TRICKLE DOWN ECONOMICS

nothing stirs in the rustling leaves
people laughing
hierarchical order
bird songs in the background
built in obsolescence
the market provides for all
money trickles down
stock brokers picking up coins
god bless the market
pool full of bukake

garbage man pushing buttons
waste removal
cleanliness is a deity
paragon of virtue
dark side of the moon
candle half burning

darkness within the light

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unwashed dishes

maggots festering
unclean mind

the status quo

empty syringes
the wait was short
escape from this world
those were the days

DAYS OF BEING WILD

tears falling like rain drops
years lost in the eye of the storm
cigarettes used to gave us head spins
and the green stuff made us laugh
I remember the days of being wild
smoking behind trees in the oval
a gateway to a cut and dried mango
leaving us breathless and thirsty
oil lamp burning at half intensity
brandishing axes in the streets

three quarters of a bottle of vodka
laying sprawled out on the road
cars avoiding me as best they could
paralytics state of stupor
pressing the horn, holding it down
trying to wake up the rich people
throwing rocks at moving targets
keeping tabs, counting the strike rate
pierce some holes and pull the lever
one foot off the ground, drop the load

binge drinking and chain smoking
there's a wet patch on the couch
unable to find the last cigarette
it's going to have to be bumpers
the stains of time gathering dust
those were the adventures of old
the silent march of bull ants
working together on in unison
sand blows in from the open door
furniture aligned by the stars
flotsam gently floating downstream
the abandonment of all ambitions

there's a time and place for everything
we all have our own way of doing things
there are smells and sights to behold
we need to close the pandora's box

there's effort and there are results
we all have moments that make us cringe
there are colours we cannot perceive
we should all count our blessings

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copyright infringement
creative commons
rain pounds the roof of the car
a reawakening
realising the absurdity of everything
excitable
impunity not forthcoming
posturing on a global stage
the hypocrisy, embarrassment
human rights
we respect human rights
tragedy
some lives worth more than others
imperialist privilege
terror from above
pre-packaged
brought to you by Uncle Sam
if they are rebels
we'll call them terrorists
one person with a positive demeanor
the rest: lost
fear is another weapon
brought to you by Today Tonight
truth sliced and diced
tiny segments left out
truth corroded
investigation
bodies being looted
remains remain to be seen
the aftermath
brownie points to be scored
amnesia
1948 was a while ago
incursions, land grabs
precision targeting
nothing retro
state of the art
technologically superior
imbalance
selective reporting
history of historical manipulation
target in close proximity
the panopticon
domination, matrix of fear
fountain of hatred
violence begets only...
whimsical remark
paranoia and misperception
everything's under control
empty like a breatharian
digestive tract cleared
a mainlined vein
the follow on effect
juice flowing

NOT QUITE CUT AND PASTE

ceiling collapsing
an implosion of truth
corrupted
a losing battle
unveiled corpulence
indecision, climax
graphic violence
cadaver city
pit open like a vein
built in obsolescence
consumer wonderland
hiatus from the garden
creation, complete
inertia like an eagle
abandonment
scars of a borderline
dogma
stereotypes, added bass
floating like bubbles
sea of enchantment
character flaws
calling of the castle
no safe asylum
mass exodus
neo-fascism
destruction button
pulling a trigger
identity stolen
dissociative fugue
faded rainbow
leaves, wisdom
corrective surgery
limbs in limbo
begrudging attitude
cut and paste
pastiche
open book test
calico bag
noxious like a politician
meaning, subliminal
relations of power
random footpath
colouring-in book
narrative, nonsense
abdication
a war at the coal-face
sweet seduction
education, contempt
ulterior motives
sweet destruction
catching, vomit

POST-MODERNISM

the grand theories of the godfathers

engulfing all in finality

so we reject the paradigms
and end up not saying much at all
all the multiplicities expressed with gusto
but something in between is missing
truth corroded, only narratives remain
the new way forward
the totality of totalitarianism
the project collapsing
the weight of compromise
and so Berlin did fall

as if rhetoric itself was enough
the ivory tower of academia
fighting battles through different volumes
depersonalized personal attacks
and the revolution is an essay
the argument is a convenient one
we're all such revolutionaries
sitting behind a screen and keyboard
picking battles from a sea of conflict
pontificating and pointing the finger
as if writing about it was enough

in the hallways of excellence
we find ourselves behind the eight ball
barely on par with lived experience
we arm up in the barricades
we pierce the enemy with verbal bullets
we are revolutionaries
we are living through the lens of history
waiting for a fault line to travel through
we run rings around the authorities
we stir trouble up like a petulant child
we are at the forefront, we are the vanguard
everyone else will fall into line
everything will change like never before
running through pipes in our dreams
we are as true as religion is false
we keep it real, retort with rhetoric
we wield it like it were a machete

the rejection of dogma
the rejection of truth itself
so we deconstruct the paradigms
crawl through holes like pink rabbits do

left only with rhetoric and self-promotion
a platter full of sickly sweet entrées
the ejaculation of rhetoric and vitriol
it's better if you can't be understood

we are the vanguard

SAME OLD SOCIALLY-SANCTIONED BULLSHIT

matching hats in a scene of confusion
Siamese twins
bonfire raging like a black panther
respite from  the chill of night
embers flying randomly
another one to fill the cup
another glass to stay longer
debaucherous nothingness
not even that, just derelict
in a bourgeois kind of way
neurons under attack
the billowing smoke

as we detach ourselves

said stories always end sad

SEAGULLS DOING LINES OF COCAINE

barren like a scorching desert
little showed but the landscape
over the horizon was a flock of seagulls
they were feasting on chips from McDonalds
fat gulls unite in a diabetic orgy
a proximity of squawking noises
then came silence, an eery silence
yet the only listeners were still mumbling
famished and exhausted they staggered forth
their eyes locked onto the stunned seagull colony
squawking, squawking, a cacophony of sonic dissonance
stop
the colours of the sky
the misguided mass
the darkness in the light
obese seagulls
squawk, squawk, squawk like a neglected infant

THE FELLATIO QUEEN

there was not much to go on if you were to judge her by her appearance
beauty queen, every teenage boy's wet dream fantasy
she used them
the bane of her existence, a stop gap solution
she smiled more than you would expect from someone with few teeth
the gingivitis was the curse of a dentally-challenged princess
how many more times would she smell his latex gloved hands?
her fellatio skills were exquisite, a seasoned professional
yet she couldn't help but feel like she was lacking in something
so she found solace in her needle fixation
the way the blood spun in fast winding spirals up the barrel
a whirlpool of regrets, a closet full of condoms
the doors would not shut
left ajar the light would pierce the coldness of her heart
so she wore the darkness like a bullet proof vest
people taking pot shots at her
people missing
a silhouette of bullet holes
a shadow person
creeping around in the dead of night searching for carrion
another fragment of her being that she decided not to adopt
fear consumes her every sleeping hour
it envelops her like a python
so she fights tooth and nail
scars
track marks as long as the Perth to Joondalup line
a train of thoughts
flowing freely like the tears of a petulant child
until the end is reached
some endings never end, fellatio her saving grace

CAPTAIN IMBECILE

a knock at the door
a fool opens the door
his words sound like
fingers scratching on a black board
painful to listen to
everybody wants it to stop
but we voted for it
we get what we deserve
moving backwards is progress
so declared Rupert Murdoch
all the money we'll save
all that matters is the money

I look through a window
see people running on a treadmill
automatons or clones?
I can't quite decide
I don't know a single person
who picked him for the job
yet here we are, sinking
the captain is a class A imbecile
yet this is what we wanted
lets all revert back to snail mail
that way we don't need fibers
to meet up with the broken nodes

a rustling of eucalyptus leaves
we're dependent like koalas
on the same meal each day
a daily dose of lies and trivia
everybody follows the leader
straight off a haunted cliff
we question only within limits
the picture painted by rich cunts
all our spectacles are put on by them
and all of them are glitzy and passé
all the products we buy does good
just as long as we consume

we pay for the pleasure
of watching people get murdered
yet we are somewhat detached
unable to feel the humanity
when the terrorists' side are killed
it's just another statistic
some lives are worth more than others
especially if your skin is white
no mercy for terrorists and their supporters
we'll kill them with precision
yes they were at the beach
but we couldn't find a trace

when everything is said and done
all that matters is naked power
a monopoly that cripples evolution
the subliminal transmission of cancer
we think that we are free
but the dogma attacks our bodies
we surf as if it were freedom
but all we catch are glimpses of freedom
no spare moment is free of charge
everything we know was written by winners
the voice of the oppressed suppressed
all the songs we hear are easy listening

safe behind our white picket fences
we remind ourselves that everything is OK

HAIKU PROPAGANDA

their propaganda
for the gullible and weak
we're all in good hands
 
their three word slogans
for the xenophobic fools
Straya's closed its doors

 
their lack of conscience
for Today Tonight viewers
brains full of bullets
 
their austerity
for the soulless and the greedy
trample on the poor
 
their lack of science
for the fat cats of mining
days are cooling down
 
our faith tested
our humanity sold
to the highest bid

FREEWAY SOUTH

callous propaganda pulsating
plastic people picking flowers
irate swans attacking humans
would you like those flowers wrapped?
white bread for white folk
check out that advertisement
there's a token coloured person
yoghurt is a creamy kind of bliss
I like the way apples crunch
reward yourself for your cruelty
there's plenty of pain to share
one life worth one hundred others
that's the way the cookie crumbles
they pretend to be objective
but show only one side
the sweet scent of roses in bloom
I like my coffee strong with two
the ocean is as precious as oil reserves
so no one enters ours on the sly
we know that they don't belong here
so we lock all the front doors
keeping dark skinned criminals out
would you like a free ride home?
I'm headed south down the freeway
I can drop you off at the hospital
nerds are the future of cool
you left your keys in my car

24 CENTS PER GRAM

the stench of yesteryear
a calling to the winds
freedom fractured
I will take two of those
we are all actors
in a show about death
and lack of compassion
clinging to sanity
by the mouth of a drip-feed
forget about your dreams
soon they'll charge you
for your finest moments
we think the ship is safe
but it was sinking
the day that we were born
thrust into the firing line
they send bullets made of candy
into our empty heads
I forgot to scan
the most expensive item
I'd rather spend the money
riding on the train
to nowhere in a hurry
I forgot to be happy
because I couldn't afford it
I skipped ahead of the queue
just so I didn't have to deal
with waiting in line
or walking on the line
which leads to happiness
prescribe what you will
but I'd still refuse to swallow it
a cool wind blows
a change in the weather
a break from the cauldron
that's 24 cents per gram

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there is no light
strong enough to pierce
the abysses of time
ever so slight advances
in a congested highway
of twisted iconoclasm
stop start, red green
followed by a pause
an awkward silence

petals wilting
under an angry sun
cognitive dissonance
of the highest order
days of being wild
without boundaries
the passage of glimpses
snapshots of chaos
now etched in my mind
fading light, fading fast
echoes of a primal scream

a willy wagtail
crippled by a strong gust
morbid mendacity
south-bound train ride
from an enchanted forest
to a destination unknown
yet so familiar

all the signs say 'stop'

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a perilous journey
low light levels
atmospheric tension
forces conspire
history repeating
cha-ching, cha-ching
a punch in the gut
debased deliberations
head in the sand
mind full of contempt
a sojourn into darkness
stark realization
time slipping away
but I refuse to face up to it
contemplating mortality
immediate and unforgiving 
so I continue chasing fairies
a refusal to act my age
a blockage in the pipeline
a river polluted with cynicism
I am dropping out of this world

FUTURE CALLING

chasing glimpses
of normality
in an empty house
full of cobwebs

I don't want to
get fucked up again
it's more of the same
same distorted same

it's been a long haul
escaping from escapism
the truth cuts
leaves a trail of shame

I don't want to
grow old in disgrace
it's becoming scary
so much lost time

the future looming large
the present on hold
staring into oblivion
expecting something more

the future hates the present

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distortion cranked to the max
to escape from escapism
is to grow up and stop
being so self-destructive
the days of being wild
are long from over now
decision time is coming
it's time to contemplate
to recreate the same history
or to renew, start afresh

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a mission aborted 
before it even started
this strange fascination
is a passing curiousity

a cool wind blows
across the grand stand
an aluminium can
rolling along bricks

large combination
with extra sauce
the spectators cheer
but I'm not playing the game

trying hard to escape
from an ocean of escapism
truth be told
I enjoy it way too much

you smack me down once again
as I'm left gasping for more
breathless but satisfied
I prepare the water

just in case it's needed
suck it up, all of it

TALES OF THE HALCYON DAYS

I didn't come here for this
to listen to you tell the same old stories
over and over again, still unaware
I came for stimulating conversation
for pauses and awkward silences
not a barrage, a monologue
the stories about your halcyon days
the ones that are used and abused
caught up in a storm of repetition

I didn't come here to be bored
to watch television like it were a deity
programs that only give me the shits
I came for satisfying verbal exchanges
for laughs and open embarrassment
not an onslaught of lame humour
the formulaic stories of Hollywood
the ones that are cut and pasted
a soul-draining assault of repetition

give me the awkward silences any day
than words that are noise to my ears

GROUNDBREAKER

the underside
the darkness that pierces the light
another bittersweet reprise
as deep fathoms arise
a poem that rhymes
is one surely out of time
this is not groundbreaking
just another case of faking
that there is any content
like grass on the other side of the fence
growing, dying, all at once
cannibals eat their lunch

out of our depth
like a little boy trying to act tough
we run out of breath
like astronauts above
it's like splitting hairs
searching for your whereabouts
a wave of despair
sweeping through, all around
an old fashioned party
(not like those smart phone gatherings)
going out of fashion like it were funny
why is anyone bothering?

a fight that brings us closer
like filaments in a toaster
we project out our anger
until the point of danger
to oneself or to the other
to beat up our own brothers
in the arms of another
we know it can't last forever
a socket for a socket
the laughter when we mock it:
the stupidity of the Prime Minister
the joke of the southern hemisphere

flip the reverse back to forward
too many skeletons, run out of storage
the sadder moments are our favourite ones
it teaches lessons and brings forth knowledge

a poem with lack of content
beyond reproach, nothing to defend
a refusal to apologise or repent
same old story gets told in the very end