APAD 17 prompt: a science poem
Crossing the Westgate Bridge
Meteorology: low cloud, no rain,
still air, a tattered wind sock.
Climatology: the ponds below are still
and green, despite heavy rain, storms,
hail, anything the frantic Earth
can throw at us.
Seismology: there may be earthquakes
or tremors associated with tectonic plates.
Our vibrations are the impact of heavy traffic.
Engineering: impossible to imagine
the breakdown in synapses that leads to
suicide off this height, or filicide
by a man driving his own children
West to East.
Geomorphology: this asphalt road
must have come from somewhere
extinct and volcanic.
Urban Geography: pretend statistics
mean anything. Ahead, three and a half
million people. Go on, imagine it.
Then move to Mumbai and imagine that.
Biochemistry: somehow all
the competition for lanes
disappears. We drive
at the speed flashing lights
insist upon.
Historical Geography: at least twenty-seven workers
with families and possible futures died constructing
this link. No plaque in neon. No memorial day.
Instead the signs flash: Lane Closures.
Workers inside bridge. Progress.
Human Geography.
A Lifetime of being in or out of love for Melbourne
Chapter 5 2003 Oakleigh
One brief attempt
to embrace urban
benefits: a decent
school for daughter
regular visits by son.
The week we leave
involves landlord's
displeasure: we had
not cut grass, the
front and back yards
were as wild
as we felt, as
natural as life
in the suburbs
tries to be.
NaPoWriMo 17
Showing posts with label son. Show all posts
Showing posts with label son. Show all posts
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Off the Cuff 16: Anzac Day Approaching & A lifetime of being in & out of love for Melbourne Ch 4
APAD 16 prompt: a death poem
Anzac Day Approaching
Of course we are grateful
for the difference they made
if only they would wake up
and hear us playing the Last
Post, over and over and over.
Responding to the call only
made them dead, not different
and not made a difference to.
One headline dares to speak:
War raged on in digger's head.
We call them diggers. This one
had to dig himself out of an
early grave from drinking
to drown out the replays.
No question of questioning
the battalions of death.
Let us create a First Post:
a bugle call to recognise no
difference between each of us
and this plant which has won
the competition for light
a duck in hunting season
that locust invasion. Let us
celebrate real transformation.
A Lifetime of being in and out of love for Melbourne
Chapter 4 1991-99
Brought my girl and boy to Elsternwick
loved the child care and travelling without
car. Shared three houses with great people
before the kids demanded independence.
Into a secure flat, roomy, in South Yarra
with gourmet pizzas, Melbourne High School
and parks. After that era, every place we lived
was less wonderful.
Brought my girl and boy to Melbourne
after the Fringe Festival work in Broome.
Worked everywhere in Victoria the first
four years, on a leash, always returning
with relief. Then to South Melbourne
daily, close to home, the other relief of
regular income, short trips home at night
a balcony garden.
My boy played saxophone and cricket
said he wanted to live in a High Rise
apartment in the CBD when he grew up.
I said to myself , "I want to work overseas."
My girl said, "I want to come too."
(As they do.) Anzac Day 2000 we landed
in Wellington, New Zealand. The boy
stayed put, boarding.
NaPoWriMo 16
Anzac Day Approaching
Of course we are grateful
for the difference they made
if only they would wake up
and hear us playing the Last
Post, over and over and over.
Responding to the call only
made them dead, not different
and not made a difference to.
One headline dares to speak:
War raged on in digger's head.
We call them diggers. This one
had to dig himself out of an
early grave from drinking
to drown out the replays.
No question of questioning
the battalions of death.
Let us create a First Post:
a bugle call to recognise no
difference between each of us
and this plant which has won
the competition for light
a duck in hunting season
that locust invasion. Let us
celebrate real transformation.
A Lifetime of being in and out of love for Melbourne
Chapter 4 1991-99
Brought my girl and boy to Elsternwick
loved the child care and travelling without
car. Shared three houses with great people
before the kids demanded independence.
Into a secure flat, roomy, in South Yarra
with gourmet pizzas, Melbourne High School
and parks. After that era, every place we lived
was less wonderful.
Brought my girl and boy to Melbourne
after the Fringe Festival work in Broome.
Worked everywhere in Victoria the first
four years, on a leash, always returning
with relief. Then to South Melbourne
daily, close to home, the other relief of
regular income, short trips home at night
a balcony garden.
My boy played saxophone and cricket
said he wanted to live in a High Rise
apartment in the CBD when he grew up.
I said to myself , "I want to work overseas."
My girl said, "I want to come too."
(As they do.) Anzac Day 2000 we landed
in Wellington, New Zealand. The boy
stayed put, boarding.
NaPoWriMo 16
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Off the Cuff 8: From the Platform & A Tool
From the Platform
one sparrow
one pigeon
one willy wagtail
four sparrows
eight!
the pigeon stalks left
willy wagtail dances
for balance
on metal fence -
is it hot to the feet?
slippery?
worn smooth?
sparrows form a search party
a squad on the bluemetal
between rails
going forward in formation
pecking and jumping
the pigeon exits
sparrows flutter
train vibrates
their food platter
NaPoWriMo
APAD 8 prompt: a tool
Gone, now, you
after a light easy lunch
and an energetic session
shearing the garden.
Thank you for the heavy
labour, the lifting and shifting
and the attack on all
vagrant vines.
The way you pruned
the fuchsia bush, I must say,
surprised me. But you've always been
a one hundred percent or nothing boy.
Gone, now, the purple hearts
in their pink skirts. No doubt the nub
of wood you left will re-shoot.
Lighten up! I tell myself daily.
There's more cutting and clearing
to be done, son. When will you
return? And btw, where are the shears?
The patio weeds really do need pruning.
one sparrow
one pigeon
one willy wagtail
four sparrows
eight!
the pigeon stalks left
willy wagtail dances
for balance
on metal fence -
is it hot to the feet?
slippery?
worn smooth?
sparrows form a search party
a squad on the bluemetal
between rails
going forward in formation
pecking and jumping
the pigeon exits
sparrows flutter
train vibrates
their food platter
NaPoWriMo
APAD 8 prompt: a tool
Gone, now, you
after a light easy lunch
and an energetic session
shearing the garden.
Thank you for the heavy
labour, the lifting and shifting
and the attack on all
vagrant vines.
The way you pruned
the fuchsia bush, I must say,
surprised me. But you've always been
a one hundred percent or nothing boy.
Gone, now, the purple hearts
in their pink skirts. No doubt the nub
of wood you left will re-shoot.
Lighten up! I tell myself daily.
There's more cutting and clearing
to be done, son. When will you
return? And btw, where are the shears?
The patio weeds really do need pruning.
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