Review – Squires in Performance

August 29, 2009 at 9:00 am | Posted in australian poetry, memoirs, poetry, sheer selfindulgence, writing | 18 Comments
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The idiot said in his twitter the only way he would perform his poetry for an audience was naked. Pinched the idea from giggling Ginsberg,  but then realised that if he breaks one promise the entire universe of cards half carefully arranged in Buckmonster Filler’s master plan in triangles like a diamond midfield, Scolari.

So I turned up thinking well, he makes a big noise on the net, we already know he’s ugly and that there will be at least one pirate and one tattoo poem, just for cliches sake, he can’t help it. And he will be doing that pathetic little Monk dance all night, when Monk’s not at the piano, and might jump up and down on the x marks the spot aerobically saying Oh Art Tatum. The bouncer in the foyer is a big bastard but I didn’t see any cops on the way in. It’s only poetry after all and they don’t shoot poets, do they old Orca Lorca.

I tell you what though if he does penis puppetry while doing the Ganeesha poem, I’m leaving.

Which Arts the Government should fund,

August 10, 2009 at 7:33 pm | Posted in poetry, sheer selfindulgence, tshirt, writing | 13 Comments
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wish ones
if it was up to me
it would be elephant-less circi
and entry would be

Do not claim,

June 30, 2009 at 6:24 pm | Posted in antihaiku, memoirs, sheer selfindulgence | 25 Comments
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Do not claim to be a musician
in other people’s eyes
nor insert rhyme nor reason
if you cannot improvise
the way the surf breaks now and then,
between ocean and sunrise.

when the meditation fails

June 29, 2009 at 6:42 pm | Posted in australian poetry, contemporary poetry, poetry, sheer selfindulgence, writing | 17 Comments
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and the melancholic lady fully medicated
and he forgets where the tiger what
it was
he shuffles half asleep into some
nightmare cupboard
of whispers and enemies lurking
by firelight at solstice
simply to imprint some unique mark
puts on his brown bowler hat
and says where’s Art?

Collapsabubble boxes (for Brad)

June 28, 2009 at 9:48 am | Posted in australian poetry, contemporary poetry, poetry, sheer selfindulgence, writing | 11 Comments
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the funniest thing is to ask a serious poet
her funniest poem
yes my friend the cosmic joke
that someone has to be the bad guy

no plot cold and empty and deep
the funniest thing is that cliches
become cliches cos they contain
a perfectly expressed truth which
humans repeatedly stumble over
stubbing toes and swearing

landlubbers you gotta love ’em.
where’ld everyone go son
caliban waking in his cave
scratching his arse

peering into the still pond
yeah, Squires but we already noh
that, saw it in a magazine
did it up in Lulu
and posted it to Studio Ghibli
where hopefully
the cleaning lady will find it
and give it to her son.

everybody on the one,

June 25, 2009 at 6:51 pm | Posted in antihaiku, poetry, sheer selfindulgence, writing | 9 Comments
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Standstill, if you leave a little space
between breaks a sandhill
there’s room between running late
and the desert, son,
he says putting his arm round my shoulders
smelling of salt fish and a sparkling
perfume there’s a reason
for the Cocoyea then lead bass guitar
and for an essential anonymity
of the artist, says Bootsy
handing me his sunnies and
lighting a big fat one.

Fundamental Revolution (1)

June 21, 2009 at 8:58 am | Posted in antihaiku, blogging, contemporary poetry, genre isn't dead yet but it should be, poetry, sheer selfindulgence, writing | 11 Comments

So there has to be some motive force.
Bettering, not necessarily battering, Squires.

Hmm, where is my stunt
double twist with a singularity
caught in the space between
the word and the image

and coming out smiling,
in jeans and a peasant shirt
while i sit here
scribbling and grinning.

And I can’t resist
on such a gorgeous Sunday morning
saying just one more time,

bye bye fishy fish,

(segue into vodpod) and over and out
this is the end of the bloggedy blog,

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