Do you remember me when we're apart
Do you know my smile even though it is dark
Does my mouth have a pout
Or my lips are they thrilling
My eyes are they green
Or have you just never seen
Are they blue or brown with gold in between
Do my eyes have a twinkle or sparkle with light
Do you know do you care in the middle of the night
Can you feel my touch is it hot on your skin
Do you remember
Do you know so let us begin
Can you feel my heart beating
My body is heating
Do you know
Do you care even if I stop breathing ...
*This poem was written by my good friend Wendi Nichols.
The painting is 'Gone but not Forgotten' by John William Waterhouse.
Wednesday, December 11, 2013
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
Sometimes I go to this world’s darkest place.
There’s no bright air and only black abounds.
With all my strength I seek Apollo’s face
But falter parched on every day’s dry grounds.
Then I wander and cling to my instincts
And step ‘round all the weird winds of fashion,
Finding there’s no critics I can convince,
My eyes cast down to mask my raw passion.
Each day I lash the words ‘til they confess
What’s in my heart and bursting to be read
And yet there’s no respite from facelessness
While time spins by and leaves my mind near dead.
How could those mighty poets of lost years
Survive the stress and torture of their tears?
Sunday, December 8, 2013
These are the times of insignificance.
Sketches I draw with winsome words fail me.
Bright scenes I paint with agile circumstance
Turn grey and mock like bland years that ail me.
Should I abide in plain indifferent chance?
Or should I set bold hope in destiny?
The world would urge me take the former stance -
Another slave of fear and apathy.
Unseen stories scratch at my grizzled heart;
Virgin verses glare back from curled pages.
Even if I have penned prized works of art
It seems no-one will mount my grand stages.
The cold craving to stop and rest persists
But still my soul’s flaming fervour insists.
But still my soul’s flaming fervour insists.
Friday, December 6, 2013
When the inner suburbs of Sydney swelter the heat out west at Parramatta can give you a severe headache and make you feel queasy. If you are nursing a hangover then the weather just adds to your torture. After his night of drinking the profits of the snatch and grab from the Persian supermarket’s till Darcy was well and truly under the weather and in no shape to go to football training. So he trudged home early along the white-hot concrete footpaths of Parramatta’s city centre.
Darcy’s ill-health had put him in a forgetful state of mind. Without thinking he chose to walk straight up Church Street after crossing Victoria Road. That route eventually brought him to the Iranian shops on the corner with Pennant Hills Road. The baker spotted him first and quickly alerted his countrymen. By the time Darcy was about to walk under the shade of the shops’ awnings four of them waited out of sight in three doorways.
The baker pounced first and Darcy’s first instinct was that he could fight his way free of a single assailant.
“Let go of me yer wog c**t! Piss off!”
Darcy had barely got the words out when he was grabbed from behind by the shopkeeper. Two men burst out of the restaurant and in no time at all the teenager was held in a variety of wrestling grips that gave him no chance of escape. Struggling only made Darcy feel sicker and he slumped to his knees and vomited. The baker pushed the boy’s head to the ground and rubbed Darcy’s nose in his own mess.
There was a quick exchange of words between the retailers and the baker said something that sounded like an apology. He was the strongest of the four and his eyes were full of a fiery passion induced by the Australian’s racist taunt.
The shopkeeper made a call on a mobile phone. Darcy realised it was a call to the police. He knew he had a bit of time to break free because the police were notoriously slow to respond in this area. As it happened, Darcy was wrong. In less than five minutes a siren heralded the arrival of a paddy wagon from south and the swift intervention of two hefty male officers. Without any preliminaries they bundled Darcy into the back of the truck. Then they spoke briefly with the shopkeeper. It was handshakes all ‘round. The baker handed over some free loaves of sangak bread that still smelled fresh from the oven despite the plastic wrappers.
As the vehicle journeyed back to the station Darcy vomited again in the stifling air of the paddy wagon. From that day on he was, as they say, known to police.
Tuesday, December 3, 2013
As the course I am bound to take
When all around is song and dance
And few hearts ache?
Is it because you quenched my spirit,
Making me some other being
When I was pliable and yielding
With eyes for seeing?
‘Twas fickle chance and nothing more
Set my naïve gaze upon your face
And you conquered my upright reserve.
So began the chase.
Your skin was creamiest caramel,
Your eyes and hair the darkest coal,
Your laughing voice conveyed no trace
Of your fragile soul.
Dazed by your body’s curves and sways,
And childlike in an alien clime,
I soon became a wayward knave
Longing for your time.
You led me on and played coquette,
But inside your young heart had leapt.
I made advances and took chances,
And my conscience slept.
When passion came it scorched us both,
'Though exquisite our moment seemed.
I wished I’d stayed your fondest friend
And so shyly dreamed.
But wise coolness was never likely
Between two bound by such desire.
Yet when we dived and burned in flames
Love survived the fire.
Still you could not take the final steps
And you chose ways that seemed so fair.
Before you and yours were lashed and caged -
Captives of despair.
And soon your brittle soul was shattered
So only splintered shards endured;
Black dogs tore your soft heart apart.
I lived on secured.
But when I learned about the truth -
How corrupt kingdoms destroyed you -
I had no choice but change my life,
Proving love was true.
So now I dwell in densest gloom
That only you can fill with light.
By day I raise you with my words,
Then I weep at night.