal man
a musician a fool
a spring in a weary land
the treetops and little blue eggs
majestic raven on the wing
over the cold oceans currents
where i bathe
amidst the rollers and the weed
where the shells lie under sand
and glass worn smooth
salt that clings to my skin
and little fishes go by
and night comes down gently
like a woman coming down on a man
delicately the night straddles earth
and envelopes it in a warm dark embrace
it flaunts a huge swollen moon
and twinkling stars
a night dedicated to love
mosquitoes have appeared
in the blackness and the shadows of night
around little ceramic flowerpots
where the plants exhale oxygene
orchid moon
cactus moon
money tree moon
if only we could fly
my baby
if only we could skim thru that shifting air
if only we could leave at will
never mind
tonight love is in the stars
tonight that begins now
as i turn off this computer
and stride over stride
i walk away

spring has sprung
rah rah rah
the bugs go mad
the icebergs pool still cold though
the sun shines
the palm trees baybee
the pacific turns aquamarina
the wavelets rolling in
the tourists arrive by the bucketload
the time zips past
the children come out
the children dressed in uniforms
the schools divulge the children
the olde domino players appear out the back
this morning at the pavillion
as i counted to a million
i caught my breath
then let it go
as a shapless bird so free
it cruised on past the bibliotech
deserted gloomy discoteques
and then it dived like lead into the sea
weekend shoppers still swarm to the games
they burn their bridges and they fan the flames
alone in the crowds forgetting their names
they fade on the way to the exit
and
who uprooted the no through road sign on the corner?
and who noticed the stars
and heard the shiver of the dawn
and who was there
apart from you
who apart from you
you are apart there
in pieces
at the edge of the park lie beautiful houses
inside them its already dark
inside them every sound is drowned in luxury
inside them spring reigns and rains
garden over groan
swimming pool and deck chairs
statues of dionysus and apollo
i am spring spitting flowers
i am total
i am an afternoon in the sun
under a tree
wine
talk
laughter
life will be renewed
we must go on

cascading water
blue cranes circle in the air above
copper coloured lizards on warm rocks
cherry blossom
oak leaves
the azure sky is stretched over the skeletal clouds like a skin
like a memory pulled over the years
and faded of all colour
eels in the pool hiding in shadow
musical garden
flowers swaying to the beat
lilies ripple outwards gracefully
poppies nodding luxuriant sleep
goldfish drink the air with soft gulp
tranquil tea house where we meet
the windows are half open
i drink my tea and daydream
i listen to your voice drift on outside
somewhere
i listen to the intricate language of the birds
their many different tongues
the little creek speaks and babbles in the shallows
i listen to your soft voice leading me on
youve taken my hand
and you stroke it gently
you stroke and talk
talk and stroke
playing me like an instrument
sometimes you say a word
and your fingers emphasise it with gentle pressure
sometimes you pull on my fingers and whisper shhhh
i drink my tea and think of the foam fingered sea
and sailors in storms
and explorers in jungle temples searching for the crystal
divers swim through atlantis in the cold depths
but a monster has taken up residence there now
outside children are playing in the abandoned pleasure huts
you talk to me in your way
there is no continuity
i hear the words but they sound foreign
i see your lips pronouncing the words
but i hear the sound in my heart
the meanings tumble out all over the place
my mind thinks of the power and intelligence of vishnu
my heart thinks of the love all the love he must have had
you are talking about life
the lives you have led
the lovelives lived
the life of a lifetime
the love of your life
it doesnt matter
you are not even listening to yourself
no one else is there
the eel suddenly darts in the pool
a light wind ruffles the surface
you are talking and stroking my hand
you say
heaven is relative
heaven for one, hell for another
heaven must be deserved
heaven is open to all
heaven is not what you expect
heaven has vacancies
heaven has a glorious view
heaven is heaven
a tiny melancholy cloud blocks out the sun
for a moment everything seems changed
the water becomes suddenly opaque
the birds all leave
the lizards scuttle away
the fish sink deep into the pools murk
you stop stroking my hand and let it fall
you no longer are saying anything
i still hear some words lingering on
you stare out the window
you gaze at the view
you become lost in some thought
then the sun returns
you stand up
you say
lets go