In a bed
Or a car.
On a plane
Or a train.
In the long grass
Or a barren beach.
Against a wall
Or a kitchen table.
As long as it isn’t
Against a will.
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Poetry
In my dreams I can fly
Above trees, or
Below powerlines.
In my dreams nobody cares
That I soar
Above the madding crowd.
Down here amongst it
Things are different
People care how high you fly.
Shudder the tall poppy,
Watch your back
The high flyer.
I wonder if we all flew
High or low
Would the walker be envied?
Nothing to fall from.
No need to be guarded.
Casually moving forward.
I will fly in my dreams.
In the privacy of my mind.
And judge nobody.
Descending from a lapis sky
It skimmed the surface,
Of an equally blue ocean.
Raising tiny peaks
On an otherwise slate smooth sea.
It reached and pushed
Making patterns
Of varying shades of blue,
And occasional flecks of white,
Which stood starkly against the mirror.
Upon greeting the shore
It embraced the Cotton Trees
Lining the peninsula beach.
Tossing leaves and small branches
In a waltz of whispers and clicks.
Passing the trees and onto the path
It pressed a cotton skirt
Against the body of a young walker,
Taking with it the fragrances
Of coconut oil and Chanel.
Racing along the jetty
It caused the young fisherman
To lift his head, smell the air and smile.
He closed his eyes, as the breeze
Returned to the crystal sky
Let my clothing fall
And step into the oceans chill
Let my defences down
Welcome my racing heart
Give thanks that I am able, still
.
Ritual acts refine me
Habitual ones define me
Maybe I’ll let you see me
Beneath the skin that binds me
Under my ever-watchful real me
.
Be kind to others always
It’s a motto to live by
And it is easy enough to say
Harder though to play –
Life is, a double edged sword
.
Opening my heart to you
There is nothing harder to do
But your spirit welcomes mine
Allowing light to shine
On my mystical heart sublimed
Since the beginning of democracy,
It has been there.
In the sixties and seventies
We chained ourselves to machines
We protested with slogans –
Make love not war
Ban the bomb
No nukes…
And we grew our hair.
The eighties and nineties came
We shouted it in our music
Punk
Grunge
Techno, and
Rap
We threw away old music conventions
Made it our own and screamed our angst
The two thousands arrived
We whispered
No shouting from rooftops this time
Or from Wall Street windows
Nine eleven.
Terror quietened the murmur
But didn’t stop it.
We spoke softly of it in homes
And workers clubs
And it simmered in our minds
And now the twenty tens
Our phones remind us
Nowhere is free of the murmur.
It’s read by tourists
While sipping cocktails
Served by underpaid indigenous workers
It’s tweeted from exotic locations
Usually only concerned
With cocaine and flesh.
And why is this murmur encouraged?
Because the murmur of dissent
Creates the dissenter
And the dissenter is easily bought.
Once you have enough dissenters
You have the ultimate tool…
Power.
let the water flow
so wastefully to the sea
it’s stupidity
you call yourself a vandal…
because it’s cooler than dumb?
sunrise and free time
thoughts travel beyond this day
peace in this moment
