In the garment factory
bloom the
delicate young women.
I live in a rented house.
When the bear-dance
comes to an end,
drawing
zeros
again and again,
I must return
from the school
of the bees.
Rivers
brush their teeth
with neem twigs
deep within
their waters,
there is
a secret
world:
horses and fireflies,
and a rain-wet
shiuli tree,
a vast
fragment
of stone,
all alone,
beneath
the vastness of space.
The jellyfish boats
are returning home.
Beyond the rooftop
of the three-storeyed house,
a pine tree
stands,
in its own mood,
the monsoon clouds.
Having dived
deep into
the depths
of my own being,
near the burnt-out
stub of a cigarette,
I find myself
wondering:
Should I
write anew
Goanna and Twilight?
There once was a goanna
Whose name was Joanna
She thought my knee
Was the trunk of a tree
Her scratching sent me bananas.
Last night I dreamed I was weeding my vegetable garden in the Drive-in theater, while people wandered back and forth from snack bar to their cars.
While pulling weeds, I saw a banana slug and was about to squish it when I realized it had legs. It was an eight foot monitor lizard! I chased it around the grounds and finally caught it and put it in the car. Then I went back to my garden to see if that huge tiger salamander was still there. It was!
I decided to go home with the monitor and the salamander when I realized, oh no, my little dog Daigoro was in the car! I got all frightened the monitor ate him, but he was perfectly all right. The rest of the dream was trying to drive home with Daigoro under one arm so the monitor wouldn't get him.
Six cod and two turtles
And the Goanna
But he's my brother
So I would not hunt
Or kill him
You know that
A window is
Not a chimney
But in the hazy
Blue smoke of
What they call
Borderline depression
We refuse to pop
The pills prescribed
And climb out of the
Hole we dug
Only you can change
Your circumstance
By the power of
Your own will
Rust never sleeps
And I still can't lick my elbow
But the glimpses of truth
And reality are
More frequent now.
San-Goanna Blue
Morning Halliwell are you right? {rhymer halliwell is 85}
or have your toes tucked up so tight,
are you with us or cantered through,
beyond the vale Saint Peters Zoo,
no brown snakes there tonight?
Or are you dancing an Irish jig,
With some well fed porker pig,
And playing snooker too,
Or bilious Kangaroo,
and on into the bloody night,
with Sand-Goannas what a sight
and lacy Monitors joined in too,
Brownie snake said bugger off Blue,
that Goanna just might bite...
Don Johnson
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