Just Before the Island
I remember the funeral
The prelude to which was me, my father
A boatload of tourists in the middle of the straits
Back in the '80's Melbourne witnessed some real storms
We unloaded the tourists, good folk, adventurers
We were going to shelter in the cove, Seal Island I think it was
But the radio came through "She's dead." I was young,
We went through the storm, dad's deckhand - dead now too come to think of it - "SHIT" - he was the toughest bastard in Welshpool
Some motherfucker waves crashed into us, 18 hours of it
One night of terror and silence and humming cummings
We made it to the funeral, it was three days later so we could of sat the storm out, but this is about him
My grandfather, he stalked around at the funeral a lunatic
Maddened by grief and trapped there by those witnesses
We were all just witnesses to his grief, finally released
Of war, of love, of a country that wasn't the same anymore
Men who weren't the same anymore,
After that he went and lived on an island in the middle of Bass Strait
Lived there alone with Lucy, a poor old miniature poodle
She got damned excited when we visited
Ten more years hard labour, he owned the whole island
Nobody was going to arrive uninvited
Then he was released back into the waters
I miss him, I miss them all.
N.B
I appologise for having stuff all over the place, I originally added this to another few pieces to avoid flooding this forum, but have thought better of it since as to not show respect to this piece for myself would be wrong.
James.
Just Before The Island
Trying times in Australia.
February
By February it was madness
The vibe had gone buzzerk
aussie, Aussie, AUSie, oh...
Our ID was a fake
The new one meant nothing
The pubs were full of bloodshed
“Just like the old days.”
And you wondered what Jesus was on about.
Throw another shrimp on the barbie
Barbie dolls were now actually alive
They talked and acted cute
Their perfume choked you and made you shit blood though
If you didn’t secede
The government was already in the bunker
What a bunch of wankers
They hopefully won’t come out for another fifty years
Then we might have some time to rebuild this mess.
By February it was madness
The land had run dry
The talk of icebergs melting
Did nothing to quench our thirst
The pubs were full,
Standing room only left to die
Heat or no heat another year not long gone by
This one crashes down
As February skips to July
The rain came four months back
Saved but who remembers now
Time just erupts again
As time is time is time
Until we die
By February it was madness
The vibe had gone buzzerk
aussie, Aussie, AUSie, oh...
Our ID was a fake
The new one meant nothing
The pubs were full of bloodshed
“Just like the old days.”
And you wondered what Jesus was on about.
Throw another shrimp on the barbie
Barbie dolls were now actually alive
They talked and acted cute
Their perfume choked you and made you shit blood though
If you didn’t secede
The government was already in the bunker
What a bunch of wankers
They hopefully won’t come out for another fifty years
Then we might have some time to rebuild this mess.
By February it was madness
The land had run dry
The talk of icebergs melting
Did nothing to quench our thirst
The pubs were full,
Standing room only left to die
Heat or no heat another year not long gone by
This one crashes down
As February skips to July
The rain came four months back
Saved but who remembers now
Time just erupts again
As time is time is time
Until we die
Last edited by JiminyC on Sat Nov 25, 2006 12:59 pm, edited 2 times in total.
Hello now
Lamentable Dear Ailment
31
No job
Too much time on his hands
Poetry
Nonsense
But good for a fright
Writing, writers
Readers, breeders
Those who bite
Method in the madness
So they say
Message in ones sadness
A bright
A sunlit day
Movie land, all that whiz bam
It takes a toll on an old soul
But it is only
A book
Or a poem
One reflection
Of an infinite code
Unbroken forever
Waking up from dreams
To such a changing time
We can work through it
There are more here
Than what it seems
Don’t break the bottle within the message writ
Recycle it
31
No job
Too much time on his hands
Poetry
Nonsense
But good for a fright
Writing, writers
Readers, breeders
Those who bite
Method in the madness
So they say
Message in ones sadness
A bright
A sunlit day
Movie land, all that whiz bam
It takes a toll on an old soul
But it is only
A book
Or a poem
One reflection
Of an infinite code
Unbroken forever
Waking up from dreams
To such a changing time
We can work through it
There are more here
Than what it seems
Don’t break the bottle within the message writ
Recycle it
Lizzy?
Lizzy, What on earth are you doing in the middle of my trilogy? I guess it can't be helped, and thank you for your thoughts.
xxx
xxx
.Dear James ~
I'm glad you isolated this poem out the way it should be. As you said, it and the people it's about are due their proper respect.
These lines moved me with their intensity and realism:
I don't have longer to spend at this moment, as my sleeping time is disappearing, but I didn't want to go to bed without having commented on it. I'll spend more time with it tomorrow. A very harrowing time in your life.
Thanks.
~ Lizzy
I'm glad you isolated this poem out the way it should be. As you said, it and the people it's about are due their proper respect.
These lines moved me with their intensity and realism:
My grandfather, he stalked around at the funeral a lunatic
Maddened by grief and trapped there by those witnesses
We were all just witnesses to his grief, finally released
I don't have longer to spend at this moment, as my sleeping time is disappearing, but I didn't want to go to bed without having commented on it. I'll spend more time with it tomorrow. A very harrowing time in your life.
Thanks.
~ Lizzy
Maestro
Love ya work, though dubious on its originality; the more the merrier as they say. Thank you for your patience and input.
James.
Tuscany Views
Out the window it is piece
Tranquillity
The music floats over the villa's
Moved by the morning sun
A couple of the villagers
Have a tourist against the wall with a gun
"What was he up to, that shouldn't of been done?"
We laugh and drink french champagne guiltily
Its all, oh, fey?
The scene down bellow resolves itself piece fully
The sun raises its brow above the first of the days clouds
It doesn't look like there will be any more trouble
Graham Greene refuses to get out of the bathtub
I go in to hold his hand
James.
Tuscany Views
Out the window it is piece
Tranquillity
The music floats over the villa's
Moved by the morning sun
A couple of the villagers
Have a tourist against the wall with a gun
"What was he up to, that shouldn't of been done?"
We laugh and drink french champagne guiltily
Its all, oh, fey?
The scene down bellow resolves itself piece fully
The sun raises its brow above the first of the days clouds
It doesn't look like there will be any more trouble
Graham Greene refuses to get out of the bathtub
I go in to hold his hand
The plot thickens
Just To Buy Some Coffee
The premise
There are two supermarkets in our local Village
One is a little less dear
One adds on top of the price the margin it gives to charity
One is called Safeways and the Other is called Ritchies
Two dollars a week income would not sustain a life
At either convenience
I was browsing the coffee wracks there are, I believe at least six shelves full
Next to an older lady under a beehive
She had had to ask an attendant where her bushel’s were
“Not until next week,” The poor young chap dutifully and quite explicitly responded
This put the beehived lady into quite a state
I responded with my usual jocularity slash masochism, “When will they learn?”
She didn’t hear me, so I was forced to raise my voice
Regrettable as my social skills are one plus one minus three
This incident ended with us both being a little embarrassed
I was perhaps the victor as I’d found a new coffee to try, this led me to the
Check out lane, I’m not sure how many items one is allowed in these these days
That is another story altogether, there was a woman stalking me but I paid no heed
But as I was turning back to the front of the queue
A fragile old man’s eyes and mine met
Old blue eyes were worn and stained from tears, my heart met its match and I thought
It’s not so bad as that, but too late we’d exchanged numbers and we both knew
His tears now my Niagara and my hat and sunglasses were back on before I’d left the store
I’d made a timely escape and was sitting under the pine tree in a peaceful part of the middle of the town, conversing with the mutt, restoring myself to some sanity
When our eyes met again and he implored me with a smile at the beauty of my innocent friend, off he strolled
Two ships collide, one has set sail
I marched back up the hill asunder filled with new verse and hopeless rivers, this poem written in its glory, only to be stifled at the gate
A dog of no particular denomination coming for a stroll with its mates
My small mutt veered left and was hugely terrorfied, the first time he has ever been so
My mutt is black and white, a Shih Tzu breed
This dog was big and pure black
I laughed as did her owners and it lifted my step to here
The premise
There are two supermarkets in our local Village
One is a little less dear
One adds on top of the price the margin it gives to charity
One is called Safeways and the Other is called Ritchies
Two dollars a week income would not sustain a life
At either convenience
I was browsing the coffee wracks there are, I believe at least six shelves full
Next to an older lady under a beehive
She had had to ask an attendant where her bushel’s were
“Not until next week,” The poor young chap dutifully and quite explicitly responded
This put the beehived lady into quite a state
I responded with my usual jocularity slash masochism, “When will they learn?”
She didn’t hear me, so I was forced to raise my voice
Regrettable as my social skills are one plus one minus three
This incident ended with us both being a little embarrassed
I was perhaps the victor as I’d found a new coffee to try, this led me to the
Check out lane, I’m not sure how many items one is allowed in these these days
That is another story altogether, there was a woman stalking me but I paid no heed
But as I was turning back to the front of the queue
A fragile old man’s eyes and mine met
Old blue eyes were worn and stained from tears, my heart met its match and I thought
It’s not so bad as that, but too late we’d exchanged numbers and we both knew
His tears now my Niagara and my hat and sunglasses were back on before I’d left the store
I’d made a timely escape and was sitting under the pine tree in a peaceful part of the middle of the town, conversing with the mutt, restoring myself to some sanity
When our eyes met again and he implored me with a smile at the beauty of my innocent friend, off he strolled
Two ships collide, one has set sail
I marched back up the hill asunder filled with new verse and hopeless rivers, this poem written in its glory, only to be stifled at the gate
A dog of no particular denomination coming for a stroll with its mates
My small mutt veered left and was hugely terrorfied, the first time he has ever been so
My mutt is black and white, a Shih Tzu breed
This dog was big and pure black
I laughed as did her owners and it lifted my step to here