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MelaleucaNumber 5: November 2009 Editor: Phillip A. Ellis

Table of Contents

Epiphany Susan Adams 3

compassionate heart Coral Carter 4

Barbie Doesn't Fart Helen Child 5

The Moon Spinner Helen Child 8

Ocean Poem Helen Child 9

Silky Grrls and Pirates Helen Child 10

Sunny Afternoon George Fripley 12

Green Procedure Dam Frederick Hellmons 13Country Boy John McBain 15

Every Day Is Sunday John McBain 16

Spirit in the Land John McBain 17

Contained Flora Smith 18

Desiderata Flora Smith 19

Drought 1893 Flora Smith 20

News item - Hard Yards in the

USA

Flora Smith 21

Storm Music Sonata Flora Smith 22

All works are copyright by their respective creators, 2009; the arrangement of this collection is

copyright by Phillip A. Ellis, 2009.

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works

2.5 Australia License .

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Epiphany

You tried to stroke me back from the abyss

scared by the screech of curetted expectation,

of disbelief and surprise at the lack of permanence

of our smiles

as the lights turned from green to dead,to return my lips to the memory of touch closer than skin

cardamom cake with lime

you rolled over,

and just like that it was over,

we became Aliced in elephant land.

My epiphany was a sandstone wall

in a National Park

so smooth the hands held

had no hand holds

the optimism of baby ferns settled in the emptiedgaps of our intentions

juvenile fronds opening to encouragement

from the fissured decay of the escarpment.

The room returned with skidworks

on ceiling from race around moon,

half its size from loss of our potential,

our gifts to each other fractured.

Street lights strobed

blind slats for walled zebra patterns

once a painted lady on my back.

You close the curtains on this act

walk me to the door. The silence

of the souring room becomes a moving carpet

one way to the car.

Susan Adams

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compassionate heart

at the party

we all see

scott is back

fallen rock star

lean - silver rootsbetray black hair

scott is back

from the dance

at the edge

change partners

and fall over

one too many times

scott is back

no smokes

no drink

eyes clearblood opiate free

with only his motor bike

helmet as a shield

alone in the room

until

his first lover

runs her hand over him

"scott is back

he's still here"

takes his palm

holds it on her breast

so he can feel the heat

Coral Carter

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Barbie Doesn't Fart

Barbie is a plastic doll

That girls know very well,

Designed in 1959,

By the big wigs

At Mattel.

Nothing much

Has changed with her,

Bar her colour

And her race.

She's infested every continent

And soon she'll be in space.

Come buy New Martian Barbie,

With her one seductive eye!

She comes with a naf,

Pink space-ship,Which of course can't fly.

Cause girly toys are flacid,

Ineffectual and weak,

To keep us girlies placid,

Domesticated sheep.

They created her

To show us

How to look

When we grow up.

And if we find this tricky,

We should have

A nip'n'tuck.

Cause Barbie has

No body hair,

No pubes

And no vagina!

And her face

Is only painted on

With a pencil liner.

Although she has no genitals,

She dresses like a tart

And Barbie has no anus,

So...

She cannot even fart!

At least,

If she could do that,

Girls could fill her bum with gas

And let rip on their brothers

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And their teachers

To be crass.

But Barbie is so useless

That she cannot even stand.

She can not even bend,

Or hold an objectIn her hand.

As a child

I would have loved

To have an action G.I Jane,

Who could stand

And launch a hand-grenade

Or drive a bullet train.

Who could scuber-dive

And absailAnd drive a sherman tank.

Who came with high explosives,

So she could rob a bank!

With a body that was capable,

muscular and strong

And lots and lots of amo,

To help her way along.

She could be

A fighter pilot,

A commando,

Or a spy!

And drove

A high-speed racer,

That could take off in the sky!

But lame-arse, bloody Barbie,

With her lame-arse camper van

And her lame-arse, bloody poney

That can barely even stand;She's not my idea

Of woman-hood.

Not my idea

Of grace

And if she actually

Tried to walk,

She'd fall flat on her face!

Cause her boobs

Are just enormous!

And her feet are far too small

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And her neck's so bloody skinny,

Her head

Would topple off

And fall.

Barbies' not a woman,

She's just a plastic dollAnd if you want

To look like that,

Then you're a sp....

Mentally and physically challenged

moll.

Cause Barbie's not a woman,

She's not even art!!!

She's an insulting

Peace of plastic

That doesn't even fart!Helen Child

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The Moon Spinner

Silken spinner

Lighter than air,

Spinning through time and space itself,

Spinning in ecstacy

To your own rhythmTo your own heart beat

To a heart that has stopped

Cold and silent.

Your tenuous, slender frame

Spinning and trembling

Like a rare spider,

Stone-cold still, forever.

Your heart that yearned

To walk on the moon.

And for all your perceived madness,You gave such joy to the world.

One soul I could relate to

In a sea of strange monkeys.

And i will miss you, Michael

As a rare, bold creature

Born out of time and space

And place

And never understood.

Helen Child

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Ocean Poem

I long for the lustre

that glows

benieth the ocean.

Swim deep

into that vast, blue bellyas free as a fish.

Benieth the saphire sea,

where bright life

and light moves,

Like liquid

to a samba.

Seaweed swirls

like smoke-coiled amber...

My eternity.

Free,my brother and me,

like two silkys

swimming

through an eternity

of glorious grotos.

Leaving the human world

in a swirling blur.

That world

holds no charms

for us, now.

Only a rank lagoon.

A dull and dying reef,

full of zombi fish

doing lifeless dances in the tide.

Helen Child

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Silky Grrls and Pirates

[ Performed as a wild, bearded pirate, with pirate accent.]

Tonight, I am a pirate

In the Mardi Gras Parade!

I wave me Jolly RodgerrIn the crazy cavalcade.

With nuns the size of houses!

And harlotts tall as trees

And so much bloody glitterr

That it makes me want to sneeze!

I have me trusty blunderbuss

and me captain's hat.

Me Corsair's dandy finery

And me squeeky rat.

I dance a merry gig, I do

And wenches beckon me,

With open arms

And lusty screams

And kisses all frr me!

Kisses, warm and silky

As relentless as the sea.

I meet a grrl in pirate boots,

A German maiden, fairr,

With husky voice

And velvet skin

And silky, golden hairr.

"Zarz a party at my house," she says,

"A short vey up vee road.

Come vis me oond party!

You can shleep at my abode."

She grabs me by me powder horn

And hauls me up the road!

I break from her with all me moight

And run down cobbled streets,

Through Mardi Gras procession clowns

Doing acrobatic feats.

I race down to the harbour

With the grrl in hot persuit.

She is naked in the moonlight

In her polished, pirate boots!

I leap aboarrd me vessel

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And cast off all the ropes.

Me crew weighs up the anchrrr

And dashes all her hopes.

"Vot mistress can bevitch you

Vis more delights zan me?!"

I catch me breathAnd call aloud

"Me mistress is the sea!"

She whispers to me in the night,

Her stories, false and true.

She cradles me and rocks me

In her arms of silky blue.

Her world is deep and fathomless,

Her temperr, volitile

And when I dive her merky depths,Her treasurrres drive me wild!"

"Vot lover can bevitch you

To sail so fast from me?!"

I climb the mizzen mast and howel

"Me loverrr is the sea!"

Helen Child

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Sunny Afternoon

Warm and sunny afternoons

are made for doing nothing,

absolutely nothing.

Dont worry about the washing or

get out and prune the roses,just enjoy the afternoon

and feel the warmth of sun on skin

and feel the gentle, cooling breeze

that rustles through the uncut grass

that hides the fence's peeling paint

that frames the weeds between the roses,

still unpruned.

George Fripley

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Green Procedure

Stop

past the gutter; halt

before cream-coloured

bars. Machine parked,

locked + left.Tread black-sprayed

concrete drive, through mechanised

(but paused,

and open)

gate.

Approach

with notes in hand

+ hand

in

pocket

a shut

but rarely closed

window, open to Seekers

Of.

Reflective

glass prevents

in-sight; but They

see you. Crystal sharp.

Latch unlatched, pane

slid wide. Fitted cap, brim

twisted. Pock-craters.

Red rims.

How many?Barbed-worm grin.

Index + middle

indicate intentions.

Teen-scrawny worm disappears.

You look into the

window's mouth, into

the loungecave:

couch-bound behemoth,

neck jellyrolls + no shirt. Jabba

the glutton slut AKA the

monkey-brains behind this

front yard

operation.

Grin at him. Grins at you.

Politeness

feeds contempt.

Spots your Hi-Vis Uniform:

What can you steal for me?

Graciously decline the

however tempting it might be

offer.

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Shrugs, a

slug, and

(presumably) yearns

for deep

fried chocolate.

Worm returns. Presents two bags. Asks

Which one?Incandescent is the

Alzheimer'sian

ignorance.

Both.

Funds handed in;

out come bags.

Nod; wish well.

Ink-bled hippo-hand forms

thumbs-up: not in

reciprocation, but for the

joy his

money promises (late at

night, alone together).

Twerm looks past you, past

the bars, to the road. Un-

distinguished

Car pulls to a

stop.

Enjoy.

You turn around,

mb's in hand

+ hand in pocket.

Walk away, pastthe grill-bar fence. Next

customer walks towards

then (with a nod) past

you, onwards to the window's hole.

Routine

re-enacted, minus

your presence.

Purposefully return to your

mobile-shell. Ignite,

buckle and leave, certain

neverto return to this

wasteland of

disintergration

and profiteer-ism.

Until

Payday. In

Two days.

Dam Frederick Hellmons

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Country Boy

Yeah I am a country boy

They reckon I got brains

Cos I can tell the difference

T'ween dry and when it rains.

City people think they smart

Yet they watch that TV screen

To find out if its gunna rain

It's the silliest thing I seen.

They also all like eatin food

So they spend money at a shop

Me, I just grow it in the soil

Whens their silliness gunna stop?

But they really not all stupidCos all money comes from land

Then it goes to them big buildings

That by city folks are manned.

Yeah, I am a country man

I can tell ya when it rains

Cos my hair gets all wet

And it stimulates my brains.

John McBain

Every Day Is Sun Day

As I sit on our front verandah

And watch cars driving to the city

I think of the needless pollution

Smothering earth - what a pity.

The first thing I do in the morning

Is to slowly open up my 2 eyes

And I try and measure the brightness

So I know if we've had sunrise.

During my sleep earth kept spinning

So we didn't all just float away

The sun is the first thing I check

Thats why each day is "Sunday".

John McBain

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Every Day is Sunday

As I sit on our front verandah

And watch cars driving to the city

I think of the needless pollution

Smothering earth what a pity.

The first thing I do in the morning

Is to slowly open up my 2 eyes

And I try and measure the brightness

So I know if we've had sunrise.

During my sleep earth kept spinning

So we didn't all just float away

The sun is the first thing I check

That's why each day is Sunday.

John McBain

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Spirit in the Land

Spirit

Sand

Fungi

Stone

LandInsect

Leaf

Beast

Water

Tree

Bird

Sky

Sun

All

Spirit.

John McBain

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Contained

I wait here, contained;

my life set down on another riverbank.

I wait on a jetty, built to replace another

whose rotting teeth make pedestals for shags,for darters preening with harpoon beaks.

Wood-ducks come in noisy company, busy

themselves with something, leave soon.

The roar of Sunday speed boats

works at the loose threads of patience.

Having proven something to themselves,

they tire of the game. Cyclists,

changeling children of serpents,

weave arcane patterns as they whistle past.

Swans ride reflections.

Tourist launches sail calmly by.

Someone waves. I wave in turn.

Sometimes the gift of dolphin play, and dogs

smiling in the Zen of their constant present.

Between these actions and inactions

I am contained in the self and in the silver evening.

For now, I am contained.

Flora Smith

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Desiderata

My soul-songs are of summer.

Catlike, I stretch in evenings warmth,

walk beside an opalescent river.

I have learned to love winters of wild weather,trees writhing in fantastic dance, the snow of hail.

I have not yet learned the lessons of the seas.

Waters always moving always fed

by rain or river seem calm as a sated lover.

Such a trick of duality:

transmuting opposites into a unified whole.

Flora Smith

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Drought 1893

(Response to the painting Hot Wind by Charles Conder)

His burning woman, seductress of the sands,

stretches languid in the sere whiteness,

blows on her brazier, bored and beautiful.

Gold as a pirates dream, her head-dress

gleams in the bleached light, a beacon

for all things bewitched: here is wickedness.

She purrs to her serpentine companions,

breathes dust devils over dying paddocks,

laughs at small sport, summons further evil.

Alluring as opium, relentless as famine,

his supine sorceress fans her flames.Familiars crawl in mesmerized obedience.

Flora Smith

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News item - Hard Yards in the USA

These are cars below, new cars, and this small area

that fills our television screen a smaller part

of some ten acre lot that General Motors cannot move.

Each matchbox toy stands for a family that cannot pay

its way or keep its home, intones voice-over commentary.

I am torn - I cheer for saving of so much fossil fuel,

for carbon off-sets, a cleaner world and greener and smaller cars.

Are my goals so unattainable that if pursued by some of us

it means the loss of jobs and houses for the rest of us?

And why on earth cant someone answer my question?

Flora Smith

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Storm Music Sonata

We could not speak

blown off course beached.

He half-turned

slumped shunning meme needing the whole of him

or landfall alone on any other shore.

*

Paused we might summon strength

find energies to engage again

joust thrust strike at skin and centre.

But rest

is there time now for restand silence in such drowned light

stealing chill of underwater night?

Is there safety in shoal-shift

sailing leeside from seastorm

from mind-rage?

*

A small sleep.

A surging tide

threw weed and shell-dross at our feet

daring us to shift and search for pearls.

*

Flora Smith

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