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Three masterful works Mat (one T?). The first is my favourite, so very Ocher, but Berny is a gem and I've met old hard souls like his and can appreciate how lonely they are, but then I sometimes feel they've forgotten what it was like to be a gentleman - opal mining being a little like fishing, to much male bonding.
The last, bless you and the moth, zen buddhism - taken from Kurosawa - has an ancient chant that goes something like this, "Men burn them by the fire, insects throw them into the fire", its a little more rational than buddhist philosophy that would have you jumping into the fire after the moth. But then this is your poetry and i can merely aspire to such lyricism and insight.
James.

I really enjoyed reading your response to Mat, Jiminy. It inclines me toward taking some time to give your own writing some focus... it may need to wait until I'm 'off assignment' though; I have a rather large [for me at this time] 'assignment' I need to complete... and every foray another direction brings a heavy dose of guilt along with it. Meanwhile, the things you've said here are lovely. I like your observation about opal mining and fishing... not that I feel that regarding the incidence of Mat's poem; however, I do regarding Bernie's disinclination to share a meal with a woman he wants to embrace his vagabond ways. Even moreso, when one considers that food is so highly symbolic of love.


~ Lizzy

Thanks for the comments Lizzy and Bernard and friends.
I knew a bloke a bit like that moth; a wonderful subject for a poem. I only spoke with him a few times, but as you will see, he left a lasting impression.
Such a waste.
I write this with absolute respect for him and his kids.
In the case of Fred; I wish he had gained a few more friends to help him through what Geoffrey calls the "murky road".


Fred

...I like to fight
he said
it takes away the pain
I always pick on someone bigger
someone I can't beat
and if they are no good at fighting
I slow down
and let them hit me anyway
I do this
because it takes away the pain.

"And your pain?"
I asked.

Life....
he said
but most of all
my wife
I love her to death
I love my six little kids
even more
she keeps threatening
to take them away
a cruel tease
so I fight at the pub
to take away the pain.

...and jumping up from our table
he raced to a group of
raucous young men
and started swinging

...missing with precision !

they fought back
not knowing his secret ways
his flailing flagellations
..they connected
he went down

I lifted him swiftly
gently
from that windmill
of arms and boots
he was slightly built
and finely tuned

a few paces on
..."Fred, what are you doing?"
I can't feel the pain now;
he smiled.
He left.

She left
a few months later

Fred hung himself
in the back yard from the clothes line
...another domestic scene

"I can't live without my kids"
was the scribbled torment.

At his grave
I kick six pebbles lightly
from my useless shadows.

Thanks much for the stories, Mat. I have to go out, catch up later...

...missing with precision !

they fought back
not knowing his secret ways
his flailing flagellations
..they connected
he went down

I lifted him swiftly
gently
from that windmill
of arms and boots
he was slightly built
and finely tuned

Such fine description, Mat.

She left
a few months later

Fred hung himself
in the back yard from the clothes line
...another domestic scene

"I can't live without my kids"
was the scribbled torment.

You have such a precise way of saying so much with well- and deftly-selected descriptions.

in the back yard from the clothes line
...another domestic scene

So poignant in its very symbolic domesticity. You write so well, Mat.

I can understand why Fred last such a lasting impression on you. His murky road was indeed murky. Your respect for Fred and his children shows. I know you wish you could have 'done more,' too... to prevent his outcome. Even when we know someone little, just knowing them at all makes it hurt when they've chosen suicide for their way out of this world. There's bound to be at least one "If only... " that comes to us when we hear of their death. At least that's how it's been with me.

This was a very sad poem and a vivid desription of a tormented human being deciding to end what became the unbearable torment.


~ Lizzy

...from thoughts of you


Sunday morning sunlight
on the red sand
my tabernacle

early morning shadows
of kindling
waiting there
stark
damp

-to be consumed
to keep me warm

very still
very cool
very crisp
very sky-blue-clear
as I gaze
stare
down the sand-dune valley

...and away
from thoughts of you...

Hi Mat,

I've enjoyed this trip, the passengers, the singing, and your Katrin poems. 'Twas a different sort of thread from the rest .

we all know that the real wins are friendship

Amen to that sentiment.

Thanks for the ride!

Diane

Lovely inspirations by a lovely woman. I hope she'll return.

Thanks for sharing her in the ways you have, Mat.

Thanks for being here, Katrin.

. . . you are with me always

... and that's the way to say goodbye .



~ Lizzy

Thank you so much for the ride, you guys are really great and a lot of fun.


Thank you -

Thank you-

And thank you again!

Mat, I always loved to listen to your stories and I still do.
A piece of my heart and soul will always belong to you, to the outback, and Andamooka.

Thanks for sharing.

Love to you all.

katrin

Dust unto dust... unto Dust

For forty days and forty nights
we walked the red fertile deserts
of our lives

the warm sands
beneath our feet
soothed
and whispered of mind
immortal

of meaning and wonder
a melancholy chasing
of souls that will not rest

our souls
of sandy feet
and feathered wanderings
through four billion years of stardust

and remembering that speckled time

again, I thank the gods
for those gathered moments
we had ached into being

hunted for patiently
quietly
like those red-sand desert trees
waiting for rain
through their dark night
arms outstretched meditating
on some distant un-borne star
praying for that spray of life

...Your luminous Dust!

And our deserts
needed a storm
our water table
craved a soaking

the Grit between our toes
knows
we seeded life anew.

And today I walk these sacred Sands
without you
and there is a drop
but it's not rain.

No,
it's not rain
that sustains my arid lands;
my rich and fertile Dust.

Matj

Hi Mat ~

This is for me a touching, bittersweet coda for a relationship I enjoyed reading of on these pages. I liked Katrin a lot. From what I gathered, when she returned you were no longer available... I silently wished you hadn't moved on in such haste. This is a beautiful description of how it was for you to walk those same spaces without her.


~ Lizzy

Thanks for the comments Lizzy.
I see (on other threads) that you are getting into strife again

Life is trouble
only death is not.
To be alive is to unbuckle your belt
and
LOOK.... for trouble ( Zorba.)

Matj

Of gold and blue

Jesus this wind is chilly
but there is a scent
in that smoke
of something sweetly aromatic
as I warm myself
as I am licked and burnt
as I smoulder
metamorphose
regress
digest

-no regrets though
no regrets
you mystic
my sweet aromatic ache
of gold and blue,
.....You

Matj

This poem belongs on this thread.
It is an Andamooka attitude.

Ode to Anger

I was in the pub last Friday night
With a friend, (from New York)
He introduced me to another guy
Big, strong, athletic
Jockstrap semi-educated smooth
But I had known him for years
Friend of friends sort of situation.

He spoke to me like a snake might
Look and spit
For the second time.
I ignored it last time
Just before Christmas,

But this time I didn’t.
My inner reptile hissed
and bit back
In true poetic fashion:
“you fuckin’ piece of shit
Step out the back and we’ll
Sort this out !”

He re-coiled in shock
And apologized;
I slowly accepted
As reason diffused back into
my mammal being.

Lying in bed that night
I felt at ease with myself
There was nothing I wished I had said.
There was nothing I wished I had done.
And Miyamoto Musashi nodded
In my peaceful sleep.

Matj

just read your lines on the old ute...spent my childhood with Landrovers
check out Lucinda Williams 'car wheels on a gravel road'