Bent Vinyl Madness


I seem to have embarked on a gentle crusade to rid the world of trashy music on vinyl by trawling op shops and second hand markets for records, which I then turn into idiosyncratic “sculptures”.

Bubbling ideas and smoky afternoons in the clearing in the forest have produced a variety of strange constructs.

Here are some samples and works in progress. Available soon.2016-11-12-21-09-182016-07-29-18-45-28

 

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Recording time


Just finished recording twenty recent poems … 19 of which I have updated on this blog, and one has gone missing … or should I say “has been temporarily misplaced”.


Ironically, its the one about me being stuck in a small country town for three days after losing my car keys after a “Music, Art and Lifestyle” festival. Enough said about Dungog.



Here is the link to the recently recorded poems.

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Cathartic cleaning


We’ve all been here i reckon …



Cathartic cleaning
Room to room

Do I use it?
Do I like it?
Do I need it?

Boof – out it goes

Bags of linen out the door
Lots of little boy toys
Left on the nature strip

With superseded gifts
Tasteless souvenirs
And dusty reminders

Of previous pasts

They all disappear
Over several days
Off to new homes and gardens

Strangers finding joy
In finding things for free


Stars in the carpet


(Bronte space thoughts 2012)


Vacuuming stars at midnight
From a grubby seaside carpet

Nick Drake background hums
My seventies London soundtrack

Feel sixteen at sixty-one
Rushing fast to sixty-five

Single bed room
Sanctuary and prison

Full creative life
Empty of passion

Put away childish things
Time to be a proper man

Right.


Bermuda Palms


In 1977 I spent 9 months in Bermuda programming and installing a database for an international insurance company. I worked hard and played harder in those days. I also spent a fair amount of time alone and introspective, observing stuff. Like palm trees.


Who do the palms wave at
When the wind blows cool
With the rain slanting down?

Is it washing dancing on the line
To a private sunshine tune?

Or a bedraggled puppy
Racing home in soggy confusion?

Are they just moving their bodies
To nature’s ancient rhyme?


Smoke in the darkness


(Bermuda race riots 1977)


Smoke in the darkness

Unspoken fears
Bubble to the surface
Like scum or hatred

Anger blows away

Illusions of friendship
Reveals another racist

Jungle bunny talk

Makes me want to vomit
Out the unctuous stench
Of misplaced white pride


Understanding “sweet sorrow”


Ah, love and loss and heart ache. Where would poets be without it! Better now thanks. Twenty year old poem that still works, I think. Feel free to shoot me down in flames if needed.


She’s gone
Through the aperture
A last glimpse
Then
She’s gone

Tears at the airport
Happy kind of crying
Home in an hour
Found the I-love-you-stones
Just on departure time

Later in the bathroom
Blubbed a bit
Having a leak
Looking at the shower cap

Then her toothbrush
Her henna shampoo
The telltale towel

Not to forget
The well placed
Hairy hair bands
Around the doorknob

Remind me daily of her absence
From this place
Yet her presence in my life


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


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

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