you sit before me at the bench
and you throw your head back
hair loose, and neck exposed
as you drink water from the bottle
O, it makes me want to kiss your neck
lick it wet,
and drink from your mouth
and kiss your ears
but you laugh and push me back
and you say:
I don’t trust you;
I don’t trust me
cos I know
we won’t let it stop there


I don’t trust you;
I don’t trust me
cos I know
we won’t let it stop there


you wave at a friend passing by
and I say I love that wrist exposed
and I want to kiss your wrists
and I want to kiss your neck
it makes me feel like these vampires
these kids today rave about
but you laugh and push me back
and you say:
I don’t trust you;
I don’t trust me
cos I know
we won’t let it stop there

O look sweetheart
you may not trust yourself
and you may not trust me
but I trust myself
so let me kiss your neck and ears
and let me nibble at your wrists
and neck
cos I really trust myself


and still you laugh
and you won’t let me
and you say:
*I don’t trust you;
I don’t trust me
cos I know
we won’t let it stop there

1
two days ago
we argued about food
and my sweetheart
she moved out;
she picked up her pillow
and she slept in the next room

2
the next morning
we joked and laughed
as if nothing had happened
but in the evening we argued over
her phone bills
and that night she moved out
even further –
she went to sleep in the third room

3
this morning we laughed again
over muffins and pancakes and coffee
and at 9 pm
we shout at each other
room to room, bed to red
blaming each other about dinner
and she screams:
I’m moving out!
and she moves back to our room
where I am
and under the quilt
I whisper to her:
*I always knew
you’d come back to Number 1

you know I slept
twenty years
and woke to find
all things changed


when I sleep now,
though only a few hours
each night,
I wonder
if it had not been better
if I had slept forever


I had not known
trouble in my long sleep;
and I was not bewildered
by a world
that is strange and distant
though I move in it all day long


I had not known
any care or worry;
nor had I to think where
my next meal was to come from
or hang over things like
what today's contemporaries
fret about:
things like retirement funds
and aged care; and a will
that will be ample and fair


I had not known
people of strange ways
when I slept;
I had not to condone
the conceited and those whose
only concern is self-interest;
and men and women of twisted emotion
and hell-bent on ****** and blood
and lust;
and a lawn that must be trimmed


and in my bear-sleep
I had no encounter
with the fool, the arrogant, the ambitious
and the tyrant and the greedy;
all I knew in my long sleep
was quiet, oblivion and bliss
and so I ask myself often
as I sit in the shade of the tree:
*I wonder
if it had not been better
if I had slept forever?

I slept for twenty years
comfortably below the tree
up in the quiet mountains
and all that time
I lay in a sleep
as deep as before
I came to my mother's womb


and yes, I had dreams
in those two decades of sleep -
but no, I did not dream of angels and heaven
or guiding lights and stars
but simply dreamed
that I shed all forms of thoughts and ideas
like one sheds one's clothes
before one enters a placid lake



and I dreamed often
there were no thought patterns and creed
no dogma and beliefs
and there were no ideas and organized religion;
and there was no form or shape
nor a past or future or time;
no sets of thought to cling to
and therefore no questions or answers:
and I entered so the lake of silence


and having dreamed that
having entered the lake
you will understand why
I do not sit in church or group;
why I do not seek or conform
and why I have no interest
in all these books you wave
and these revelations you espouse;
and simply no interest
in all these things you preach




I slept for twenty years
comfortably below the tree
up in the quiet mountains
and all that time
I lay in a sleep
as deep as before
I came to my mother's womb

a child is born free of mind
but is hardened into thought
and by the time one dies
most are fixed and ******* into
worlds of their making,
heavens of their fantasies*

so one thinks one's an Indian, one a Chinese
or an American or British or Swedish
or French or Russian or German;
or one thinks one is a Christian or Muslim
or Jew or Hindu or Sikh or Catholic
or Doaist or Buddhist or Marxist or Communist
or even for that matter, an atheist
- or whatever you will...
one finds a badge to pin proudly to one's chest
and each identity becomes so strong
it becomes so real
it all comes into the question of right and wrong
of evil and good
and it falls into loud declamations
and my tribe is good, your tribe is evil
my brand is holy, your brand unholy...
and so it goes,
with all sorts of justifications
that beat sense out of all loyal adherents
and it squeezes humanity out of the human
as paste out of a tube...
ah, and yes,
the energy goes on into the afterlife
as Christians go into a Christian Heaven
and Hindus and Buddhists into various Lokas
and Muslims in their own Paradise
and so it goes on,
this Human Tragi-Comedy,
yes, yes, certainly all created by the Almighty
who was created by your mind's poverty
so that
a child is born free of mind
but is hardened into thought
and by the time one dies
most are fixed and ******* into
worlds of their making,
heavens of their fantasies

Snorers all
scattered world-wide
in offices and homes
in boardrooms
and bedrooms;
O Snorers all
loud and clear
low and shrill -
listen ye
to the loud wake-up call
as from Rip Van Winkle's Snore

stand up united
and drown the howl of protests
against snoring that is surely no less divine
than the Chorus of Angels in Heaven -
for the great God who made the Aurora
no doubt also conceived of the Divine Snore!


and so, stand up, ye sonorous Snorers!
unite! I call unto ye!
unite against the detractors
and the critics
and the complainants
and those of low culture
who cannot
lie still and listen to Snoring
as one rightly would at a concert hall
listening to the delightful play
of a quartet of violins


O how long will you take it lying down,
ye blessed Snorers of the World?
let the world know
the first divine music was indeed the Snore;
and the very height of human communication
is the unabashed snore
for all other modes of communication
lead to mis-communication
but the language of the snore is always exact and crisp!
the message of the Snore always precise!
the meaning always loud and clear!
and the very height of the snore
(let us declare to the world)
is the couple in bed
snoring away together
beside each other
making such divine music
making love with the rolling thunder of snores
so that one might say:
do we have a couple of wild boars
copulating in the next room?



stand up, O Snorers of the World -
and defy the mockers
and those who seek divorce
on grounds of insufferable Snoring;
stand up against those who sue
for loss of sleep from
friendly, neighborly Snorers;
stand up now
against these losers, these whingeing nags
uncouth and untutored
in the mysteries of the art of the Snore!
stand up and with one loud blast of
a universal Snore,
with one melodious Snore
let us
drown their dissenting voices,
their unprovoked cacophonous complaints!
stand up, Snorers young and old!
unite, Snorers black, white and gold!
defy the world! O ye Snorers
of quite nights and of lazy days:
let us overwhelm the world
with the pleasing symphony of Snores;
let us bless the ears of the world
with the dulcet streams of varied notes and arias!
stand up! unite! - O much-maligned Snorers of the World!
with one voice raised
in a triumphant Snore
let us declare:
*No longer will we be silent!
Our voices will be heard!

the owl's on its tree
and the bats eat their fruit;
the night surrounds the home
and the stars glow in the sky:
sleep you, sweetheart;
slip you
into your gentle world this night


the home's quiet
and the hearts gentle and warm;
the moonlight blesses the windows
and the air within
radiates grace, ease and calm:
sleep you, sweetheart;
slip you
into your gentle world this night

ah, happy crow
(uncaring that humans may
not find you very pleasant)
you sit on the branch of that shady tree
and you peck at a bone you've brought yourself
and you are busy, busy, busy eating;
and I, happy too, sit here
at a table, eating my sandwich
and sipping a little water

ah, happy crow busy, busy eating
(uncaring that many humans may
not find you very pleasant)
I know your happiness
and you know mine;
and thus we sit at our spots
eating the bits we find

countless generations of bards and preachers
and poets and sages
and honorable and revered members
of our respectable societies
countless such generations
have spoken and declaimed
have sung and serenaded
on goodness and cruelty and avarice -
and yet put them in power,
and scrutinize their lives
and their words
become thin
and their lives shallow
and their songs are cherubic lies;
a long line of saints and philosophers
and prophets
and mild-mannered selfless carers
ah such holy stewards
a long line indeed
has nurtured humanity, its sick and downtrodden
and radiates love in all directions
but oh scrutinize their actions and
their motives
their lives are but comic contradictions
pathetic self-delusion;
ah, let me not seek to change the world
but see to myself first
rather than jump into
hot-air sermons and vain exhibitions

one day the poet Herodia
of ancient Pincaeia
found in the garden
a note thrown in over the wall:

dear poet
do not sing us of unpleasant things;
do not make us think:
sing us of love instead
a poem about a kiss is far easier to read
(some *** would make it even more memorable)
and poems on light matters
are better on one's brains
rather than a poem
where one has to ponder over things


and the poet Herodia
of ancient Pincaeia
from then on
was never heard of;
nor, for that matter,
was ever Pincaeia

how did it begin anyway
this love of sound and words and rhythm
and word-painting?
did a bunch of perhaps thirteen men and women
gather one night
under the star-covered trees
and eat pizzas and say:

tonight we'll all not drink sake
or soma
and we'll not have ***
or argue about swines and politics and metaphysics;
we'll not drink wine or breathe in fumes
that make minds gallop like wild boars
but, tonight, we'll drink words instead?

of course everyone
knows the famous riddle
that drew a one-word answer
but the sphinx also threw another
at Oedipus just outside Thebes:
a sister comes first and gives birth to another
and the second consumes and then births the first



bored, the gifted Oedipus yawned his answer:
*day and night

the Sphinx, bringer of bad luck and destruction,
half-woman and a lioness,
she throws Oedipus a riddle outside of Thebes
strangled with a curse:
what goes on fours in the morning, two at midday
and three in the evening?


Oedpius, born a prince, feet-mangled
and soon to be a king, well-traveled and bored
and wishing for greater challenges than a riddling sphinx
in his way, answers:
look at me in my prime, I walk on two
and I crawled on fours
and I shall walk with a staff soon enough...
that is the lot of my kind, humankind...



and the Sphinx,
not one to condone one better than itself,
devours itself...

lovers of words
we build dungeons;
lovers of words
we forge our own chains;
lovers of ideas
we inhale illusions:
the mind confronts the world
(rarely does it meet the world)
and the mind confronts the world
like a careless driver who hits a tree
and then considers what is to be done;
like how a group might attempt to control
a river that runs through the village;
and the mind creates ideas
to overcome, to control, to transcend
and the mind is
trapped in words
(loves words for its gentle touch)
and so it builds wordy cages
builds for itself escapes
builds for itself diversions
and is manacled by words it plucks out of thin air
and that it develops into theories and ideas and revelation
(loves these for the relief)
and that become truth and immutable by time and repetition
and so the mind lies chained in it own prisons:
lovers of words
we build dungeons;
lovers of words
we forge our own chains;
lovers of ideas
we inhale illusions

again and again we copy and imitate
and crave to be shaped
or we create ideas and cherished notions
and we cling to traditions and hopes and inspirations;
and we run to this and then to that
and we say this is revelation, this is the Divine
and this is the path
and we have solutions and formulas
and plans and consolations
and we say this is the truth and that is the truth
and this is the leader
and we crave for stimulants
we eat cliches
we bow to consuming and demanding Revelations
that eat minds;
and we crave for things that offer solutions
that offer certainty
and so we believe, we rather believe
and this the Blessed
and that one the Chosen
and this the Ultimate True Guide:
always chasing, always wanting to be led
always wanting to be burdened
like trained donkeys, with heavy loads;
always wanting Super Powers, Omnipotence
always the leverage of a Supreme Being
always division: the All Powerful and the Weakling;
always believing, always believing
in such complexities, such mysteries
but it is simple;
drop everything
and see what is left...
but one will not do it
for one would rather cling to something and notions
and authority
and wait for someone else to describe it
rather than seeing it oneself;
one would rather revere

I am content here
in my open
with the trees and the birds that sing
and the clouds above
and the moon that radiates at night;
and the feel of the warmth of the sun on my
arms and chest and legs
and the feel of the cool water
on my face;
not for me all the revelations
and the vanities
and the theories
and the pomposity
of the life here
and the life hereafter;
for I am content here
in my open
with the trees and the birds that sing

poor Man
was made in the image of God
(especially man, especially the he's!)
and so he he he must abide
with rules and propriety
and commandments and ideals


whereas I,
I am free to go
where I choose
to wing myself


(no doubt I fear the fly-swat
though I escape that mostly with dexterity)


ah, strange that it is a petty fly
just a common fly, a housefly
just me
that knows unconditioned freedom;
for I have no ideals to pursue
and am not judged nor do I judge
and can fly low and high
and no one cares if I feed at dung-piles
and sit cleaning my feet on most sacred altars
or run up the nostrils of most reverend masters


ah, to be a fly -
far better a short soul-less life
(ended perhaps by your fly-swatter)
of daring and freedom
than an eternal life of burning Hell
or eternal, unquestioning drugged obedience



poor Man
was made in the image of God
(especially man, especially the he's!)
and so he he he must abide
an eternity
of rules and propriety
and commandments and ideals

star
alone star
shining, twinkling, moving
just being what you are;
star alone star
though watching minds make of you a meaning
a wish, or a symbol
but alone star you are simply what you are;
star alone star
unlike men, women
unlike intelligence that must form and associate
who must be this or that
conditioned and grown and nurtured
and shaped
and programmed;
but you star
alone star
not like this or that
but simply natural, what you are

the boy who was six
running over hills and jumping over streams
now he's nearly sixty;
and the girl, she too,
she who picked flowers in the woods
and who fetched water from the well
she too has seen time's movement
with all the joys, the pain
and the activity and goings on that come with it:
one strolls over the hill now in the quiet
and one sees the full moon
over the giant trees
the moon distant in the sky
and yet its gentle rays spread over the tree heads;
one sees all this calm and peace

in Indonesia and Malaysia
they call her Pontianak:
she’s the cool hantu, spirit -
she lives in the banana trees;
she died in childbirth
and as she did she saw the joy
in her husband’s eyes
and so she hangs out in the nights:
she wants to eat every unfaithful man’s heart



1
the poor woman died
giving birth to a child
and still the woman lives
a ghost, undead –
to seek her revenge on men
for they showed no care, no love


2
so do not hang your clothes
outside to dry
for Pontianak will sniff you out
and will not rest
till she eats you inside out




3
she loves men -
well, it’s hate
and so she loves to eat men;
and so men, when you are alone
and you see this beautiful woman
alone in the dark somewhere in the deserted streets
and there’s the scent
don’t give in to the charm
for that’s Pontianak
and she’ll smell horrid after
but you’ll be severed body parts by then


4
push a needle with string
into the banana tree
and wait at the other end
with the string ending in a cup -
and you’ll hear Pontianak laugh and screech
in your improvised phone
in the middle of the night



5
and you never know -
your neighbor’s gorgeous wife
may be a Pontianak;
a hantu tamed with
a nail in her neck;
a gorgeous babe
till the iron nail is pulled out

…1966…Malaysia…


1
I’m on my scooter
back home to my village after work
in town
and it rains
and I take a short-cut
people have told me about;
and along the way at a bus-stop shed
I see in the moonlight
a woman waving at me

I stop and she says:
“Please give me a ride
and drop me home;
I’ve missed the bus…
Just the first house on the right
straight down this track…”

2
I see her face and her form -
O She’s beautiful
and I offer her my jacket
and she sits behind me
and I ask her for her name
and she tells me it is Salma;
it’s a beautiful name
and I love the fragrance she exudes so close
and sometimes, as we ride down the dirt-track,
her body brushes ever so lightly against my back


3
I stop at the shed that is her house
It is still raining
and Salma jumps off the scooter
and with a wave she runs into her home
I am happy –
she has my jacket
she is beautiful
and I know her home
and I have a reason to call on her
the next day…


4
It’s Sunday the next morning
and I ride to Salma’s house
and an old woman opens the door
and she listens to my tale
and she is shocked I’d want to see Salma
and she takes me into her small home
and she shows me
Salma’s photograph on the wall
and she asks: “Is that her you saw?”
and I nod shyly
and the old woman cries
and she says:
“I’m Salma’s mother;
Salma died three years ago…”




5
And Salma’s mother takes me behind the house
and there behind the trees she shows me Salma’s grave
and there on the grave is my jacket…
“She died three years ago,”
the woman cries..
I run; I run…
and I ride my scooter like crazy;
I don’t want my jacket back…
and I’ll never ride this way again…

hang on tight, baby -
keep your senses wide
for we're going on a roller-coaster ride;
scream as much
but just hang on tight, baby -
hang on for dear life


times are tough
more than ever;
bills come at the speed of bullets
taxes gather like summer flies
and debts ricochet against our walls;
the banks want more and more
but there's just air in our pockets


hang on tight, baby -
keep your senses wide
for we're going on a roller-coaster ride;
scream as much
but just hang on tight, baby -
hang on for dear life


the jobs dry up and
the dollars dwindle into cents;
permanent becomes temp
and temp becomes non-existent;
full-time goes into part-time
and part-time into casual
and casual into zilch


hang on tight, baby -
keep your senses wide
for we're going on a roller-coaster ride;
scream as much
but just hang on tight, baby -
hang on for dear life


nature conspires with the economy,
sweetheart:
she sends rains and fire and landslides;
she claws sands off the beaches and
all we have left are
government ******* and *******
who care a hoot about our fish and chips


hang on tight, baby -
keep your senses wide
for we're going on a roller-coaster ride;
scream as much
but just hang on tight, baby -
hang on for dear life


time's not on our side either, sweetheart;
mind you, with mighty puffed cheeks
he blows H1N1 flu round the globe
and so sends people and customers away
and those who remain turn cheap and nasty
and all these pigs want are discounts and freebies


hang on tight, baby -
keep your senses wide
for we're going on a roller-coaster ride;
scream as much
but just hang on tight, baby -
hang on for dear life


the collection agencies are knocking, dear -
it sounds much like the knock of death
in Beethoven's ninth;
the mortgage barbarians are on their horses
and they send writs and auction threats
and re-possessions


hang on tight, baby -
keep your senses wide
for we're going on a roller-coaster ride;
scream as much
but just hang on tight, baby -
hang on for dear life


O hang on, sweetheart,
hang on tight:
many will fall, many will bleed
but those who hang on tight
and those who can love
those who can dream together
they will ride the nights out into clear day


hang on tight, baby -
keep your senses wide
for we're going on a roller-coaster ride;
scream as much
but just hang on tight, baby -
hang on for dear life

daddy, daddy,
I can't go to school

why darling,
what's wrong
with you?


I've got a runny nose,
daddy -
can't you see?
and my cheeks are blue
I just think
I've got the flu


but sweetheart,
you look
as fresh as the rose
outside your room;
and darling
your eyes glow
like sparklers in New Year


but daddy, daddy
hear me carefully:
my voice is hoarse;
don't you think
I sound like granny?


oh, OK darling -
you don't have to go to school;
though, today is the day we stop
for pancakes
before school
and we stop for
doughnuts after;
but that's all fine
if you're sick
just stay at home
and you can't have either


but daddy, daddy
I CAN go to school;
see my nose 's fixed itself now
and my voice is again
as clear as the school bell;
and just as you say
my face is as fresh as the rose
outside my room
and my eyes glow
like New Year sparklers:
so what are you waiting for, daddy?
put on your shoes
get your car keys
and let's GO!

mummy, mummy,
who invented school?


oh, sweetheart,
what a clever girl you are;
why don't you tell me first
who you think invented school?


I think, mummy,
school must have been invented
it must be by people
like old grumpy Uncle Grim
next door;
and the grouchy Aunty Scowl
who lives behind our house


oh no, darling,
oh no, not at all:
O darling,
wise men and women
of the past
they invented school


oh, mummy,
they couldn't
have been wise
not if you went to school
and see what happens in class;
surely those men and women
of the past
couldn't have been wise
if they created places
where little kids are tested
every three days;
and little John thinks he's stupid
and little Sue says she'd rather
stay at home and sleep;
and Tua and Helen are always
tense and nervous
and Chandra snores while the teacher talks



oh no -
oh, no darling,
oh no,
it's not like that at all:
O darling,
they were wise and all-knowing
those
sage men and women
of the past
who invented school
so little children like you and your friends
can go and learn all you need to know



but why mummy,
why a school?
is it because daddy and you
and grandma and grandpa
you know nothing and
you can't teach me
what I need to know?*



oh, no darling,
oh no not at all;
O darling,
you must listen to mummy -
wise men and women
of the past
most certainly
they invented school

you ask if I will not write
a love song for you
if I will not sing of true love
and your beauty and tenderness;
you ask if I will not
hold out the stars to you
and sing of fictions like the soul
and the moon's sway over our eternal beings;
no, sweetheart -
I will not gather roses from the verse of centuries
and I will not hold out to you the songs of yore
and thoughts and conceits repeated
until the very lies have become the truth -
but of true love always I shall sing for you
O sweetheart mine who in my company endures
ordinary words and no stardust rhetoric;
O sweet and innocent love
a true love song I sing always for you;
inherited verses and worn-out conventions
I renounce before you;
and in my song
there are no
hand-me-down ways in love and passed-on ideas
no hyperbole and no sweet lies and fantasies
but I sing a true song of love
a true song of love I sing for you -
O beloved mine who has to do
without the routine verses

there is desire
and there is the flesh
there is nature
and there are the compulsive drives
and there are you and I
and the life given us these years

and so I sing my true love song for you
sweetest beloved;
you dearest beloved
who endures my ordinary words
for you I sing,
O you so cherished and much beloved,
my true love song
always for you
who have to do
without the routine verses

hey - do you ha, ha?
I know many of you
fall in love
and make love
and do pa pa and ma ma -
but hey, do you ha, ha?

and there’s that crazy woman
who thinks she’s a Lady
and she goes ga, ga;
and some men in black
who go nuts
and go rat-a-tat
but dump them, forget them
and think about you -
well, just how often do you ha, ha
and he, he, ha, ha,
a **, **, ** and a ha, ha, ha
and la, la, di, di, da, da
and tra la la la and ha, ha, ha, ha,
he he he hoo hoo ha ha ha?

you have some animals
go moo moo
some go baa baa
and some busy with zzzz…zzzz…zzzz…
some creatures might make sa sa sa
or ssss…ssss...ssss….
and you yourself may
go la, la, or tchk! tchk! tchk!
or you might go vroom! vroom! vroom!
but do you - honestly, do you ha, ha?
well, just how often do you ha, ha
and he, he, ha, ha,
a **, **, ** and a ha, ha, ha
and la, la, di, di, da, da
and tra la la la and ha, ha, ha, ha,
he he he hoo hoo ha ha ha?

so - do you *ha, ha?

Pardon me, Sir,
said Polite Tree.
I think you’re standing
on my feet.

Oh,* said the man
and moved a little
and sat leaning
against the tree.


Pardon me, Sir,
said Polite Tree,
but your sweat’s
on my trunk.

Oh, said the man
and he climbed up
the tree
to some way off the ground.


Pardon me, Sir,
said Polite Tree,
but you’re in my arms
and you’re not my baby.


Oh, said the man
and he moved up
a little more
and rested well in a nest.


Pardon me, Sir,
said Polite Tree,
you shouldn’t make
your home here;
I think it’s time
for you to move on.



Oh...right, said the man.
Let it be so.
And he climbed
down the tree.


Pardon me, Sir,
said Polite Tree.
I don’t think
you need to water me!


Oh, said the man
zipping up his pants.
*Then I suppose
it’s time for me to go.

why are you vegetarian?
the friend asked
don't you like chicken and burgers?



dear friend*
I said
*it is all just how I relate to life and the world;
I look at a tree and at the clouds and I see their beauty;
I meet you and I am happy to sit and talk about things;
I see the animals and creatures
and I admire the way of each
and am awed by the uniqueness of each...
that is simply the way I relate to the world

no, let's not step
into the mud of labels
and stereotypes
and pronouncements and revelations
and fixed descriptions
and prescriptions
and easy categories;
let's step out of that baptism;
let's see instead
fresh and new and clear;
mostly we glide through life
lolly-coated with projections
and consolations
and mental formations
our minds programed from day one
on spinning earth;
let's, instead, if possible,
be still a moment
and see what actually is

my story will wander far and wide
(as I myself do in my later life)
in strange lands and strange tongues
though strangeness never surprises me;
and through centuries many will hear my story
and watch an enactment, on stage or in other visual ways,
and perhaps many will dismiss the story
many might find it banal and strange
a tale from a savage and mythic past
and perhaps some will stand on grounds of purity
and wonder that the story of Oedipus should even be remembered;
and perhaps physicians of the mind
might even analyze the symbolism -
but surely, surely
all who hear it will feel a discomfort
an itch,
an echo
a nagging question or two:
*why? what does Oedipus mean?
why is this remembered?

daffy duck is tired
daffy duck is quacking tired of being drawn
and being scripted
and engineered
into always being a cartoon character;
daffy duck no longer wants to be
daffy duck the cartoon character
daffy duck wants to be a philosopher
which is all quite quacking satisfying
even just to think about


and so daffy duck the philosopher thinks:
daffy duck thinks, therefore daffy duck is;
but if I, daffy duck do not think I am daffy duck
and renounce all the scripts and the words
and the expectations and the roles;
if I do not think I am daffy duck
I am no longer daffy duck
or, for that matter, any quacking duck



and so (much to the dismay of loyal fans
who want always to be Daffy Duck Fans)
daffy duck is no more the cartoon character
and becomes daffy duck the philosopher;
and daffy duck the philosopher
thinks himself out of the quacking role
of daffy duck as any quacking duck
or anybody at all
(much to the dismay of loyal fans
who want always to be Daffy Duck Fans)

me no spit English, me no no Englis, OK?
me barbarrrian, why u one me speak Englis?
u teach me inglish then u want me slave, ya?
u teach me englis and mik mee go from nuture,
from da trees and de lakes and hum of me ancesdors, ya?
and you teach me englis
glive me your stinkin additudes
mik me pollute wold and **** wold like you, yes?
I del u, me spit no englis but sdill u offer skolarsips
and mik me shange name, and then tick on Englis name, ya?
then peeple call me englis name like tom, *****, hairy
or my wife become susan or margate
and me become kristian, yeah?
why I say no englis still u want to tich me englsi
and give me book and mi say, mi say,
luk at my nikid bady laik da die I was born
liiiv me one
don't tiich me englis
or wan day I will kurs and swera in inglis
like who, who, who, like that monster I hard play story
is he nime Caliban, yeah?
me barbarrbaian, dun't mike i civilized like u;
me no no inglis;
me happi with me lunguge and me hum
and my trees and likes and annncesdral places¦
I no wants to spit engilsi and khanges my name and culturte!
and un I no wan to go fom humen!
leave me lone wan, I say! me no spit englis!
or I put u in *** if you no go!

dear owl,
where is your home
after all the day and night of rains
that you should sit
forlorn like Lear
on the pavement
this cold, sunless morning?

you will make one again
dear owl
and you will hoot again in nights
and stay discreet in the days

can you see the whole
of Michelangelo's David
see the creation of it
see its beauty?




1

how awkward
David's genitals,
the authorities decided,
and so covered it with
a garland of
copper leaves
twenty-eight counted



2

and still today people
cannot stand David's genitals
for they look at it open-mouthed
and look away swiftly
shy and embarrassed
with guilt in their hearts
and dust in their eyes



3

but the holy of course
those holy ones
and prim and proper and so moral
all the holy
so blessed and destined to go to Heaven
and enter they will
without genitals surely

and the holy, holy
they speak of profanity
and of the unholy ****
and curse and swear and vow damnation
and if possible
they'd happily put explosives
particularly in David's genitals
like they dynamited the Buddhas of Bamyan
for it's all the same holy intolerance




can you see the whole
of Michelangelo's David
see the creation of it
see its beauty?

You see it?
No?
space...space...space...space...
Now?
No?
space...space..­.space...space...
No?
Well, it's a ghost poem
it's no wonder you don't see it....
space...space...space...space...
Now?
No? go try your local medium or something....
Now?
space...space...space...space...
space...space­...space...space...
space...space...space...space...

did you see love died
yesterday? –
like an unwanted baby
in the gutter, in the bin
without a whimper
without a moan;
O did you see
love died yesterday?


first we shouted this is mine
that’s yours
and this is us, that’s you
and drew bold black lines
round the earth
and cunning prevailed
over oceans and sky –
O did you see this way,
love died yesterday?

and we instituted
societies
and hierarchies
and had measures
so the many would serve the few
and so love died,
did you see, yesterday?


and we came back from hills
and caves and deserts
and we said: God spoke to me
and this is the Word that is in the Book
and if you disagree, you’re dead meat!
and so we killed one another
but O, it’s love we killed
did you see that
how love died yesterday?

and some grew insane
the inspiration became depravity
and they said God sanctioned killing
God wants blood!
God wants me to ****!
That’s what they say.
O, do you see
love died yesterday?


did you see love died
yesterday? –
like an unwanted baby
in the gutter, in the bin
without a whimper
without a moan;
O did you see
love died yesterday?

come on in, baby
it’s your world too
come in and have a seat
take your place;
it’s not just passive:
take what you need
and give what you can


there are no in doors
and no out doors
as you can see,
though each will have one’s time;
so come on in, baby
it’s your day to begin
any time you’re ready

you might think
it’s all good to go crazy;
or you might think it fit
to be fair, just
and moderate
to give and receive love

you choose there, baby
in your seat
you make your own movie;
and whichever genre you choose
one day, sweetheart,
you’ll be your own critic
you’ll write your own review

come on in, baby
it’s your world too
come in and have a seat
take your place;
it’s not just passive:
take what you need
and give what you can

strong wind blows
this morning
through bush and garden
through grove and orchard


1
the bamboo sways
and strokes the cheeks
of the palm tree
ha!ha!ha!

and the palm tree
protests loud and clear:
Take your hands off me
you bamboo lecher!
oh!oh!oh!

2
and the gum tree
scolds the dry leaves
of the lilli-pilly
that crawl to its ground:
Have you no respect
for private property?
Get back to your mummy!
tchk! tchk! tchk!


3
And the little blades of grass
sway left and right
and the mighty oak laughs:
Look at you! Look at you!
You sway like  clowns!
he!he!he!

4
And Strong Wind roars:
I just love it!
I just love to stir things up!
Hoo! Hoo! Hoo!

Is this true
darling
what I hear
that the cult you submitted o
won’t let you see mum and dad?
And little Tom you left behind?
That the leader takes you nights
to tell you
God wants him to
explore your body and give Him an account?


Is this true
darling
what I hear?
that the cult you submitted to
has convinced you
Last Days are here
and in the fear of it all
you **** in your pants?
O lucky you
you’re the chosen one
you make holy water
so call in your cult
and let them drink it
or let them all lick it off your legs
tell them
darling
‘Here drink of this
the holy water
or lick it off
salt and urea
produced with faith and fear’
Give it back to the cult
tell them it is benediction
of Last Days
and they who drink it
will be amongst the elect
and those who lick it off
will sit on the right hand side of God;
and darling
produce prodigious amounts
as in the time of the Great Flood
tell them to queue and not squabble
there’s plenty for everyone of you
and if they say
they’re hungry
if you could
bring in holy food
tell them
a visit to the Scurvy Dogs Pound
can easily be arranged


O is this true
darling
what I hear?
that the intelligence
and mind
nature took so long to make in you
you blew it
on charlatans and nincompoops
and yourself became one?

OK, it's weekend, right...?
it's time for rest and recreation
after all the five days of hard work, right?

and you know,
an idle mind is the devil's workshop, right?

And so just a little fun
quickly, secretly online to a yummy site
that promises to show
online now prospects:
****, gorgeous and want to;
and so I sign in, click
and see who's ready in the neighborhood
I choose: closest proximity!
and yummy!
there's the picture of this gorgeous babe!
But oh my God! that's my wife!
and I look at her across the room
and she looks at me
across the room, her eyes now off her laptop -
and she says: What were you doing?
And I say: What were you doing?

Oh well, all's well that end's well...

OK, it's weekend, right...?
it's time for rest and recreation
after all the five days of hard work, right?

you got a face,
said little Tim,
like a rat

I cried, and I screamed:
you got a fish face!*

And along came Tom
with his cat face
and he ate up
both rat face
and fish face

And that’s why now
Tim has an ugly face
and I turned out to look
like the real me,
as you know,
with such an adorable face

said Big Mouth one day to Sharp Nose:
You know what?
You should stop poking your nose
into everyone’s business!
and said Sharp Tongue to Big Mouth:
Look, who’s talking!

Oh, you two are a perfect pair!
said Busy Ears to Big Mouth and Sharp Nose…

And who listens to all the gossip?
said Bright Eyes, without batting an Eyelid

And Moon Face laughed at **** Face
and Blue Eyes winked at Donkey Ears
and ******* said to Double Chin:
You’re getting old!
and Pretty Face said:
I hate talking about age!

and Nose said: Life stinks!
and Mouth said:Life *****!
and Tongue said: Life’s stale!
and Teeth said:
No, life’s like curry meat –
you want to sink your teeth into it!
and said Air Head:
never have so few
in one small region
contributed so much
to the Universal Body of Philosophy!

And Hot Head burst out:
If you guys don’t shut up
I’ll get Razor Teeth to bite Red Tongue
and Brain will be pierced with pain
and Eyes will tear and Nose will run -
and so shut up, everyone!

Then – sssshh! - there was poker face silence…

Matter Hill
is what your mind
with your blood and flesh
and your spirit and eternity
and your ideas and vibrations
show you
and tell you to go, you say


So is that Hill
Matter Hill
is that where you want to go?
You want to crawl there
you want to creep and climb there?
Is that Matter Hill
is that where you are headed?

some say there’s life
some say there’s death
and there’s even a guide book to get you there;
and some say the trees burn there
and demand you cast a finger for each tongue of flame

some voice calls
some mystery beckons, you say;
you heard some hideous scream
in the smooth wet of your night
and a prophecy who must go to the Hill
to Matter Hill

O is that Hill
Matter Hill
is there where you must
no matter what, you must go?
Because you heard a voice tell you so:
Go to Matter Hill
no matter what
And you heard the inmates
of the Soul Sanatorium
saying:
There lies a Gorgon there
she will turn you into stone
And you said to them:
Do not look into my eyes
for I will turn you into ash

But what does your heart say?
What does your mind say
in spite of all the claims
and the declamations and revelations?
O is Matter Hill
is that where you want to go
with your wild eyes
and blood-***** fire-smoothed hair?


Is that where your sweetheart lives?
on Matter Hill?
does she whisper **** tales?
does she hover like a Mystical Being
and beckon you
in fog and mist and in moonlight
and also in the darkest of nights?

is that Hill
Matter Hill
that ****** blood painted hill
is that where
no matter what
is that where
you want to go?

when life begins tomorrow
you’ll wait for sunrise
and you’ll say life’s like a new day
with sun rays and roses
I wouldn’t mind having a few, you’d say

and when life begins tomorrow
you’d be waiting with test instruments
like a child entering cold water
or a nervous team on an expedition

life begins tomorrow
and you’ll wonder about all yesterdays
and inscribe all past glories
and hope for future days

life begins tomorrow
and you’ll be taking snapshots
and posing between trees and observe
the light does not bring out the best


life begins tomorrow
and you’ll immortalize the past
and romance the future
and wait in anticipation of all coming days
for life begins, as you know, tomorrow

all secrets
are open
and there are
no longer secrets in our
world;
and that’s not because
of Russian sirens
or American bombshell blondes
or Chinese academics
or Japanese robots
or smug British 007s -
but because, plainly,
secrets are no longer secrets
See, I’ll show you;
easy and logical
Everybody knows secret, right?
whoever kept it secret
since the word first appeared?
every teacher
goes head over heels
to put it on the vocabulary list
so the word is no longer secret;
also ‘secrets’ and ‘secret’
appear in every dictionary
and they appear everywhere
and everybody has them;
and even a child knows secrets
thanks to those
eager teachers
and the do-good moms and dad -
so what’s so secret about secret anymore?
Yes?
Logical?
I told you I’ll show you.
But not to worry;
we’ll bring back secrets
Ssssshhhhh!
not so loud….
we’ll bring back secrets –
it must be something nobody knows
not in any dictionary
not something public
not something you can google
and make it so easy
so it’s: secuzinis
Ssssshhhhh!
Not so loud….
What’s wrong with you?
See, nobody knows the word
and so secrets are safe and back again…
Yes?
Logical?
So secuzinis
Ssssshhhhh!
Not so loud….
Oh God! – there’s
something seriously wrong with you!
Well, be quiet
and all our secuzinis are safe
and unknown as secrets before
as only you know this
and I know this
that is, if I can trust you
and you can trust me
with secuzinis….
Ssssshhhhh!
Not so loud….
you see, it’s not even in the dictionary
and Google hasn’t even got a clue!

moo moo moo
a dozen milky cows squirt
it all over the fields
while the silly earthworms shake their heads

and see round the corner
comes Lulu
eating vindaloo

boo boo boo
the hot-air ghosts
float at ATMs
while the recorded message goes:
more more more
more easy cash for you

and see round the corner
comes Lulu
eating vindaloo

baa baa baa
forty sheep
each eat the fields bald;
oink oink oink
the pigs wait for it to rain

and see round the corner
comes Lulu
eating vindaloo

sleep gentle love
mum will watch over you;
a few drops of water
will slake your throat
and fill your little tummy
and get you used to hunger


milk for our sweetheart
and some rice and bread
perhaps a ripe banana
and some meat for our darling
dad may bring soon


warm clothes for our sweetheart
and a little rattle
and a colorful doll
perhaps with these
older brother may come soon

sleep gentle love
mum will watch over you;
a few drops of water
will slake your throat
and fill your little tummy
and get you used to hunger

you come too late;
I'm quite dead

Who's that?
It's me
But I'm me too
and so are you;
also my neighbor
thinks she's me
and voices on the phone too go:
...me...me...me...me...
but really,
why does everybody think
they're me?