David Stevens

Posts Tagged ‘poem’

Why aren’t you dreaming about fish, you bastard?

In Uncategorized on March 31, 2018 at 1:59 pm

 

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Night sky in the day time

In Uncategorized on March 23, 2018 at 10:03 am

Night sky in the day time

 

Relief after the storm

when rain washes the sky clear

grit and grain

drained away.

Awake to a sense of purity:

tensions resolved, static removed,

humidity vanished.

Walk outside

Bewildered at the streaks,

paint trailing at the bottom of a dome

See as you have never seen,

Darkly, though no longer through a glass.

Who knew the stars

were eyes?

Clustered, staring, unblinking

greedy.

Who knew the sky is a face?

The earth at your feet is a mouth,

full of teeth.

 

(with a nod to Laird Barron)

****

I miss Sydney thunderstorms – the urgent, commanding nature of weather that demands your full attention, slamming the skies, shaking your house. The cosy thrill / of knowing it can kill / while you are safe (-ish) indoors. And then afterwards, the air is clear and clean and everyone and everything can breathe so very deeply. Not like this monotonous seasons long European grey that wears you down until you are dead but you don’t realise. Dramatic much?

Twice we have heard thunderclaps here. Single individual booms. We waited, happy, ready for the follow up. Though it never came, we spoke about those thunder claps for days afterwards.

Mormon boys

In Uncategorized on March 5, 2018 at 5:47 pm

Lonely Mormons

far from home

wandering through the great apostasy.

Tempted by Coca Cola,

shunning coffee and other like beverages,

is your truth too good for me?

You rush to share it

with the pretty Asian girls.

Was there nothing on

those buried gold plates

Elohim wanted you

to share with me?

I’ll just have to cross my own desert.

Not for the first time.

*****

Those Mormon boys were hanging around Chinatown in Sydney, and no matter how many times I walked past, ready to talk to them about Joseph Smith, they were too busy sharing their truth with pretty girls.

Sralya Day

In Uncategorized on January 24, 2018 at 10:13 pm

Coming soon to a local park / race track / footy field / beach near you: Australia Day. You can tell by all of the people walking around dressed in Australian flags. Otherwise, you might not know that it is Australia Day, or that you are in Australia. And you wouldn’t want to make a mistake about that, there could be consequences. I still remember when Australia Day was a dusty little public holiday tucked away towards the back of the summer pack, hey a day off, thank you very much. Now it is a thing. Not unlike a sad party thing. So here is my yearly offering, an alleged poem, for Australia Day. There you go, get some culture into ya, ya bastard. Clear your plate, there’s plenty more. Now once more, with feeling …

FLAG DAY

It was Flag Day

so we wrapped ourselves in our flags

and went to the pub.

Everybody else had the same idea, but.

All the flags were the same

because we are all Flaglanders.

It would have been nice to wrap myself

in the flag of difference

but I was too scared.

Everyone looked the same.

The fun idea had become

A Sad Party Thing.

It doesn’t matter.

The flag unites us.

Our fear of looking different unites us.

All eyes are wary on Flag Day.

Everyone smiles with their mouths

as they lift their beers,

but all those eyes are looking about.

And those eyes are quick.

You don’t want to stand out.

Not on Flag Day.

There are no excuses.

It is not “I pay my taxes” day.

It is not “I am a human being, I have rights” day.

It is fucking Flag Day.

Alright?

You sad party thing.

Happy birthday Winnie the Wombat (not womb-bat)

In Uncategorized on December 16, 2017 at 10:47 am

Happy birthday, Winnie the wombat. You look fun and cuddly. But …

 

Wombats are big furry buggers that look like a giant crawling teddy bear and the unsuspecting say “oh cute, so cute” until they turn and outrun your wife and trip her over and you keep running you coward because you have soiled yourself you are so scared, they just keep running and you hear your wife scream because its stopped now, only a fallen victim will stop it, and you hear it, you hear her flesh being torn, it makes a ripping sound, and you cannot ever forgive yourself but you also hate her a little bit forever, because she cannot forgive you, and it is no consolation that the wombat does not eat the flesh, it tears and nuzzles for a moment then returns to its business, it does not eat her because it is a herbivore, but it rips her because it is a nasty big furry bugger, and it could answer the question if it could speak, it could tell you if your wife tastes like chicken, because it has tasted both even though it does not swallow, but even if it spoke, you would be too chicken shit to ask, you gutless wonder.  The relief you felt when she fell.

Not to be confused with the cryptid womb-bats. And what are they? you ask …

 

Womb-bats

The dry evening scurry

Falling leaves

Crackling open before

They hit the ground.

Tiny, not unnoticed as they swarm,

but unmentioned in polite company.

Huge amniotic eyes take in

the miracle of the world

each night.

Before the dawn,

unborn

Rustle along the sheets

A slight disturbance,

a shifting of knees

A minor annoyance

at the early morning turn,

the slight parting

as they enter

to nestle in.

Arts maritaux

In Uncategorized on November 24, 2017 at 7:53 pm

Everybody was kung-fu fighting

But I was kung-fu loving

Drunken Master

Mantis Style

Long Fist

Eight Extremes

White Lotus

Ah!

Paper Lace, 1974

In Uncategorized on November 23, 2017 at 7:28 pm

I.

Billy

Be a hero

The rest of us will creep out the back

Our wives were happy

Our kids were happy

They didn’t care about Billy

After all, their Dads came back.

 

II.

The night Chicago died

There was nothing good on TV

I went to bed early

and missed it all.

Dammit!

The Partridge Family

In Uncategorized on November 22, 2017 at 9:50 pm

The Partridge Family

I think I love you

But what am I so afraid of?

Cancer.

Drunk drivers.

Faces at the window.

Child abductors.

Prison.

Public speaking.

Rectal bleeding.

All the usual stuff.

Mormon boys

In Uncategorized on March 4, 2017 at 4:40 pm

Lonely Mormons

far from home

wandering through the great apostasy.

Tempted by Coca Cola,

shunning coffee and other like beverages,

is your truth too good for me?

You all rush to share it

with the pretty Asian girls.

Was there nothing on

those buried gold plates

Elohim wanted you

to share with me?

I’ll just have to cross my own desert.

Not for the first time.

*****

Those Mormon boys were hanging around Chinatown in Sydney, and no matter how many times I walked past, ready to talk to them about Joseph Smith, they were too busy sharing their truth* with pretty girls.

*In the words of Vyvyan#, “I’ve never heard it called that before”.

#When some pompous old bloke said he wanted to “protect” Felicity Kendall.%

%”Felicity, you fill me with electricity” – Rik

 

Lost in Venus

In Uncategorized on February 18, 2017 at 11:57 am

Sniff of chlorophyl

whiff of ether

Look down

fronds part and unfurl

cupping

leafy embrace

cool breeze

tugs you in

sinking the green

moss is velvet

plant yourself

lean in and

skin unfurls to mask you

the perfect kiss

inside out

you are draped

try to make sense

of distant calls

lose yourself in

the wind blowing

through her branches

are you dead

or are you

loving the alien?

***

 

lost on venus

lost on mars

press up against

foreign atmosphere

do you lose yourself

if you love the alien?