"coopers" poems
5:00 am - Happy New Year!
I look like I should be a musician not a poet.
"It's so easy being a poet
so hard being a man"
- Charles Bukowski
----
5:14 am - Passing Rocklea, no sign of the dawn.
Coopers Plains station.
3 people get on.
Florescent lights cast a spell of sleep.
I wish I could sleep right now.
Eyelids droop like sad flowers from a convenience store.
I write metaphors like a drunken amateur.
Trinder park - Sounds like a bad neighbourhood.
**** ME ITS WOODRIDGE.
Where even the McDonalds sign is ******
XxXxxxxxx, Xxxxxx Xxxxxx :
She could be fun. So tight, she sometimes felt illegal.
Tight and bald. I would slide up to the *****
She loved it rough,
golden hair wrapped around my fingers
as she was pushed into the pillow.
She was loud in the mornings.
I could feel her tight ***
grinding against my thighs
as I ****** her harder and harder.
Until I came :
either inside her.
Or on her chest.
Or in her
prim
pink
suburban mouth.
Tightening my grip on her hair as the hot ***** spurted against the back of her throat.
The head of my **** throbbing as she gulped it down with silent satisfaction.
That only happened twice though.
----
5:37 am - The Dawn begins to rise over the Suburban Nation.
Final remnants of night
twinkle like stars
against the silhouette
of society.
House lights
Street lights
(and the omnipresent)
fluorescent light.
Beenleigh station - A pinch faced older woman gets on.
Business suit, lunch box.
Short hair, glasses.
Her earrings are imitation mother of pearl
(step-mother of pearl?)
She sits next to a window covered in graffiti.
Prim, tight mouth
incarnadine lipstick.
Over in the distance a smokestack cuts through the sky above the horizon.
Trees do mask the sun and sky.
"Hippies; they spend their whole life trying to get to a microphone and when they do, they don't tell anyone to **** off." - The Wolfman.
----
5:52 am - One more stop.
The clouds are the colour of smoke against the pearl blue sky.
----
6:00 am - Arrival.
Clouds are tinged with fire and blood
incandescently.
You can watch it spread and grow
with intensity.
Taxi driver was a foul mouthed Indian.
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 2:25 AM UTC
Italian job mini coopers
Movies forgotten and buried under sands of time
the literal burying
of the E.T. game
haunts me endlessly
wow I really hate myself
Oct 2, 2013
Oct 2, 2013 at 1:02 PM UTC
A thespian
In a play
A strong man
But not strong today
Leading girl gone away
One act
One scene
One line to say
His kōan
"What is the sound of one hand clapping?"
Silence.
Pretty girl
Gamine thin
Her Ribs
Bent staves
Round a coopers bin
And at the clubs
She picks up men
Who leave her
When they’ve
Had their fill.
And still
It’s courtly love she seeks
A treasure trove
That is for keeps.
Her kōan
"The moon cannot be stolen."
But maybe if she seduces it…
It will be hers.
She’s middle aged
There’s not much left
Her ******* aren’t firm
She’s barrel shaped
She watches soaps
And talks with friends
And fights the fear
That if it ends...
She hasn’t amounted to
Much at all
She could have been more
If she just had the time
Her kōan
"What are you doing?"
Nothing.
Jan 17, 2010
Jan 17, 2010 at 1:06 PM UTC
Dean Roberts had two homes
One was in port Adelaide and the other was in rhw Adelaide hills and he lived in the adelaide hills but he had paranoid mates living 3 doors down from his Port Adelaide home
You see there were squatters living there making everyone living around there scared to leave their homes and this usually happened every night from 4pm till dawn and then it appeared to be early but nobody went near the hooise except for dean Roberts who was hermless but the residents
Of the nearby homes barocsded themselves in their homes and there were psychiatrists around for anyone who becomes too scared to cross the main road and making sure no vunerable person was struggling getting to where they wanted to go or where they lived and dean Roberts was unaware of all this because there was no sign of people living there and dean's best friend Toni was the target in some way, you see she lived in the house opposite that house
And she called the police numerous times which forced cars to follow her making her look very scared but she still wanted to help the police remove them so she used herself as bait to catch them
But this was easy for them but Toni was in danger of losing her life making her scream so loud
But while Toni was with them dean was trapped inside his port Adelaide home but he broke the window and iinstead of going home to the hills he slept in his car waiting for the
Squatters to come back and When they did dean grabbed a broom and came in there saying come on get out of my house and then while that was going on Toni was panicking crossing the road making it half way across and then going back especially after they took her from her place of work and dumped her at the lights making her scared to hold someone even the police
Cause she watches the news where people dress up as police to take advantage of ladies like Toni and after dean got rid of the squatters for bow
He drove home with people yelling out to him hi mr hero
With people bipping their horn
Saying you are port Adelaide's
Hero but Toni was still struggling to get home and this forced the police to grab her and take her home
To take her medication and go to bed and one of the squatters returned and was caught and shoved in Ron coopers psych ward where he was put on eppelim and he was forced to one day tell them why he lived in dean Roberts property and squatter said his name was ken
Psrtley and Ron gave ken an injection of abilify to calm
Him down and Ron went back home and had pizza and coke
While ken was stuck in a Place he hated and Toni was still paranoid about crossing that road and dean helped her get through this like a friend would
Dec 1, 2016
Dec 1, 2016 at 6:10 PM UTC
My imperial , stoic raptor standing watch over sun swept , dew infused dale .. Many thanks for kinship , service and timely Hill Country beautification , long days of valor filling weary minds and ear with noble ballads .. High above , camouflaged within the wind racked Pines , soaring warm Georgia air in quiet retrospection , filling hearts with passion and awe ..
Feb 18, 2016
Feb 18, 2016 at 11:03 AM UTC
you know what i want to do with my life
is read my poems on radio
and leave more designs on how i can improve the homeless people’s situation
i want to move on from LEAD, unless they help in giving me work on radio
i want to get my art out there, in art galleries
i want to not do work that is pointless to me
i want to be noticed by ellen degenerous
i know i feel like yelling at my head when paranormal voices are forcing me back to LEAD
why doesn’t 2xx let me read on radio, i really want that more than working on some football oval
i am good at that, but i wouldn’t mind talking to people in hospital, like reading my poems
or stories or showing them my art
i want to do volunteer work, in jobs that make the poor people happy
i want my imagination back so i can give ideas of how to improveness homelessness
i am an artisrt a writer, and i can entertain on youtube
i feel better now i am an household name
more people know about the coopers now
and more people know about my life captured in the psych ward
because they are stories i wrote, i want to put my art in exhibitions
as well as find a way to make it in to Hollywood
i want to get paid to host a christmas concert, as long as i have a piece of paper with the headline acts on it, i can do it
i want to have *** with a supermodel, if i can figure out how to do it
i want more out of youtube, like get noticed by someone BIG
one day i want to get paid for going on youtube
i want to be feature act on poetry slam one day, reading selected poems, that’ll be cool
i don’t want to work for LEAD, much, because i can’t understand why they act like kids
i want people to NOTICE ME, i have great ideas
which are
start a mental health TV station
start a arts TV station for free to air TV
A hotel atmosphere for the homeless, in a small run down hotel
giving money to the struggling on the street
please, i am explaining that i help more getting what i want
this is what i want
Aug 3, 2015
Aug 3, 2015 at 2:31 AM UTC
i may have moved on
from so many things
moved on from searching the phone early in the morning just to say good morning
moved on from waking up late just to say good night
moved on from thinking about puppies and mini coopers
but in soo many ways i have not
i still cant help my self and flinch at the site of you
i still cant control my self from looking at the direction from where your name was called
nor can i forget the times we spent in the places we went
we may not be what we used to be
we may not see each other in the same light
but you better not think that i have antipathy for you
because we both know im still your friend
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 10:43 PM UTC
through misty nights and starless skies,
those years by the kitchen sink,
or pancaked mornings, burning bright,
sit we would, over a drink,
over childhood days and childless hearts,
upon tears over us or prettier things,
caught your gaze, once or twice
when Mary chased me over to a scary brink
of what, now, I fail to recall
as I fail to recall many links
remember, when once, on a green afternoon
you lulled in sleep over chicken wings,
and now I lie among roses ******
for Johns, Coopers and other things
and now we can be forever friends,
and forever lean by kitchen sinks.
Nov 1, 2017
Nov 1, 2017 at 9:37 AM UTC
You see where did I get the inspiration to play the coopers
And play livestock
Avoid doctors and vets
Well there could be many reasons but if you look at my previous life story you will see
I was doctor and surgeon John
Hawker English who was born in 1788 and died in 1840 and in that time I won awards as well as saving lives of all the people who passed through the hospital doors and every October the hospital ran it's very own chess tournament and John hawker English won 5 years of the tournament and
Also John was a mad religious freak who every Sunday went to church to meet up with the congregation and listen to the sermons, his biggest job was the postman who came off his bicycle in 1806 and without all the modern technology of today John had to work on saving the postmans life and it took him about 3 days and 2 operations and by all means it nearly killed him but he survived it and in 1812 there was this drinking ***** being brought in with a heart attack
And needed a quick bypass
But this was going to be hard and then in 1801 there was a
Accident with a horse and Cart
With school kids on it crashed into the English Channel and John was having a hard time saving all the kids and he saved 80% of the kids with 4 little girls was washed out to sea and died
And John was being yelled at by the 4 children's families
There were more emergencies
And the town had mix reactions
About john's way he handles the operations but on John's death bed John hawker English said people die and sometimes you can save them unfortunately you can't save everyone and then he died
Oct 11, 2016
Oct 11, 2016 at 6:26 AM UTC
They rarely bother to mow here anymore,
Once a month, perhaps every other
(Times are tight, full burials being pretty much
A thing of the past these days)
Though it’s unlikely anyone would notice
If the grass grew a bit longish,
Or the crownvetch and crabgrass became a little more prevalent,
No one being buried in this part of the cemetery
For the better part of a hundred years now,
The stones bleached and faded from decades of sleet and sunlight
And acid rain from the auto plants of Flint and Lorain and South Bend,
(Now boneyards for gears and drill bits themselves)
Those names still legible on the teetering, unsteady stones
Mostly the stolid Scotch-Irish surnames
Vaguely familiar from the town’s founding generation
Found on its street signs or pocket-parks,
Their descendants mostly having fled to friendlier climes,
Though the odd lesser strain of the families remain
(Not that they would choose to pay tribute to those ancestors
To whom they have fared so poorly in comparison)
Though many more bear the family names of their trades,
Clusters of Coopers, Weavers, and Smiths,
Their stones bearing the sentiments of grim Victorian fatalism,
Thus in mercy early call’d away or The happy soul is that which fled.
Such thoughts are quaint, eccentric things to us now,
As would be the clothes they wore, the songs they sung,
But we would know them nonetheless,
Know the muted joy of their minor successes,
The depth and finality of their defeats,
The sting of bowing and scraping
To the owners of the mill, the haughty town fathers,
As they served them at the milliners or the drug store,
Their odd, fleeting dreams of grandeur having come to rest here,
Cherry-lidded as they proceed to dust.
May 2, 2017
May 2, 2017 at 9:35 AM UTC
*At the equilibrium of land and wave
Along granite jetties in battle -
with the ebbed blue sea
Across the misted olive waterfall terminus
Basking in the glory of the Almighty
from Blueridge escarpments , creek narrow tower
and river divide* ....
Aug 19, 2016
Aug 19, 2016 at 9:36 PM UTC
Snakes retreat as
flowers turn
ever so slightly.
A Coopers Hawk
surfs a ripple
far above the trees
A young squirrel
is frozen in fear
feeling the nearing
disturbing the air,
much too late.
Sissi is at the door
pressing to slip
from her collar
to catch cowering
creatures hiding
in the shadows.
My silken companion
leads my perception
of the silent ripples
where predators hunt.
Jun 21, 2019
Jun 21, 2019 at 10:22 AM UTC
*Moss grows unchecked on the
granite surface , cushioning bare feet
like velvet , pine forest obscured with
morning mist , a sun kissed peak , a wetted
valley , a covey of bobwhites , a coopers hawk
Oaks of every shape and size stair step the lone
trail to the top
Her overlook is grandiose
Boot sized ponds and cacti share the precipice
with cottontails and whitetail does
Tall hardwood canopies lie row upon
row , a place of solitude , where earth moves
slow , where creativity grows , where fragrant
summer breezes blow , where secrets are withheld that only the mountain knows* ...
Feb 13, 2017
Feb 13, 2017 at 9:16 PM UTC