The Night Sky in the Day Time

Relief after the storm

when rain washes the sky clear

grit and grain

drained away.

Awake to a sense of purity:

tensions resolved, static removed,

humidity vanished.

Walk outside

Bewildered at the streaks,

paint trailing at the bottom of a dome

See as you have never seen,

Darkly, though no longer through a glass.

Who knew the stars

were eyes?

Clustered, staring, unblinking

greedy.

Who knew the sky is a face?

The earth is a mouth,

full of teeth.

(with a nod to Laird Barron)

JOE CHIP SINGS!!!

Masses, this is what you have been waiting for!

Here it is, the latest music video by Bucket Man.  Move over Psy, here is the dancing communist super man …

Joe Chip sings:  “I can dream about fish…”

What more could you ask for?  (art?  good taste?  high production values? phht)

I can dream about FISH

all I like,

I can dream about FISH

all I like,

The bastard’s can’t stop me now

I’m dreamin’ ’bout fish right now,

I can dream about FISH

all I like.

Thank you Bucket man.

Surprise

Cancer too is a prize

You don’t have to queue at the newsagent’s

to buy a ticket

They slip it in with the teddy bear,

the beatrix potter china setting,

the first photograph album,

unnoticed.

The final draw may be foreshadowed

in the missed stitch in the booties

grandma made

put aside, only used at your Baptism.

(“It was her last pair.  Do you think she knew?”)

Unlike the contents of your bowels

or your most recent projectile vomit,

it is not discussed in polite company.

It may stick its head around the corner at 3.30am,

pop into Dad’s thoughts as he tries to settle you

and sees his own mortality as he pictures his own father

rocking him 30 years ago,

and his grandfather walking the floor twenty years before that.

A link in the chain between first and last

Somewhere between the savannah and the heat death of the universe.

You can buy more tickets later on,

or be the lucky recipient of a random allocation.

Just like a five million dollar lottery.

You say you’ll keep working,

but you’ll find that you can’t.

Your colleagues no longer look at you,

well, not the same way.

Early retirement either way.

And lots of time to think.

***

In our illnesses, may we know that we are not alone, for everyone treads a version of this path.

May we know that we are loved along the way.

Rubber leg ladies

There’s all ladies now

whose legs are made of rubber

Now I’m respectful of women

(even I had a mother)

But I need to know

are they rubber all  through

or like Astroboy

are their legs a hollow tube?

I can’t wear those pants

they’d look silly on me,

so I’m the only one not walking round

pneumatically.

Rubber legged ladies

bouncing round glorious

Soon they’ll be running

like Oscar Pistorius.

***

I don’t think those pants are really rubber, but I’m not going to touch them to find out, thats how trouble starts.  Joe Chip, always with the big issues.

 

Ugly fat old man

Hey ugly fat old man

what do you think you are doing

just standing there staring at me like that

with your face covered in shaving cream?

What happened to that young guy

you people used to have

on the other side of the mirror?

Did he get bored hanging around?

Went looking for somewhere more interesting

to hang out?

You may as well stick around,

I suppose.

I hate to think who they might send

to replace you,

if you were to go.

You’ve got his nose, you know.

You two related?

How come you got so many ugly people

over there?

***

Pathetique.  Its less pathetic, when its in French.

Stuff

If I was ten years younger

I might make a fool of myself

so I am glad that I am not.

I smile

and suck it in.

Why would I think

things would be any different

to how they were

ten years ago?

If I was ten years younger.

Except, like, for facebook and stuff.

***

I found a shoe

by the side of the road

There was no foot in it.

Not this time.

***

Tell me.

What I want to know,

is where

do the dead women go?

Dexter

Dexter

You married your sister

No wonder it ended in divorce

Dexter

You murdered your brother

and never showed any remorse.

You used to be a gay undertaker,

now you are a dead body maker.

Michael C

what next will you do?

Named for a passage way

because you’re just passing through

the characters you inhabit.

Stay away from Richard Kelly,

he’ll make you play a psycho rabbit.

Dexter,

You talk to your dead father.

I hadn’t thought about how weird your show is until just now.

***

“This drivel shows nothing but contempt for the reader.  Why are you taking this class if you are going to submit such rubbish?  This is not even a first draft.  You think the conceit of confusing the actor and the character is amusing, but its tired, and your attempt is half arsed.  The ending would be a let down, if there was anything to come down from.  And what’s with the Donnie Darko crap suddenly popping up?  Worthless, both you and the so-called poem.”

Sorry Mum.  I know, she wasn’t his real sister any way.  But Harry is supposed to be his real father.

Albino Girl

I thought she was albino

’til I saw that her eyes were blue

I was gonna keep on going

just walk on through

you might think that was kind of rude

but she looked like she had bad attitude

***

Cute girl with the see through skin

I thought that she was

Albinan-ian

Cute girl with the veins that show through

What has nature done to you?

***

She replied:

Nature didn’t do this

It began with the

wrong boy’s kiss

Disease over which

love holds sway

Bad boy sucked all my colour away

***

Cute girl with the see through skin

I thought that she was

Albinan-ian

Cute girl with the veins that show through

What has that bad boy done to you?

***

I thought she was albino

’til I saw that her eyes were blue

She kept on going

just walked on through

you might think that was kind of rude

She repaid me for my bad attitude

***

Cute girl with the see through skin

I thought that she was

Albinan-ian

Cute girl with organs that show through

How can I ever forget you?

***

***

Gentle readers, you should hear me when I sing this.  Perhaps it is better that you don’t.  And yes, I am fully aware that while an albino person may come from Albania, that that is mere coincidence.  Remember, I have been issued with a poetic licence.  Perhaps a commentary on a certain type of singer, perhaps just stupidity.  Perhaps a cautionary tale for Twilight readers?  Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.  (And as I type this on a fine winter’s afternoon, I am rewarded for writing about colour with the eerie wail of a yellow tailed black cockatoo.)