we once were
weren’t we?
oh how we could have
been more?
different now though
happy with our paths
who knows
where we would be?
still that lingering
possibility
that more was there
i am now here
you are there
impossible
to compare
Still with
all the love
in our lives
there’s that
undying
spark still
in the embers

there is an ominous sense of portent
in the air
in the orange glow of the sun
in the dry heat
in the smoke in the air

for others it was far worse
in hellish bush fire infernos
seeing their homes and all familiarity
converted to ash
alone with nothing but tears

a natural disaster
born of
unnatural plundering of earth resources
the consequence of consumerism without restraint
and a soothsaying denying bogan Shrek of a PM
pretending to care just to save his political neck
go back to kirribilli ya ****
there’s no votes for you here

suddenly the consequences of she'll be right
we'll vote for relatable people who will take care of jobs
are outed as people who have no long term idea
but the're own short term political survival
and are culpable for the hell around us now

suddenly the offence we have inflicted on nature
is showing us the kick back
and the arrogance of thinking we were in control
is being torched by an angry mother
who doesn't love us for what we've done
we were deluded to think we had any control
now surrounded by bush fires that are out of control

portending a time for humility
and acceptance that we are not needed

blessed i am
to wake surrounded
by bird songs multifarious
each with their signature calls
saying ...

where’s my mate
we need to perpetuate

driven by nature’s code
keeping within my mode
where’s my mate
we need to perpetuate

alive and in my prime
now is our time
where’s my mate
we need to perpetuate

i’m looking to find
a lover of my kind
where’s my mate
we need to perpetuate

joyous chirping, tweeting, whistling
warbling, crowing and wooing
in a chorus of overtures
invitations to the nub of life,
procreation

mauve and red on azure hue
jacarandas, flame trees and summer blue
that time again of heat
and inappropriate rituals

we grew here
and santa clause flew here!
who does he think he is?

roast dinners while paul kelly
asks who will make the gravy

bush fire victims needy of funding
while millions are spent on fireworks
as though there wasn’t enough smoke
or air pollution

families who avoid each other
through the year
gather with cheap coloured paper hats
and pull the ritual bonbon
and tell bad puns
to fill the gaps in conversation
and the cicadas sing out
the banality, the ennui

while cashed up families
tow caravans up and down the coast
to camping area suburbias
and celebrate their right
to overeat and drink beer
their god given entitlement
to be strayan
and talk about queue jumpers

that’s why i make my own ritual
based on the good things
of that time ...

respite from daily routine
time for quiet reflection
on the worth
of who you are
and who you’ve helped

i liked it the way you listened
i could tell by your eyes
and your smart questioning

i liked it that you had a sense of beauty
a quite relish for stillness
and the spirit in things

i liked it the way you cared
for people’s feelings
the hosting of your society
and your tender awareness of sensitivities

i liked your sense of humour
and interest in people’s bizarre stories
your relish for their secrets

but most of all

l liked it the way you touched me
going straight to parts
i didn’t even know that
set my soul on fire
electrifying my desire

good health
i have had a comfortable life
with middle class privilege
but i have known and seen
bullies in my class
making me stand against it always

they are leading the country now
and are demonstrably showing
brutal intransigent power
over those without citizen identity
because we had wars
in their countries

so they have done nothing more
than seek a better life
who wouldn’t have?
and now they can’t go back

so many people compromised
by oil greed and power avarice
rendered without country
without wealth
without identity
without dignity
these people are no different
in human need
yet

i have place
i have citizen identity
i have freedom

curiosity ...

involves a will
to question
a facility not needed
when you have blind faith
in shock jocks who compellingly
save you the trouble
there is power in persuasion
a voice with sonorous conviction
that corrals you into what to think
burrows into a small mind
like a god-voiced ear wig
quelling the notion
you are not so sure?
Pauline has the courage
to say what
you are thinking
or the audacity
to fill an empty vessel
that had nothing
but a nascent fear
that blissful ignorance
was under attack
so gather with the herd
know you are not alone
the mediocrity shepherds
will reassure you
that you are all together
it’s them that are different
it’s them who are hatefully wrong