failed poet

friends are entering middle age

and

still I haven’t written anything that could be of use to them.

to grab one by the shoulders

and

demand –

this ain’t no subject-object world!

new lamp

new lamp

from Cash Converters

only $8

next to the microwave now,

as blinding as a tiny sun no matter which way

you angle it.

it now lights up the kitchen

with

the black shadows of the fridge and drying pots

stretching across the floor.

it even lights up a palm frond beyond the window,

furious.

sprinkler

on this fine spring morning

I connect

the twisted old sprinkler

to my ten dollar hose

and set it going on the front lawn.

soon the blackbirds discover this event.

they flutter around,

or just walk under it.

and a little goes over the footpath

and school kids laugh

as they dart through,

followed by their smiling fat mothers.

gallows

to not want to reach out

and

touch one thing from this

sticky

world.

5 a.m.

and

it has been raining.

a metro bus hisses past my unit.

my kitchen blind is up,

I can see the people inside the bus.

men.

women.

heads lowered.

life beyond life.

towards the gallows

of

work and rest.

bird yelp

listening to a late night heavy metal program

on community radio

in

my backyard

as

I write poems

some

poor unidentified bird cries out from the sports field

adjacent my fence.

cries out for what reason I don’t know.

it is like a desperate yelp.

but

tomorrow

if

it is still alive

it will fly

above us all and beyond this island.