springs cumming – november 1983


Living in Melbourne in the early eighties, I became obsessed with the poet e.e. cummings for a while … this is my stumbling attempt at his style.


captivated

by smiles gestures and rubbings

he was

funny

when it happens along

i thought

when you least expect it

and

straightens your back

with a spring

in your step

into spring


Day-Glo Daze


Re-worked this timeless oldie … images and observations from a northbound road trip to join a hippy sports day in a distant valley.
I made it up about the hob-nailed thongs! 


Day-Glo spacy waistcoats
white overalls hobnailed thongs

modern rural highwaymen
armed with stop/go signs

bright pink earthmovers
make a night-bright sight

stunning moonrise on the full
achingly cold mud puddles

Day-Glo orange Frisbees
scorch the long emerald grass


Gypsy Driver


From the days when I drove taxis in the Sydney nights. When mikes were live and we talked to the operator. When we didn’t wear grubby uniforms and cash was king.


Skirting another peer group,
Avoiding another clique,
The party round continues as he left it years ago.

Manic panic weekend living,
Crowded driving solitude,
Cruising the neon nightscape.

Ferrying the stranded and the loaded,
Taking their money with a smile,
A quick-change conversation to the meter’s ticking tune.

Two-way voices static his dreams,
Wrapped in the smoky cockpit,
Trapped behind the wheel.

Visions of urban mansions,
Myths on the edge of town,
Peopled by frightened ciphers jogging home in gloom.

Faced with traps of security,
Lighting another smoke,
He cracks a crooked smile and cruises vacant into the night.

Another gypsy driver chasing the moon.

Eastgate


Here’s one for my mates in the old neighbourhood … Bondi Disfunction.


Eastgate they call it
But that’s just a name

Down home and funky
Where real folks roam

Not like its neighbour
Smarty pants Westfield

Upmarket and spunky
Where names are chains

Chrome gloss enticement
On levels and floors

Flashy visual excitement
In half-empty stores

_______________________________________________________

Sad smiling Aphrodite


An attempt at a poem in the referential academic style.
You know, like the consumptive poets of previous centuries who seemed to have to make classical allusions in their poems. Taking the piss, really.

But it is a kind of love poem.


Returning home to no Penelope
I’m no Agamemnon
Armageddon leaves me for dead

Again the observer

I watch

Time’s myths unwind

Sad smiling Aphrodite
In limbo from Thebes

Homeless and humbled
Caught in Love’s plot

Down from the mountains
Lost to the sea
Facing the jungle
Bluestones of steel

Tiresias is learning
The price of sight
Razor sharp options
Limit his choices

Blinded for truth
A snake in the grass
Feels for his breasts
Gets it all wrong