The Poet of Oz: from the gut Archives

April 17, 2005

Emptiness

the sounds of his shadows we hear everywhere
the scent of his shaving still lives in the air
the mattress stays bent to his shoulders and hips
the yearn of our faces remembers his lips
the touch of his laughter rebounds in his room
but the real of his presence is lost in the gloom
his yesterdays float through our minds everyday
but the us in his life he keeps edging away
in our constant of tiredness we only get sleep
when the sounds of his shadows their brief silence keep

Posted by alan at 12:10 AM | Comments (1)

March 28, 2005

Can't write this

Alan Smith March 2005

Today I thought
A general mind sort
Was what I needed most urgent.
Can I really focus?
No. Hocus pocus!!
Magically off on a tangent

Maybe I can pretend
Til up nearer the end
That life can go on as we knew
But wait on a minute
There's already a limit
On what I can and cannot do

But my blinkers hold firm
For most of the time
Their efficiency does them much credit
It's the cramps you see
That terrify me
Well there, take a look, now I've said it

No that's absolute pap
Some mindless crap
My horrors are all clearly known
The greatest of fears
Is that in a few years
I'll be nursing home bound ... all alone

A vegetable sprout
Nothing in nothing out
'cept hospital food and shite
With someone to read me
A book, or to feed me,
And a bed bath, once every night

I'm pretty unsmitten
By what I have written
It shows my depressive streak
A mile or so wide
Go on! Put it aside
Make the most of each day of each week

Let's face it.. I'm dumb
I'm more lucky than some
Who see nothing to harm them ahead
When their time comes
To get off their bums
They're divorced, or they're broke, or they're dead

So I'll plan trips to Old Blighty
Try to grab my wife's nightie
And pour out my feelings in rhyme
Shout for Swannies and Kings
Do a myriad of things
And maximise use of my time

Posted by alan at 11:31 AM | Comments (2)

February 21, 2005

Untitled

an uncle she could idolise
unwanted touching - young breasts, thighs
undoes his flies - watch it rise - terrifies
shuddup or I'll punch yer - she complies
your shame, your fault he says - hers to internalise
our secret he says, and she tries
to tell, but she can't

he parts her legs, takes the prize
tells her it purifies
gets worse, sodomise - horrifies
her period dries, belly swells in size
loose clothes to disguise
newborn thrown into trash, dies
all day long she cries
til her uncle's demise
shot by her aunt

Posted by alan at 9:59 PM

January 22, 2005

Song of the Innocent (Pick-a-side-any-side)

I did it out of love for god and country
I did it for my children and my wife
I did it to secure our nation's future
I did it to protect our way of life

I saw the troops of satan in our country
I heard their voices vilifying, cruel
I smelt their filth when they defiled our daughters
I tasted widows' tears, and orphans' gruel

I have too many faces to remember,
bin Laden, Baader-Meinhof, IRA
Saddam Hussein, Amrozi, Black September
Qadhafi, Bush, Sharon, and Tim McVeigh

I spit upon the verdicts of your juries
I had no other option but to fight
I stand before my maker for his judgment
I know that everything I did was right

Alan Smith, July 2004
Published in Quadrant No 413 (Jan/Feb 2005)

Posted by alan at 5:55 AM

December 5, 2004

Kidding Myself in Kuta - a Pantoum

They've hired too many actors for the scene
The piles of bodies really are a laugh
The wounds are so extreme that they're obscene
With limbs ripped off and bodies cut in half

The piles of bodies really are a laugh
The blood however excellently done
With limbs ripped off and bodies cut in half
While all around the crimson rivers run

The blood however excellently done
Confused? Concussed? A little drunk perhaps
While all around the crimson rivers run
I am the one in shock who laughs and claps

Confused? Concussed? A little drunk perhaps
At last it dawns, there is no camera crew
I am the one in shock who laughs and claps
Hawaiian shirt with blood now streaming through

At last it dawns, there is no camera crew
A laugh chokes in my throat, I'm sobbing now
Hawaiian shirt with blood now streaming through
A man in white sticks something on my brow

A laugh chokes in my throat, I'm sobbing now
The frantic search for living victims starts
A man in white sticks something on my brow
He smiles and whispers sorry and departs

The frantic search for living victims starts
A second man comes close, and shakes his head
He smiles and whispers sorry and departs
I can't accept I'm very nearly dead

A second man comes close, and shakes his head
I do not want to face my life's conclusion
I can't accept I'm very nearly dead
It's just a film: my final self delusion

I do not want to face my life's conclusion
They've hired too many actors for the scene
It's just a film: my final self delusion
The wounds are so extreme that they're obscene

Published in Quadrant No 410 (October 2004)

Selected in Best Australian Poems 2004, ed Les Murray
Black Inc, Melbourne Australia, ISBN 186 395 2055

Posted by alan at 8:50 AM | Comments (3)

December 3, 2004

Iraqi Bloom

In desert sands
A fragile flower
Survives
While up above
Mad demons toy
With lives

The man kneels down
Beside the bloom
To pray
Reminded of
His garden
Far away

A place of peace
For which he'd risk
His life
He sees them wave:
His children and
His wife

He spoke to them
In words that
Must be said
The awful truth
'I shot a man
He's dead'

The sniper spits:
'Invader!
Infidel!'
He fires to send
The kneeling man
To hell

The bullet hits
Explodes inside
His head
His final sight
A blossom
Splashed with red

Posted by alan at 8:40 PM | Comments (2)

November 28, 2004

joe blakin' (life with parkinson's disease)

a few minutes to wipe
a great urge to type
i'm joe blakin'
hands all ashudder
keys all bejjudder
violent shakin'

at 5:30 dark
it's the cold not the Park'...
I tell myself lies o so well
as the heater goes on
...has the wavering gone?
not a paddlepop's chance down in hell

it may be that I'm fearful
emotional? tearful?
could be tension awaggin' my arm!
I shake when excited
and 'specialy when frighted
but I'm not now ...I'm restful and calm

must stop kidding myself
my problem's ... ... my health!
it's the Park that's the real villain here
why the eff was it given...
my present from heaven?
or a hellish big boot up the rear?

it's mod'rate some days
on others... ablaze
but time off for good conduct? never.
right now the shakes
are like bloody big quakes
bad day? or here forever?

My first... a bit ocker, but it is me afterall.

Parkies ('the Park') is a mean rotten bastard

Posted by alan at 5:52 PM | Comments (12)