toyboy
When Wendy,
an antique in the saddle
& partial to toy boys
saw daddylonglegs, clearly dyslexic
bounding up the stairs she said,
‘my mobile vibrated in my handbag.’
Wendy, an absolutely exquisite bitch
with a wishing magnet up her arse
threw her eyes skyward and said,
‘shoving cynicism aside, size matters!’
‘That exquisite elusive dragonfly alighted on me,’ she said,
‘& he immediately began dry humping me hard & fast.’
Wendy always thought short & thick does the trick
but this young lusty lover had the most enormous cock,
the ultimate dummy, a giant lollipop.
Next morning the agonizing ecstasy of internal bruising
was a tough readjustment for her clit-quivering chemistry,
but she thought smiling at her smug image in the mirror,
‘Who needs the wine list if you can get pissed on the dessert.’
‘There was only outside chance of turning this
into something more than a quick shag,’ she said,
on reflection over coffee with her lady friends,
‘I remembered better sex with my wabbit.
That actually makes men totally redundant.’
After their concerned comments she said,
‘thank you kindly for all your eloquent
insightful dissection of the situation.
And no, there are no notches on the bedpost,
that as you know just damages exquisite woodwork.’
951
951 Gaspra a flora asteroid orbits the Sun between Mars and Jupiter.
Its rocky metallic surface is pocked with impact craters.
Saint Romuald born in 951 fucked himself stupid as a youth
& left home when he saw his daddy Sergius kill his opposite in a duel.
Rommy became a monk & wrote, ‘Empty yourself completely.
Sit waiting like the chick who tastes nothing & eats nothing
but what her mother brings him.’ He got canon’s eyes for that
& did rather well in real estate.
Emperor Shizong also known as Wuyu was a drunk who liked to hunt.
Wuyu took to the field in 951 & stopped Chinese advance.
He was butchered by his own officer after the battle.
Born 951 Grigor Narekatsi, Armenian monk, poet,
mystical philosopher & theologian.
Khosrov his father Khosrov was archbishop.
Grigor wrote ‘on exposing the unseen,
on the disclosure of secrets,
on laying open the cover up.’
Donald Rumsfeld, Champion of Aspartame 951 that sweet poison
& architect of the Iraq invasion said,
in an interview with the New York Times,
‘Oh my goodness gracious me, we can know an awful lot of what is going on
in this world by punching a mouse on its nose.
I’m standing here doing something & I think,
what in the world am I doing here?
It’s a big surprise.’
The Don once, ‘ferocious in pursuing what he wants’
now dwells in an adobe house, across from a working dairy farm.
His family has horses, a donkey, a mule, cats, and Reggie the dog.
Joyce his missus said, ‘Don has the Reaganesque fixation
with clearing brush and chopping wood.’
They ride, ski, hike, fish, and skate on the dairy farm pond.
The people of Iraq & Afghanistan must be wishing him well in his retirement.
Trout
Don’t mind the mind.
Mine is empty much of the time.
An empty mind is full of potential.
TROUT sat opposite me on the train
We were, strangers passing time just talking.
She said. “SPEED IS EVERYTHING.”
She stretched out her tattooed fingers.
She had etched TROUT on her right hand
SPEED on her left hand.
Sometimes I think about her.
If she’s not dead shell probably be a granny.
If you meet her say ‘hello’ from me.
Love her smiling eyes.
on a railcar NZ 1966
Cicadas & Locusts
Cicadas drum their feet on their bellies to make sweet mating music.
Locusts rub their legs together like the old man playing melodies on a saw with a violin bow.
They invade ripe crops in clouds blocking the sky eating farmers out of house & home.
Tex says, ‘when in season it is nice to listen a few but when you ride they swarm all over you
and that really pisses me off as both horses & riders suffer.
I learned to hate their sound with a passion.
They sit everywhere screaming in your ears crawling in face.
So though your poem is nice it brings back bad memories for me.’
Cicadas drum feet their bellies with great glee.
Hey, would you like to rub legs with me beautiful sexy young lady?
by tex & me, inspired by Scott
Rockhampton 2007
Lover’s Pendant
Lifted by a slight breeze
she spun off floating away like fine chaff
but he with his feet stuck in the web
dangled upside down for many oblivious nights
eventually emerging to slide smoothly down
a single silken strand of gossamer
on to the passion fruit vine
whose tendrils latched on & twined around
the neem tree’s delicate stems
leaving the sweet musky granadilla flowers well alone
Inspired by Ancient Greek Epigramists
CHAEREMON & LUCILIUS
Rockhampton 2007
To my dead dog
Hello Mickey
I dug up your skull the other day
by mistake
I was busy digging a trench
to plant a row of lilies
& your head just rolled out
when I moved you into a deeper hole
your jaw came away from your skull
the jaw that was so big
you could run into a game
pick up a full sized footy
& ran away out of the park
with the kids chasing
calling out to you
that made everyone laugh
I remember your last walk
around the block
Leon & I took turns holding your eash
as you staggered & stopped
wheezing & panting
holding your ground
to the end
in the morning I found you
finished
lying in a pool of water
streaked with mud
so I rolled you over a few times
& buried you there
close to your kennel
Rockhampton, Australia 2002
LANDSCAPE & A GIRL
around these clay creased basins
trees lie white & weathered
alive they roar like surf
& in the hearth crackle
moths strike against the window
my glass is empty
but I cannot get up
& disturb your soliloquy
merino hoggets skip over the hill after shearing
we leant on the rail your hand bag dangling
men waved from the wharf
where you mused staring at water
that sad bright eyed woman
& onion flowers
we parted & I had talked too much
& hardly held your hand
for fear the butterfly
might emerge too soon
falling in flight
Central Otago 1961
SERIES
the tones of useless talk on such a day as this
come without pardon thru fibrous hardboard walls
clanging bulbous lacquer at all angles
better the man with a skin complaint who
‘rose early to avoid stares & startled me
She stood terrified
a pin piercing the edge of her eye
& the bearers ran forward
waving emasculated fingers
calloused by abuse
stepping foot high over the hot earth
I saw a primordial figure with bright shell eyes
set in sallow wood
it’s arms hung one dangling around
the buckle in the abdomen
fingers at the fountainhead
she lay facing out the window of an antique shop
& a young man stopped to watch
her move as she lettered
‘hop it,’ she said, crossing her legs
the major’s wife said
‘I have a hooked nose side on’
& flapped her breasts about for picture taking
the water wheel still turns
tho’ long since disconnected
little girl swinging on a plate glass door
stubbornly involved
so that my amused eyes
were not answered
Christchurch NZ, 1967
The American Eagle
‘Radio on the wall play us the number one the hit song,’
‘the American Eagle has no brains it flies into walls.’
Francesca the most mysterious person he never really knew
despite her outrageously wacky hat she did know all about sex said,
‘this head automatically turns off any thing in bad taste.’
Then when she had nailed everyone’s rapt attention
‘you can tell people about witchcraft but you can’t lead them to it.’
That set everyone with presents back on their high heels.
‘Radio on the wall play us a great tune or go to hell,’
‘Yes it is Francesca here.’
The Radio kept blaring rap crap while she sang,
‘If you don’t possess a purple tiffany box
you can’t expect to grow like a yellow daisy.’
‘Radio on the wall tell me why, why do American Eagles’
fly into walls and knock their brains out.’
Francesca got off the phone jiggling like a teabag
& shouted out to all within range,
‘I need to have a pee desperately,’
& she left right left right left right left
with Staggers & her kittens following in single file
tails between their legs.
‘Radio on the wall why do American Eagles hit the wall?’
With his last gasp in extreme agony he wheezed,
‘The American Eagle has no brains it flies into walls.’
Unwanted, alone, uncared for, now stone dead,
his crocodile skin boots still sit in the repair shop.
Remember his last wish was to expire with perfect plastic teeth.
Those shining eyes could only be described as terminal fireballs.
He fried with extreme prejudice in the updraft.
‘Radio on the wall play us all a bugle call.’
The monster python swallowed a whole sheep
& never spat out any shredded wool.
‘Radio on the wall a song to aid digestion, if you please.’
After my farewell remarks Francesca pressed the END
continuously but it did not END.
Heaven does not kick in until you’re dead.
Radio on the wall I am tired of poets, give me history.
Rockhampton, Australia 2007
