Behind the ambiguity, the cloaking metaphor,
the language used is indecent,
it sets bear traps, leers at logic,
claps ears.
Poetry drives a train through heaven and hell,
box cars swaying behind
full of
rowdy, rouged delinquents.
Some have mothers who weep for them,
some were born from mud wombs
as wild as unbranded cattle.
A poem may well bury its dead alive
in front of our eyes,
recite a lullaby backwards,
then plant sweet nothings
over the heaped earth.
Lines of linguistic train wrecks
crash their coupled words
into snowy fields,
then out will come the scatological oaths,
the unglued bawdy survivors
of their own gypsy jargon.
Here’s the sleight of hand,
here’s the real indecency -
we are gulled into assuming
we hear only the shy murmurs
of a deeply respectable muse
dressed up in its Sunday best.
A mustang of denunciation
—maverick of words
(Ardmore Pennsylvania: February, 2018)
Cubbie worker…
So you worked on an out station on Cubbie…
Saw the cattle tracks and also the sheep …
You were only a poor boundary rider …
On your straw bed the hut you did sleep…
The Manager ate in the dining room ….
Jackaroo's, silk shirts and ties were so neat…
Station workers they ate in the kitchen…
The rest of us on the wood heap…
The Pommy overlords sent out the workers…
Housemaids, Jackaroo's, the book keeper…
So the Aussies were duffing his cattle…
Thought Lost in the drought the grim reaper?….
Down near the river the old tribe had cut….
Left handed holes in the Coolabahs hides…
These left handed men are gone, but…
now in Goodooga descendants reside….
You saw the tracks went through the fence….
The boundary fence had opened wide ….
The cattle tracks unbranded young Micky bulls….
And Heifers were side by side….
I’m Paddy the Aboriginal I can track..
The Bunyip or Porkypine….
Boss don’t never give me a fair bloody crack….
It ain't no business of mine….hey
Don Johnson
Standing on the side
watching you move away
severing bonds once tied
no longer will you stay
Here I stand alone
I can count on you no more
you've spread your wings and flown
gone up and out the door
No longer here beside me
but happy In your new place
you've chosen to let things be
and continue on at pace
So still I stand here stranded
watching you make your way
continuing on unbranded
while desolate Is what I'll stay
hair so dark and smooth,
i dream of running
my hands through her hair,
so soft and warm with love,
i can’t escape her love and beauty.
skin as cold as ice, and
yet when we touch i
can feel a bitter warmth
from her finger tips as they move
down my chest, i can feel her love
in every sensual touch we share
eyes of perfection, looking deep
into my soul, her eyes gazing into mine
reading me like an open book, i can hide nothing
from her eyes, so beautiful,
so clear and forgiving, and yet menacing
in a way, i’m lost within her eyes
lips full of unbranded and indescribable love,
every kiss we share i feel closer to heaven,
i could stay for the rest of eternity with
her lips pressed against mine
breath of life and love, every breath
we share bares life and we don’t want to give it up,
but we’ll never part anyway, every smoke we
share could be of a tomb, but we have no worry
for death couldn’t separate our love
she stands alongside me, but she is no more than
a figment of my imagination,
she is all in my mind, so perfect, she is the
only one for me, if only
she were real
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