just hold this child

originally published: Running On Empty

we sit and huddle we hide and wait
it's cold outside and getting late
we whisper just to know we're here
our sleep is troubled and full of fear

we hold our breath at every sound
we're too too scared to look around
we curse our curses of children dying
and steel our hearts to their mother's crying

and every day that ends like this
we bless in whispers to our children kissed
tomorrow maybe then they'll die
tonight they're here don't let them cry

and sleep just sleep don't think of of food
don't think of pigeon or sparrow stewed
just wait for light, just hold this child
just hold this child, just hold this child

Blair and Bush and Big John Howard

Dug up from 2006


DO NOT PROCEED IF YOU ARE YOUNG OR OF TENDER EARS

I USE VERY RUDE WORDS




































Blair and Bush and Big John Howard
Sophist, crook and little coward
Sick in mind and word and deed
slaves of fear and fame and greed

Kings they are in their own sight
but kings who never lead a fight
all they know is how to lie
and how to let poor people die

many thousands have they killed
and many coffers have they filled
these men of rank these men of means
these men who've killed so many dreams

they led us to Iraq and war
with lies they led us, lies and more
they sanctioned children to their death
they curry hate with every breath

and soon, who knows, Iran maybe
through secret friends the Israeli
or open warfare waged with nukes
and covered up by lying spooks

and all to keep the dollar strong
and oil flowing right or wrong
the fiat dollar doomed to hell
and oil doomed to peak as well

and housing bubbles due to burst
but that's not all and not the worst
the population's doomed to fall
and climate change will kill us all

and in the midst of all this shit
our lying leaders do their bit
at home they laugh and joke and play
their victims, many, die each day

but do they care? no not one bit
these scumbag leaders full of shit
these men who kill and just with words
these men are cunts these men are turds

Blair and Bush and Big John Howard
Sophist, crook and little coward
killers, thieves, and fucking liars
it's time they wore Soweto tyres



of course, these lowest forms of life still defend their actions

AUTHORNAME. Howard defends decision to invade Iraq. ABC. 2013-04-09. URL:http://www.abc.net.au/news/2013-04-09/howard-defends-decision-to-invade-iraq/4619500. Accessed: 2013-04-09. (Archived by WebCite^® at http://www.webcitation.org/6FklOoMdd)


if you liked this you might also like "The Ghost of Osama bin Laden"

Greenspan speech

Nov 2005

I read a speech by Greenspan
old Allan at his best
he's told us not to worry
about the Peak Oil test

There's lot's and lot's of energy
in forms we hardly guess
there's gas and shale and methane
i'm lost i must confess

he's said that market forces
will rally to the call
the price of energy will rise
but our use of it will fall

i scratch my head when reading him
he's quite a clever man
with arbitrage and other words
i'll never understand

but what i know and know for sure
and what anybody knows
is oil seems pretty special
enough to make us foes

we're right behind old Bush and clan
who seem to think it's big
so big they think it worth some lives
a few more graves to dig

i guess they're only Arabs
and other Muslim folk
i guess they don't amount to much
and their faith is just a joke

for we i think have Jesus
who guides us from above
and tells us who to kill or not
and who to give the shove

so how come Allan Greenspan
you don't address George Bush?
how come you don't jump up and down
and shake your Jewish tush?

Tell George there's heaps of energy
so much we need not kill
we need not steal or lie and cheat
to get and have our fill?

I heard that Jews are shining lights
a chosen race by God
so Allan how come you don't fight
this Rabid Christian dog?

It's time to reign these monsters in
to save your brother's blood
to stop the way they rob and steal
all in the name of God

Go Allan man i beg you
go take their ball away
convince us all there's so so much
we all can sing and play

there's no big problem looming
there's energy galore
there's oil and gas for years and years
and after that there's more

and i'll sit here and scratch my head
because it's all so big
and read your words with relish
and never give a fig

for if you say it's all just fine
a happy man i'll be
i'll go about my daily life
and know that i am free

i'm free to live on others lives
because old George believes
that killing is OK for oil
and no we are not thieves

And if confused i seem to you
well gee go read your speech
it seems that there's no reason
and it's all lies they preach

It's you or Bush that lies i think
and he's a Christian man
so he can't be who's lying
or do you think he can?

And if he's lying Allan
because your words are true
then why oh why don't you stand up
and do what you should do?

Tell Bush and Co and all the world
there's heaps of energy
and there's no need to kill or steal
and make them all to see

that you are full of confidence
about the coming peak
it's just a market re-adjust
and prices will be weak

and maybe then old George and co
will stop their killing spree
and everyone can just relax
and let the Muslims be

and maybe then in years to come
when everybody's cool
we might address the Israel thing
or am i just a fool?

Peak Oil for the Beginner

This was originally published in TU MAI on October 04

I’m a regular Kiwi bloke. Old generation though so I’m a bit set in my ways and find a lot of the new high-tech world a bit daunting at times. I do have a computer though. It seems without email and Google you’re nobody. Even my old mum spends her time ‘on line’ trading for old movies or swapping whakapapa research with people all over the world. Anyway, I got to using my computer and the internet to read about all sorts of amazing things, I had been so proud of my Encyclopaedia Britannica too. Poor thing sits lonely and unused now. Looks great though on my bookshelf.

About five years ago I started reading about oil. I don’t know how I got there, I think I must have been reading some political blurb or some such and something I read got me thinking and asking questions. So I started to search. I started to read. I read for about three months and then I started to buy books. I kept reading. It’s been 5 years now and I am still reading and my bookmarks are like the index volume of my encyclopaedia and my bookshelves are full of books about oil and the politics of oil. I am still reading, still learning. And I am frightened. I am not frightened for me — I am an old fart and shuffling off this mortal coil would be a blessing on the world I am sure. I am frightened for my children and I am frightened for their children and I am frightened for my rellys and friends.

In all my reading I have had to get my head around things I never knew before — I have had to learn about economics, history, sociology and above all the politics of power. I have to admit to a bit of education — I have a degree in science (straight A’s too) and I have most of a degree in surveying which helped get me work in the coal industry for a few years — mostly spent playing cards at the ‘crib’ — some off-cut hole in the ground where we miners had our lunch and smoko, (though of course you can’t smoke in a coal mine). I know a bit about the energy business from the ground down so to speak.

I am frightened because I have a good grasp of what is coming. I can’t tell you the future, I don’t have crystal ball skills (hmm, must Google that), but I can imagine what might eventuate. And what might eventuate, what seems most likely to eventuate, is catastrophe. Utter, total catastrophe. Our world, our wonderful world, of low cost airfares, fantastic quality goods, superb cars, marvellous communications and boundless supermarket shelves is all built on oil or its partner in all ways — gas. All of our food, every single morsel you eat is dependent, heavily dependent, on oil and gas. The world is as we know it only because of oil and gas.

In 1956 a man named Marion King Hubbert (not to be confused with our own Dick Hubbard or Scientology’s L. Ron Hubbard) predicted that the USA would ‘peak’ in oil production about 1970 — that was 14 years before the event. He was right, but for more than 14 years he was ridiculed and demonised by other oil people, economists, journalists and politicians. So what’s this ‘peak’? It is a tad technical but it is basically like this — when you have used half of something (like oil) from that point onwards you can only get less. You might have read in the Listener last year (March) an article by an Otago University professor of Geology Richard Sibson titled ‘Falling Off Hubbert’s Peak’. You might browse your local bookstore and spot The End of Oil by Paul Roberts. You might hearken to those who claim that the war in Iraq is all about oil. You might have been following the financial news of late and noticed the link between share market indexes and the price of oil.

Really, to not see how important oil has become to our way of life you just have to be blind. Think about it. Everything in your house, even the entire house, has got to be where it is because it was hauled there with oil. Many many of the things in the house are made of oil — all your plastics, much of your clothing, your paint, all your high-tech gear — is either made of oil or was built with something made of oil or was enabled by the power of oil. All of your food, all of it, even if you are a vegan, even if you only buy GE-free, organics it is only available to you because of oil. Even you gardeners who grow your own can only do so because of oil. All of your fertilisers and herbicides, all of our farming, all of our agricultural commodities, everything, is only as it is because of oil and gas.

And it is going to run out. Not tomorrow and not instantaneously but it will run out. As it starts to run out oil will become more and more expensive. Nations will fight over it. There will be war and famine. The huge populations of the North will seek escape from the increasingly impossible situation there and those who have the money will flee seeking any place that they and their kids might survive. They will flee here. It’s already started. Go ask your local solar energy retailer who they are getting most of their business from and you will find it is rich Americans setting up fortresses on Kiwi farming blocks that they have bought for a song. More and more, as we stay in the dark, those who fear what is coming will seek out this place hoping that salvation from the worst might be found here. What are you going to do about it? What are we going to do about it? We do not have much time — maybe 5 years. In that time you have to establish yourself so well that when the crunch comes you can hope for survival — for you and your kids.

The Lord’s Prayer

2004

On request by Robert Atack


Our Oilmen, who art in Washington
Hallowed be thy Names.
Thy kingdom come.
Thy will be done,
In Iraq as it is in Washington.

Give us this day our daily gas.
And forgive us our lying ways,
As we ignore those who protest against us.
And lead us not into depletion,
But deliver us from shortage.
For ours is the kingdom,
and the power,
and the glory,
for ever and ever.

Amen

Napalm 21 (Psalm 21)

2004

On request by Robert Atack


George Bush is my oil man – I shall not want
He makes me down to lie
In Oil lands rich; He leadeth me
And those that speak out shall die.

My tank he doth restore again;
And me to drive doth make
and for the God of commercial gain
The world’s last oil he’ll take

Yea, though I drive for miles and miles
Yet I will fear no ill
For George will find the gas I need
My SUV he’ll fill

My gas tank he hast furnished
despite our Arab foes
My life he dost with oil anoint
And my tank overflows

Goodness and mercy all my life
Shall surely follow me;
And in the white house forevermore
His dwelling place shall be.

All My Life I’ve Waited

2004

On request by Robert Atack


Well all my life I’ve waited and waited patiently
for an honest politician or two or three maybe
someone to spur my faith in men and women who might lead
some bright and honest leader not consumed by power and greed

I’ve waited nearly 50 years and watched you all go by
from left and right and center I’ve seen you have a try
I’ve heard you all, your ways and means, I’ve even followed polls
I’ve sometimes even had a vote and joined electoral rolls

but mostly I’ve grown sick and tired of waiting for my vote
there’s never seemed to be a point and so this poem I wrote
it’s written to you leaders, you lot who seek to lead
who take our hard earned money and let the country bleed

you think you have a mandate to choose the way we go
you even think you have the right to judge what we should know
you all assume you’re smarter and know the ins and outs
the ropes of legislation - cause we’re all dumb-ass louts

and so with little more at all than just ideals and whim
we’re very soon committed - and all must sink or swim
you’re led around by snout and ear by lobbyists with cash
and wined and dined like royalty and dressed to cut a dash

you stand in pomp and circumstance delivering address
while all your social policy becomes a stinking mess
I’ve met so many leaders and members prom-in-ent
and listened to them speak their case, considered their intent

but not a one, not ever, has piqued my confidence
nor even ever made me think that they are ought but dense
how many of you have a clue as much as even me?
I know that I am better schooled than you will ever be

and yet you think to lead us, to be our heart and soul
but none of you have any clue what should be now our goal
the peak in productivity of oil and gas has come
and very soon a world of shit is what it will become

I used to think the Greens maybe would lead us through the mess
but no, Jeanette Fitzsimmons even seems to not care less
for other things important are playing on her mind
and winning seats in parliament is all her work you’ll find

and that’s the crux, the problem of our democracy
it’s geared to periods too short or so it seems to me
before you’ve had a chance to forge some hope that we might win
again the time as come to vote and change the shit we’re in

but that is all you ever do you leaders at the top
and I forever wonder when this mess will ever stop
I watch my kids and grandkids grow and all the time I think
that maybe they will perish soon in all your mess and stink

I beg you now to stand up tall and start to make a change
to fight for true democracy that seems to you so strange
democracy is not at all a case of win and rule
democracy means citizens - a massive voting pool

where every single law you make is argued by us all
not argued just between you dolts then forced upon us all
come greens and Limbaugh lovers come independents too
come lefties too I beg you there’s much for you to do

start looking out beyond just now and educate us all
and seek to make this country one where we can all stand tall
try looking now at Sweden where they all know what comes
and guide us with a loving heart and please stop being bums

the future will be horrible we educated know
and now we want our leaders too to know the way to go
try speaking out more bravely, try speaking out at all
try giving up your party goals and save us from the fall

for Olduvai is coming (go google that and read)
the peak of oil will cause a crash so bad that we will need
a nation geared to live it through a people bold and brave
and so my good and noble readers here I end my rave

Tribute to Robert Atack - Oilcrash.com

2004

First Published: Oilcrash.com

Our hero sought to save us all
but we refused to hear
he worked and slaved to teach us
with rising dread and fear

“you must perceive” he cried and cried
but all we did was jeer:
“there’s plenty left” was our reply
our leaders gave a sneer:

“extremist people just like you
don’t understand the game
it’s market forces we obey
and shifting votes and blame”

“just understand the price will rise
and magic will ensue
the market it will save us
not idiots like you”

and so our hero hung his head
and wrung his hands with pain
his heart was torn with fear and dread
at all our children’s pain

for he looked ever onward
towards the coming fall
with grim anticipation
with what could kill us all

and though he thought to give it up
his calling and his quest
he summoned up his mighty will
and dug deep for his best

and so the years unfolded
and soon the Peak had come
but we all smiled and laughed aloud
’cause we knew what he’d done

he’d saved us from our ignorance
he’d fought our lazy ways
he’d banged our heads with words of truth
cause he’s the one who stays

we thank you dearly Robert
we understand it now
we know that we are worthless yobs
but you love us anyhow

Fill Up Your Attic With Brand New Shoes

2004

first published: Oilcrash.com

Fill up your attic with brand new shoes
a pair a week until the oil-crash news
pick sizes and styles that will sell and last
because when there’s no cars shoes wear out fast

Don’t tell a soul (I intend no pun)
you can’t defend against a grim mans gun
pack some for you - you’ll need some too
and maybe some tacks and maybe some glue

and all the things that strugglers need
some axes and shovels and long-life seeds
and fishing tackle and guns and bows
and books on things that nobody knows

and needles and thread and lots of wool
and keep it up ’til your attic is full
tell no-one at all not even your kin
just store it and wait for the fun to begin

and maybe those shoes will be worth more than gold
and worth more than diamonds whenever they’re sold
and with care and with skill your attic will be
a bank for your future, just try it and see


if you liked this you might also like I can still remember the time before the crash

I Can Still Remember the Time Before the Crash

2004

originally published: oilcrash.com

I can still remember the time before the crash
when we all drove around in cars and I had lots of cash
and anything I wanted, I’d just go out and buy
I’d even drive a mile or two - just to buy a pie

but then the oil wars started and everything collapsed
the supermarket shelves were stripped before a month elapsed
and people all turned really grim and gained a hungry look
we’d steal from anyone at all we’d kill for things to cook

and everywhere disease and grief and bodies left to rot
while gangs of grim and brutal men would kill and steal and plot
and people fled the cities and countless numbers died
and everything was so so bad not even mothers cried

our house was one of many then, a normal family home
but it was stripped and burnt for fuel when we had left to roam
and I remember mum and dad, my little sister too
but they were killed and eaten back sometime in ‘22

and now I know I’m dying, I’ve left no living heirs
nobody is alive to know there’s not a soul who cares
there’s only me so damned hungry I’m gnawing at the trees
there’s no-one left to kill and eat oh God please help me please

and as I stagger on and on through burnt and plundered homes
I see the the signs of rage and ruin and countless human bones
I hear the starving pack of dogs that follow close behind
and I am now so close to death I hardly even mind

I fall and screaming dogs begin to rip and shred my life
my mind drifts back to days of oil and to my kids and wife
oh life was so so simple then and life was so so good
but all we had we wasted, we never understood


if you liked this you might also like for our sons and daughters too

pack my things and go

Song - 2002


city life has really got me down
i walk the streets with a long long frown
it's all the same when i look around
aint no happiness to be found
i guess i'll pick myself up and go
back to the mountains all covered in snow
(back to the snow covered mountains that i used to know)

i met a city girl, she was nice to me
sophisticated and so pretty
she introduced me to the big city
but things are not the way they used to be
i guess i'll pick myself up and go
back to the (quiet) mountains all covered in snow
(back to the snow covered mountains that i used to know)

i find the city pace a bit too much
seems to me that i don't have the touch
don't seem to handle all the rage and rush
i  really can not understand the fuss
i guess i'll pick myself up and go
back to the (beautiful) mountains all covered in snow
(back to the snow covered mountains that i used to know)

I know it's me and not the city folk
but really sometimes i feel like a joke
just want to play guitar and drink and smoke
i think it's maybe i'm a country bloke
i miss the mountains and i miss the snow
so i'll just pack my things and get up and go

hiding in the dark

song 2002

i'm your secret you keep me hidden in the dark
hidden lover but of your life i have no part

we have a secret code we use when you want me to be there
"roses pizza" baby means i'm standing on your stair

i'm nobody baby anybody knows about
so when the doorbell rings you have tell me to get out

i don't know just how long i can handle being someone
nobody knows about or realises that i'm so in  love with you
i'll do what you want me to
even if it means i'm hiding in the dark


we can't walk together hand in hand along the city street
we don't know who might see us or who we just might meet

we can't sit together in a fitzroy restaurant
we can't kiss and hug in public even if it's what we want

i'm your lover baby and i'm so in love with you
i'm your hidden lover baby please tell me you are true

when i lie alone at night thinking only that i want to be with you
please baby tell me what to do
to stop me crying while i lie here in the dark

Bazil

This is the story of Bazil. As stories go it is not a great story like the stories you read about in the paper. Nor is it a famous story like the story of the life of Laurence of Arabia. It may make you smile in places and it might make you laugh. But in the end you might think that it was more than just a story about Bazil - and you would be right.

Bazil came into our lives when we lived in the Blue Mountains of New South Wales. In those days we were young and we had a young son named Aaron though we all called him Chester after Chester Burnett - a famous blues singer who's picture had hung above the crib and then the bed that Chester slept in for some years.

Margaret and I were invited to pick from the litter of a fox terrier that belonged to one of our friends. The litter was a funny mixture as can sometimes occur with dogs for there had seemingly been more than one sire. One of these was known to have been Shadow - a giant of a dog and pure-bred German Shepherd.

I can see your mind wondering how such a union might have been accomplished - and we certainly thought up a few hilarious solutions ourselves - most of which placed Sloan (the bitch) on various pieces of furniture during the act.

Anyway, I was very lucky to be first to choose for Bazil was the obvious choice - he was absolutely darling. He looked exactly like a small furry fox. When I sat at the door of the garden shed where they were whelped, he immediately came to me and i picked him up and smiled. This was the one. There was no question.

Bazil was returned to the litter so that he could be weaned at six weeks. Not long after we picked him up (with many a sigh of loss by the owner who was now aware of the uniqueness of this pup). Bazil became one of the family and Chester was elated for every boy wants and needs a dog to love.

There are so many stories i could tell you about Bazil. We were living out of a bus and travelling a lot when he was a young dog - he went everywhere with us.

In Sydney, during peak rush hour shopping we could leave him at the door of a department store and tell him to stay - and we could come back hours later and he'd still be there - he would wait and if anyone tried to pick him up he would evade them. He was a cool dog.

Once we stopped at a beach and parked for a bit before moving on. Nobody noticed he was not with us when we took off and it was late and i drove for hours before realizing he was gone.

We did not see him for a long time - many weeks until eventually someone found us through the university i had gone too.

I took a train way out of Sydney to somewhere out of Hornsby. I had to walk for miles afterwards. When i got to the house where he was and walked through the door he jumped clean off the ground higher than my head and danced around my shoulders like a crazy bird yelping as if to say "i missed you so much, i'm soo happy to see you".

The people were sad too because they were hoping that he would be happier with them because well gee, he was just a special special being.

I took him back on the train in my duffle bag because it was not allowed to have a dog on the train.

Another time we were in the mountains - we took a run along a track that ran parallel to those awesome cliffs you might have seen if you've ever been to Katoomba - hundreds of feet of sheer faces. Really amazing day. We came to a place where we had to get across a gap maybe a hundred feet deep and a few feet wide - and on the other side the ground was at least 6 feet higher than that we were standing on.

There was a small but sturdy tree there that i leapt across and grabbed. Then, holding on to the tree with one hand i swung back and whipped Margaret and Chester up beside me. Leaving Basil whimpering with worry behind on the rock.

I leaned down and crooked my arm and said "Bazil you just have to jump and let me catch you and i showed him my arm and yelled "come on Bazil".

He inched up to the edge of the cliff, looked down, took a sudden few steps back and looked up at me with a look on his face that was unmistakably the dog equivalent of "are you completely crazy? Do you honestly expect me to jump over THAT?

In a very level voice i explained to him: "Bazil, there's no other way for you to get over here - you just have to jump and trust me."

He looked at me and his face fell - it was if he was saying "bummer". He inched up to the cliff edge again and looked down. He looked up at me again with a huge "please don't make me do it".

I said "Bazil. You can do it mate. You are the best dog anyone ever had. You can do anything. Now JUMP!"

Margaret and Chester called too. "You can do it Bazil - come on boy."

And he jumped. Right into the air in reach of my arm - right over that hundred foot drop.

I dropped him down beside us and he just went berserk with excitement as if to say "see, see what i done! Aren't i just the most amazingly brave dog in the world yippy!" And we were all over him with admiration too.

What a dog. What a being. He was so much like a person. So very much it was awesome.


if you liked this story you might also like "Creature" 

the cat and the sailor

Once upon a time a sailor came home from many long years at sea. he had a knarled beard and wore the scars of many close encounters. when he took up again in his old home, strange yet quietly comfortable, nestled in a sheltered cove by the sea, he discovered that a cat lived there with it's three kittens and there was an old tom too to be seen on days when he was not cataworling with the neighbouring toms, sleeping in the sun on the roof of the laundry.

The sailor was familiar with cats for there had always been one or two aboard ship. There had been a cat on his last ship who would not be tamed though he had spent many contemplative moments stroking her in the sun at the tiller.

But this cat was different for the sailor felt immediate affinity for her though she was shy to the touch and would always bound away at the moment he tried to stroke her. Nor would she let herself be caught in a room alone with him.

So they lived on for some years, the Sailor working at sails and tackle and the cat moving in and out of his life. And they learned to talk to each other. Sometimes across the old rock wall at the back of the house, sometimes in the little flower garden in the courtyard. He would talk as he'd always talked, from the heart as innocent as he was when he was a child. And she would talk to him.

Once when the sailor was deep in thought he saw the cat before him and she was waving her paw in the air. It caught his attention and for a moment he was sure the cat was actually waving to him. He saw as he cleared his thoughts that a small  butterfly was dancing tentatively before her and she was playfully pawing at it. He had not seen the butterfly at first.

Still from that day to this he called her his little wave.

A wild wind was blowing from the south one day when the sailor realised he had not seen the cat for some time. It was cold and though he left the door invitingly open to a room with a hot fire and the smell of cooking food, the cat did not venture to the door. He and the cat had in two years not shared a room but this was the wildest night he had ever known in this part of the world.

He refrained from calling to her for he felt a bit silly sometimes to think that he had become so attached to the cat. It was after all just a cat and had obviously lived here quite succesfully without him. Why need he worry?

But he did. It grew on his mind for hours and into a day and the weather grew more rough. He started looking about the house but though it be rock strong, there were not many places even for a cat to hide. He searched the roof and the old fireplace in the laundry. He looked in the small boat shed and under his upturned boat.

He looked everywhere. And then he called. At first it was quiet and self conscious "kitty" "kitty" but the was no answering wew. He became desperate for the weather was now so rough that he feared for her life.

He went back to his warm fireplace to recover from the cold numbness that he felt, and as he warmed his hands standing before the fire, contemplating where else he could look, he saw her calm and safe, snuggled in one of his old sea jackets and his heart leapt.

She was home.

with me

Nov 1998


nice girls so hard to find
though many of them blow my mind
they're always so so soon snapped up
and gone

and once or twice a magic girl
with mind and spirit
does unfurl
my mind

with song of deep awakening
and stomach gripping aching me
and yearn and yearn and find no peace in words

but i will be here patiently
and yearn alone expectantly
oh hoping soon my girl to see

so long of leg and perfectly
oh woman i want you to be
i need i need for you to be

with me

I hate him

Nov 1998

i see him quite often sometimes
across the street
he is not so repulsive from there
and sometimes i stop and look
and he looks back

we don't often speak
we have, but the words
typicallly an echo of sneery grunts
for i do not like him
nor he me

i see him up close sometimes
then i am driven almost to hate
his uglyness,
his face a mask of pent up pain and sorrow
finds no pity in me

sometimes it is many months between
our meetings face to face
and almost i do not know him
but those eyes, he can not hide form me
and i always turn and walk away

i've known him a long time
i used to think he was pretty cool
smart, good looking, quick of wit
and even good with girls
i even loved his skill with sounds

but that was long ago
his past crimes have led me to dispise his ways
to hate him to his face
to laugh at his self esteem
for i know better, ah yes i do

i wish that we would never meet again
and death to him seems to me so just
and way way late in coming
i've contemplated
yes, i've thought to take his life

but i am not so good myself
and i have never found the strength of will
or courage
to do this deed so due
so i just wait and hope

i hope it will not be long

Ode to Wild Oscar

Nov 1998


what swelling is this?
this chest that once was shrunken
super-vacuum heart-hole

what sound is this?
a pattern?
a rythem that once, yes, i know that pattern

but is this just another case of chase
and catch and scratch?
snatch?

do i let my nose lead me?
my mind surely knows where my heart has been
come out?

what feelings are these
fear
simple fear, reluctance
quell, push it down escape escape

run - do not let it happen again
fool
listen to your head it knows

listen to your head
hello?
is there anybody there? Coowee?

poor sod
he'll never learn
some poof said it best, well may he rest

מים חיים (maim chaim - water of life)

April 1999

i seek a refuge of the mind 

a haven of the soul 

that place where standing i can rest 

or sit in peace 

there are no easy places 

there seems no hidden parks 

no solace in reason 

no rest from who i am 

but here and there an island 

elusive 

calls with salted tang of green and lush 

and i am called to stroke 

verdant moist and coolness high 

promise of clean and flowing crystal sounds of light 

that break in splendour on harsh rocks 

made luring, livid - splash of freedom 

where others dwell in soft acceptance 

there i go 

and who will be there i don't know 

enormous clouds make play of my mind 

perhaps you know?

A closed and empty hall

Nov 1998

how months and years can pass me by and leave me yet unchanged

the pain an open wounded heart unburied still remains

and all the feelings flooding back that sweep and let me fall

amid the ruin of my grief a closed and empty hall

i pace the room and think of you then try and try to sleep

my wearied eyes and aching hands no task that calls can keep

and when i shake the tempest off and finally look 'round

a week or month has passed again but nothing have i found

i hate these little deaths that come without the dreams of sleep

without the end that calls to me for which i sometimes weep

the waking from them leaves me cold and lost and deep in dread

that years of this may come and go - much better to be dead

but it is not God' way i'm told and all the sages say

and so i wash my face and try to face another day

the mirror shows me growing old an empty room behind

an empty house an empty heart a closed and empty mind

these lines are all i find to lance and let my feelings out

to let my grief and ageless loss become a silent shout

this scream perhaps will echo from some distant valley wall

and find a way to break into a closed and empty hall

And praise Ha Shem

Nov 1998


i'm a dad and when i die
i do not wish my friends to cry
i do not wish my child to sit
nor enemies to think of it
perhaps each one in place of tears
or smiles that come throughout the years
might take a coin maybe a note
and to some lowly beggar quote
"rise up you lot and praise Ha'Sh-m"

I ask you all to think of them
those worlds that passed before
each world a mighty universe
that goes on dor l'dor
for they am i and we are they
and all of us belong
to All that is and All that was
so death ends not our song
rise up your lot and praise Ha'Sh-m

and when you do, hear my amen

murray

1998


in the end
i ripped words from my soul
and threw them smouldering at your feet
you turned and ran in fear
looking down i saw what i had done
a shattered and useless heart
i have tried to fix it
i have tried to hide it from myself
it cut my hands


i wander very lost
all directions are the same


none lead back to you


i might as well seek one wave in the sea


one little wave

Italian business

1998

it's all become so pointless
the reasons all so vague
the "why"s have all just faded
even "why not"s are a plague

another dingy hotel room
a long way from my home
another foreign boring meal
eaten on my own

another day with driven youths
all stary eye'd and keen
another faded afternoon
the morning quite unseen

and watching old and ugly men
wash down their pasta meals
with cheap and nasty hotel wine
i wonder how that feels

and soon i'll trudge up to my bed
alone with CNN
it's all that i can understand
though it drives me round the bend

at least the French have BBC
and cheap and goodly wine
but what-the-hell i'll read and sleep
and dream my dreams divine

Beggars on a Train

1998

She can't have been more than seven
an "almost" accordion
tunelessly, noisily but not loud
clutched in her little hands

she came to each of us
her eyes looking, seeing, knowing
- to me she held out her hand
and maybe 30 francs i gave
she ran back to the old women
old before their time

she showed them the riches in her hand
looking to me with a smile
they all looked

soon, the oldest woman was sitting,
staring, pleading
across from me
i did not know her words
but her meaning was clear
3 children, i have 3 children to feed

again i gave
more she pleaded
until i was without change
enough only to escape
still the guilt of my meager wealth i felt

she had eyes still quite beautiful
quite beautiful

Where do we Go?

1998

where do we go to Lord?
on our wings of steel
an ever increasing flock of folk
building need on action
Babel towers
cities beyond the dreams of our fathers
and our birds beyond belief
fly from each to each
unending
and i only one

So many Lord

1998

So many
so very very many
we fulfilled the Clause Lord
we went forth and multiplied
what now Your plan
for us?
or do You scratch Your Head
like me?

(i know that You do not scratch
but do You itch a little?)

If only i could paint

1998

the morning light in Paris
inspires me
even ugly ticky-tacky
has beauty in this light
soft and gentle
clean, defining
ah, if only i could paint

to a poet

1998

i grew up with your songs
i sang them too (and played)
your Donna made me cry
and still, at times
the wind you sought to catch
is the very same that blows
through the corridors of my life

and then i met you - hale and hearty still
and though i tried
to say how much you meant
i could not find the way
my commitments took me
and you are gone

a moment treasured
and another moment lost
be well my friend
be well and sing your poems
for such as you
come only time to time



I was working in Rome - i'd been flown there from Melbourne after having only had one day to recover from having returned from France. I was pretty tired. The company i was working for had put me up at a hotel near to where i had to work for the whole weekend. It was pretty nice. It was there that i first experienced one of the most divine dishes i have every had - "three cheeses" pasta. Words can not do justice to that meal. I remember taking some from the buffet expecting it would be like some pasta i had had in Australia - just so so. But when i got back to my table and forked a little into my mouth my whole life changed. It was just so totally overwhelming. Delicious does not describe it. It was literally life changing.

The next evening i went back for more - that was i think the Friday. The hotel restaurant was almost empty. I sat alone with a book and took a sip of my wine while i looked around. There was another man, bearded, sitting alone at a nearby table - i lifted my glass in greeting to him and he beckoned me over to join him.

We sat and ate and drank wine and talked for hours about life after having introduced each other by first name. He was really quite delightful - very interested in everything i was doing and what i had done. The talk drifted to how i had played music for years before i had started my IT business. He asked me a lot about music and it was not long before i was telling him about those musicians who had most influenced me. At one stage i even sang him one of my favorite songs "Donna" by Donovan.

He smiled at that and said that i had sung the song really well. There was something about that smile. Donovan. That was the name he had given me when we introduced ourselves.

THAT Donovan!

I was embarrassed to have not recognized him but he was so much older than the very young man i had only known from  record covers. He laughed it off.

He asked me if i could still play the mandolin. I told him yes indeed, it's been one of my greatest loves. Then he asked me if i would like to come and join him on stage for his concert the next night. He would provide me with a mandolin.

Me? On stage with Donovan? Are you kidding? Yes oh yes yes please.

Oh what a total fool am i. You know, the following day i had to work on a sale that required a lot of technical input at Italy's biggest telecommunications company - and they had supplied me with a whole team of technical people to work with. All through the time i was there i knew but would not admit to myself that the sale would go nowhere - that these conniving Italians were just bleeding me of all i knew of the technology so they could build their own version of what i had done. I knew it yet i kept at it even when on Saturday the work dragged on and on and as the deadline for me to leave to go to the concert drew near and passed i became more and more depressed.

I never got to go and play the mandolin for Donovan. I never even got to see him again because the next day i had to fly out again to go to France.

So sorry Donovan - if you ever read this i hope you know that i have regretted missing that opportunity ever since.

But thanks so much for what you did give me because that was a great night and not because you are "Donovan" but because it was the only time in all my travels that i enjoyed dining with someone so gracious and friendly.

p

New Idolatry

1998

We squabble for the pennies of the poor
our towers of glass and steel?
cathedrals - nothing more
our hymns? - commercial jingles
our "priests" are CEO's
and all of us bow down to growth
who are we?
heaven knows.

Lord i blunder

1998

Lord i Blunder
    do you wonder why i fail?
i am less than perfect Lord
my skill with people is as war
for i fear all and myself most

Lord i fail
    to make each moment wonderful
i have given hurt and insult
i am so often neglectful
of the feelings and needs of others

Lord i cry
    and why when all your work astounds?
for myself yes - and for others, for all my kind
their pain and loss and their fear
i feel it all Lord and stagger from the weight

Lord i die
    and who am i to hope for otherwise?
i feel it coming, each second, minute, hour
the end is not far away and what have i done?
what good have i been?

what tasks for me Lord?
   that will make what little is left of value?

Oh Sleep

1998

Oh Sleep
escape from all my pain
come, let us walk together
i can not stand
or sit
in peace
awake

Crowded Airport

1998

sadness and wonder build up inside me
sitting, watching, listening
amid thousands of moving faces
worlds each, as mine

how can i feel anything but alone
amid so many?

I've looked for a familiar face
but all are
and none at all

i've searched the eyes of others
a flicker of companionship
but each world focuses on itself
and i am alone with mine
and it feels empty
and hollow

who will be my star?

1998

they see me as i try to be
full of life, positive, supportive
i give and give
for they are children lost as i
and every little helps
but alone, after
this me, the one alone
despairs and trembles
for who will guide me
who will be my star?

"I have a dream"

1998

"I have a dream" he said
i thought "big deal"
but he was serious
and sought again to share his dream
i walked away
he stood and watched me go
for i looked back
suddenly angry at the troubled look
in his eyes

Another offered me his dream to share
and he too i denied
and looking back i wonder why
for he is now a mighty name

others came and went
and all i declined
for i was not a man to share
what another freely offered from his heart

and now?

i walk amid my fellow man
"i have a dream" i say
but their eyes lack faith
and i watch them go
sadness in my heart
for now i know

Transit Lounge in Hong Kong

1998

Transit Lounge in Hong Kong
Lord i hate this place
please Lord send me an Aussie
or a familiar Kiwi face
a Pom would do (but not a yank)
a German would be fine
Just any English speaking sod
or soon i'll lose my mind

pain

1998

an outcast
from earliest memories
a fringe dweller
tarred with the brush of many hatreds
no group to call mine
not even one besmeared by aeons

the street welcomed me, the gutter
then years of self neglect
and "sin" that to us was life
and further, deeper, lower
so that even my mother
did not know me

you slept in feathered comfort
and I shivered on a grave
you ate your fill of plenty
my last penny bought sour milk
you had an education
I stole books and hid them from my peers
you went to piano lessons
I breathed life into the mouth of a dying junky

I finally sought death full throttle
Hess and Nitche cheered me on
and I'd have found that sweetness too
but Gods plan is strange
so to me a son
and a wife from a long dead mother
and I had to struggle on

and I did it too
climbed slowly up, often falling
clawing, dragging others on my way
and earning never any praise
or comfort or ease
for my peers did not see what I had done
or did not care

and many many hard hard years
(the tracks now all are healed)
and made I others greater than they could have known
but what gave they me?
calumny and selfishness and greed
and from the heights I'd climbed
I painfully looked down
and saw I'd come but a single step

now? I've lived, I really have
I've seen the world and built
raised a family and traded fairly
made that others might live too
and still in humble clothes I tread
not caring for the trappings
nor for the praise
giving freely even my last pennies to the poor

so why this?
I had never expected anything in life but death
and hid my heart deep deep deep inside
until one day a stranger who like me had climbed
dug out my heart and gave me back a life
but Gods plans are strange again
for it was not to be
and from my lofty place I fell
and fell and fell
and I am falling still

and for the first time
I know real pain

An infinite surprise of poets

1998

Gods gift: our soul, peeks out sometimes
when poets fall in love
for every cell of being cries
the praise of God above
and from such love come mighty things
an infinite surprise
of poets new who'll speak of love
and open all our eyes

I have no words

1998

an outcast
i have no words of worth
only these
pointless ramblings of a confused fool

i have no direction to go
each way leads to nowhere
and i feel tugged violently there

i have no heart or warmth
a hole, an emptyness
a place to hold despair

i have no worth, no value
what point to help others
when any action could lead to disaster

i have no soul, no God
for i am outcast
no korban can ever be enough

i have no future to see
there is darkness only
and vision has left me

i have no more words at all

After a death

Strange man it seems
There is a constant flow of people in and out
all giving support to the widow
I talk to some and it seems that none of them ever really listened to him
They knew him as the man they'd take their lawn-mower to and he'd fix it
They had "known" him for many years
yet they did not know him at all
I used to go over when he and i were both alone
and we would sip whiskey and i'd listen to his stories
he had had such an amazing life i could listen for hours
he and i used to agree on so many things and i felt very comfortable with him
i never bothered him with my own affairs (i was after all the younger man)
though he would generously ask about how my business was going
because i travel so much now i always dropped off something for him on my return
sometimes cigarettes, other times a "loto" ticket from abroad
i'd been away a long time recently and had not seen him
i guess i should have noticed he was not around much the week i came back
i sought him out a few times as i usually do, hanging 'round the woodpile
waiting to see him come out of the house
i though not much of it
so full of my own troubles

we talked of God once or twice
he claimed a strange agnosticism that was both deeply spiritual and quaint
in his own way he was at peace with the universe
but something changed while i was away
and i was no help when he obviously needed it
now i look at my changed world
changed not just by his death but so many other things
and wonder what's for me and mine
i guess i will stick around a while
a Steppenwolf
a watcher
what else can i do?

(Ah Paganini do i hear you call?)

why do you not seek me out?

1998


I know that you are lonely
like me you feel alone
and we are not the only ones
from whom the "life" as flown

but really you revel in it
(or you and I would meet)
for something stops you wanting love
(so why then do you bleat?)

I'm alone, and cry for help
for just a quiet friend
who'll care not "what" i am or "who"
and seeks no other end

a quiet friend to share some words
a true and honest test
of what lies at the heart of you
and what in me is best

cry out to me I beg of you
cry out and call my name
cry out to me when you're in need
cry out when you're aflame

but no, I think we'll never meet
we'll never share some time
we'll never find a common ground
and it seems to me a crime

for I will sit and click and hope
that mail to me has come
from someone who has thoughts of me
oh God let there be some

Oh God let there be some

Let he who is without sin

They have come. They came in quiet groups, some alone, others with their children. Sitting here on the hard ground, numb from my night in the cold, numb from all the months of turmoil and pain, i thought at first that they had tied me here to spend the night in contemplation of my sin - but now i see their eyes i know that it was not so. They, it seems, are the ones about to die. There is pain in every face. Even the children seem to understand. I feel a cold tear form and role down my face as my gaze meets the eyes of the ones i have hurt. I look for hatred and maybe it is there but i see only pain.

The first man stoops and picks up a stone. I watch, it seems so slow, so very slow and otherworldly and i feel the weight of the rock in his hand. I feel the effort as he throws back his arm in preparation. He throws and turns his head for it is clear that he does not want to behold the result of his throw. The rock passes by my ear and clatters to the rocks behind but though i hear every sound i heed it not for now i watch as all stoop and reach for their stone. I see their lips move. A silent litany that i join.

The rocks are flying now and i feel the first stab of pain though it seems more like a caress. I watch in fascination as they let fly their blessings, none it seems will look where their stone might land though i reach out to them to tell them not to worry, that i feel only relief.

My mind is slipping away now for i have taken many wounds and death is near. I watch he who i have most harmed stoop and carefully choose a stone. His eyes are full of tears but resolute as he takes careful aim and hurls. And now i can rest.

and you and i and God i cry

how you fare from day to day
as each is further from us
how you survive the pain
are you recovered now?
what thoughts you have...
i wish to hold your hand and say it is ok
but you are taken away for good
or ill
(and i'm still sick oh yes)
thoughts of you still fill my waking life
my dreams now are suppressed
for fear of thoughts that terrify

drunken nights alone
the shower for my rain
until it runs as cold as the death of us
and staggering, broken, death demands
i cry
aloud
and pitiously wimper to my bed
oh where are you my love and how
and why oh why the stars so intricate
did wheel away our fire
so now like frescoe hands but further
aye, much further
and still i cry
and what hope?

i seek now only God
and dare the Galileo Clan
to take that too
but we are stronger
God and I
than me and you
at least enough
i pray

gone

1998

I was once a poet
full of words and song
but that was yesterday
and yesterday is gone

So it Goes

1998

so it goes
and so it should
but then of course
we knew it would

Dream

1998

the torment of my mind is but a shadow of a dream
where all the way i run to find a place where i can scream
and i am lost inside myself not knowing where i go
and words just flow from somewhere else just why i never know
they flow from me unbidden and come to life themselves
in streams of understanding where my wonder often dwells
and here again am i in search of where it is i go
but there is never clue or reason just that it is so

The World Set Free

1998

i wish with all my heart and soul a better man to be
than what i feel that i am now or failing i might be
that i might love my brother even as i love myself
is all that i aspire to do and all i want as wealth

i look at what i've done til now and realise the truth
that i have really done so little good with no excuse
i've placed my feelings to the fore forgetting those who weep
with hearts all torn and battered though they pray before they sleep

they pray for me unknowing that i've taken all they give
and now i feel the pang of guilt: they suffer and i live
The simple problems i endure seem nothing to the tide
of endless human suffering i see and feel inside

oh how can i make my amends and find that peace within
that comes from having given all oh where shall i begin?
For giving all is hardest yet when all has been hard won
and now that i have everything why should it be undone?

and there i see my weakness, my fall from grace revealed
that i wont offer up my lot so all the world is healed
and just as i am selfish and full of fear and greed
there walketh all my brothers too and all my brothers seed

what simple rule of Law revealed can make of me a man
what rule of thumb what simple guide what everlasting plan?
for now i need more than i am to be what i should be
'cause i am just a simple man who wants the world set free

a cast-off wasted monument

1998

I finally realised that i
       was wasting all my time
beseeching and emploring you
       to understand my mind
for you don't care you've had your fun
       and i'm a consequence
and though my life has been destroyed
       i have no sound defence
for you have made of me a lamb
       a sacrificial fool
a cast-off wasted monument
       to men who are but tools
for each and every wanton slut
       who's fickle short-term lust
has made of us a piece of meat
       and turned our hearts to dust

Dry Well

1998

i look up from my deep pit of depression
and see the brightness of the world
inviting but unreachable

In the darkness of my despair
i shake with the cold of my loneliness

a scream for help echoes up the walls of my pain
but disappears like a puff of smoke
into the uncaring brightness above

i am not so foolish as to expect a savior
i have examined my suffering walls well
i know every flaw and possible hold

i have tried many times to make my way out
but always i fall back
to my harsh rocks of solitude
where only an eternity of crying
offers hope of escape