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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
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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