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Sunday, March 18, 2012

Jim 'Poetry' Shirlaw 2011/12 (part II)






Actor's Outlook

Acts of courage during our life
later prepare us
for an easier deal with death

Reverberation

The guitarist’s sweeping maelstrom of reverb

Seemed,

To provide an infernal overlapping soundscape

For the fat-headed front man’s ego

to irresponsibly wander through


SHAG

suppliers of fine vintage clothing

The phone rings and my eyes reassemble their task of saying ‘No’. The male voice phoned up from a call centre and asked to speak to the owners. l told him that the owners live in Melbourne. The baritone hushed back, ‘well, what are you doing in the office, shagging?’ l asked what he said and he repeated it once more.

I asked the voice where he was calling from and he replied ‘your mother’s cunt’. Vaguely in the background, beyond the words, the routine sounds of a season-less morning stewed in the call centre.

‘what?’ l exclaimed, ‘your mother’s cunt’ he said, l hung up the telephone.


Sun (lack of) Poem I


Wild as they were,

Just as the sun revolves behind a cloud

So their time was received

Acts of courage during their lifetime

Prepared for an easier acceptance of death

And some day

The sun will return to fight us

Our greatest foe

For death must be as natural as life

To survive the process

Of taking that first rapid breath

Is to accept death’s quick taking


Sun Poem


The sun reaches

The amplitude of noon

Light like life from above

Solemn,

as the fixture on a basement ceiling


Appearing,

over the window frame

Eyes open with vague caution

Fearing immediate attack

Who won the war, mind or body

That knows such a feeling?

Death for twelve hours then awoken

By something the sun didn’t see


World of Skin

(or Swans)

What will skin see? That’s already harmed itself, let me harm it with ribbons of ink, driven to the arm; what tragedies will it endure? What fascinations will it see? What overcame you that morning, that your scars can’t forget?

That high-pitch still ringing in your ears, like a distant applause beyond the hillside. Where does the dirt beneath your nails exit? That you dragged out of the earth while scrambling, resisting your last disaster?

‘some things need to be endured’ (?)

‘the body never forgets’


Working title*

'They emerge unscathed to see
all nations are just like one
and to value their disingenuous
fun
is liberty untouched,
even when available and free'


To see how each city persists
with it's legends of the past
i sit poised place after place
prepared to say
the people are so nice
the air is so clean
the weather is so fair
the metropolis is so,
gentle and forgiving

Once, the light beyond the door
pushed the hinges slightly
enough to hang a bright ticket
over my reaching tips
l spent whole days
celebrating how lucky l was

The olive green parcels
of eucalyptus, ash and earth
resigned to the emerald dialect
to peer into a grey mirror
the cold with no scent of snow
the sun swindled by noon
the student's hidden hash
the immigrant's wet passport
monochromatic and misleading

Just as the travel agent foresaw
alone in an ancient grey cafe
now clamer to the shore or breath
the ocean like wind, the temptation
to keep one of Europe's own cities
you don't speak just listen, nor return home


Jim S


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