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Landslide scarred trails
as coiled as suspension springs
guard windswept summits.
You’re going the wrong way,
say mist shrouded cliff faces
painted red and black with torn corpses.
Weary travellers ascend on foot.
Nine inch thorns lurk in wheel ruts.

Before a hearth as old as mastery of fire,
the wanderers mistake mischievous fungus
for a familiar delicacy.

Ceilings become floors
and the walls gateways to sensations
familiar to the bat scorpions
politely sipping the blood
of platypus platoons.

In this enchanted hovel,
the five senses are merely the opening line
of an epic.

Reanimated

I felt as twisted as a plait,
as directionless as a jellyfish
as drained as a sponge
left to rot in the dunes.
My muse had been missing for countless moons.
The girl in the library reanimated her.
She was as focussed as Buddha,
as odd as Lady Gaga on LSD multiplied by three.
Every psychedelic wonderland in the universe
swims into this dimension
through her tears of joy.

Morning Mayhem

The cold shower cuts out
before the icy needles can fill a bucket.
Dressing with eyes on the clock.

Legs pumping, slipping, sliding.
Rain-washed tarmac
shines like the Milky Way.
Accelerating as frantically
as a gold medal favourite in fourth.
Lungs desperately dragging oxygen
from diesel stained fog.
At the lights,
the bus is as still
as the corpse in the stormwater drain.
Mercifully the doors fold open.

Aeons into the journey,
the work cancellation message arrives
as silently as a ninja.

Gone

Upon a coffee table as utilitarian as a cardboard box,
Morning Glory protrudes from a 1915 Coca Cola bottle.
Damning headlines are as moist as the President’s eyes.
An abandoned chess match dominates the kitchen bench.
The kettle is hotter than lava.
and her pillow still warm.
There’s puddles in the potplants.
The surveillance swarm can’t tell the eight ball
from the white.
Airport, bus terminal, taxi stand, car rental agency?
Which drain could could the whistleblower be navigating
like an Einsteinian rat?
Which forest swamp might she be drifting through
on a camouflaged barge?
Nobody know which escape roulette to vet.

The Fundamentalist

There’s no time to suspect others are correct,
you’ve got common sense shrapnel to deflect
and blind assumption fuelled attacks to direct.

Sharing lies beyond your comprehension,
you reside in the greed is good dimension.

According to your brain dead investigation,
democracy is lube for corporate domination.

Market forces, they’re your notion of divinity,
Rupert, Wall Street and cash are your trinity.

There’s no time to suspect others are correct.
you’ve got common sense shrapnel to deflect
and blind assumption fuelled attacks to direct.

You are a moron we can’t help but resent,
you live to misinterpret and misrepresent.

An Experimental Opening

Mundane conversation starters, on online singles sites, are an underwhelming experience for women who are so burdened with admirers that they need a spreadsheet to keep track of them. Are they any fonder of extremely unusual openings? I decided to find out. Considering the sample size is one, further research may be required.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Hi, how are you? What’s your favourite means of expressing your creativity?
12/30/2019 7:45 PM

7:45 PM
For all I know you’re being bombarded with witty remarks from worldly and otherworldly men, so maybe I should try something different myself. I don’t have any one line lassos of love to launch your way but I do have a unique scenario to massage your imagination.

Which would you rather be, a species of hummingbird that cleans conjunctivitus from the eyelids of dragon synchronised flying troupes, or an ultra intelligent species of scorpion, that makes sculptures of its pets with a concoction of saliva and squid panda dung? Squid pandas look just like regular pandas, except for the tentacle skirt that makes them semi aquatic.
7:47 PM

Now I wait, to find out if the straightforward approach was better or not (-:
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

They say that madness is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result, so I tried something completely different. Apparently I over did it, at about 8:30PM I noticed the young lady had hit delete. If I was catapulted face first into the twilight zone, by a bizarre conversation starter, I’d be intrigued. I certainly wouldn’t be reflexively hitting delete. Did she believe she was being mocked, that she was talking to a time wasting joker or a mentally disturbed person? Reflexively hitting delete wasn’t the reaction I was expecting from someone who describes themselves as kind and creative in their profile.

Would I have fared better if the hummingbird was plucking the dragon synchronised flying troupe’s eyelashes instead of treating their conjunctivitis? Maybe a warrior butterfly that sculpts wizards from lava, without suffering from the slightest blister, would have been more palatable than a scorpion that sculpts likenesses of its pets from a concoction of spit and squid panda shit. If so, then maybe the young lady is too girly for my liking and being rejected by her is cause for streamers and champagne, not self flegellation and tears of grief.

Do popular women tend to prefer extremely unusual conversation openers to mundane  beginnings? I still don’t know. How does one compare being completely ignored to being as savagely rejected as a traitorous astronaut is ejected into the cold emptiness of outer space?

 

 

Images

Hopefully the following micro poems will trigger creative writing of your own.

1.
Baseballs turns black in the twilight.
Earthward bound they overtake eagles.

2.
Stockings as ornate as Versailles chandeliers
cling to her like a lover.

3.
The ink cartridge is an ocean of potential.
Her diary is a temple of dreams.

4.
The sun’s farewell
is painted on the shallows
of a windswept beach.

5.
Santa’s sleigh zooms across
a ten thousand dollar TV.
Elf size viewers
scrape mould from their breakfast.

7.
Rotten watermelons carpet the yard.
Pranked basement prisoners
collapse from thirst.

8.
Politicians in chains,
staring at the bloated corpses
of forgotten political prisoners.

9.
Enough Wikileaks t-shirts
to cause a cotton shortage in Texas
bury the Christmas tree.

10.
A sinker for every Clinton and Trump lie.
Not enough fisherman in the USA
to stop them burying the streets.

11.
Forest fire embers
descend on a climate change deniers essay,
like a hawk on a rodent.

Free Assange

For further information, paste the following link into a search engine.

http://www.strategic-culture.org/news/2019/09/24/theyre-murdering-my-son-julian-assanges-father-tells-of-pain-and-anguish

If you’re an Australian citizen, I implore you to write to our Prime Minister, the Minister for Foreign Affairs and your local MP, to urge the Australian Government to negotiate on behalf of journalist/publisher/human rights activist Julian Assange. If you’re a British or American citizen, please familiarise yourself with Julian Assange’s case, if you haven’t already, and politely demand justice from your government.  

Unless publishing the facts about corporate corruption, government corruption and war crimes is a crime, Julian Assange is an innocent man and should be released from Belmarsh prison immediately. The following is a slightly edited version of my email to Senator Marise Payne, the Australian Minister for Foreign Affairs. Perhaps you and your friends can improve upon my effort with letters of your own.


Dear Senator Payne

As you know, Australian journalist/publisher Julian Assange has been wrongfully imprisoned in the U.K, at the behest of the American government, for his response to the public’s right to know the truth about government corruption and war crimes. The U.S government apparently does not believe in the public’s right to know the truth about the appalling behaviour of the U.S military towards civilians etc.

If the Australian Government doesn’t strongly oppose the wrongful imprisonment and unjust treatment of Julian Assange, that will leave the public with the impression they support the cover up of war crimes and corruption. Senator, surely you don’t want Australian voters to think that about a government you are an integral part of.

If, on the other hand, the Australian Government proves it’s willing to negotiate on behalf of a courageous journalist/publisher/human rights activist like Julian Assange, that will help to restore confidence in Australian democracy. Obviously the freedom of the press and listening to the wishes of voters are vitally important democratic principles. As you presumably are aware, hundreds of thousands of Australian Assange supporters are monitoring this situation and their numbers continue to grow.

If Julian Assange’s extradition hearing is inevitable, he should at least have adequate access to his lawyers, the necessary legal documents, an effective computer, his friends, and nutritious food and quality healthcare until this nightmarish saga ends. I am of course among the many who would love to see the Australian Liberal Government do all that is humanly possible to bring that about.

 
* Paradoxically Liberal means conservative in the case of the Australian Liberal Party. They’re liberal from the perspective of deregulation for corporations etc.

* wikileaks.org contains a treasure trove of information about corporate corruption, government corruption and war crimes in the form of introductory articles, original documents and videos. If you would like to support Wikileaks, the not for profit organization founded by Julian Assange and some of his friends and associates, you can do so via wikileaks.shop or au.wikileaks.shop

Trapped

In the bowels of Razor Rock Island,
the light is as artificial as the staff.
The blood as real as the despair
polluting damp, dark, stale air.
For twenty three hours a day,
steel reinforced concrete,
as dull as the daily broth,
fits the prisoner like a coffin.
Steele speaks
“The doom pervading this dungeon
is not mine.
The empire is a termite mound
and I am the King of the Echidnas.”
Sustenance delivery robot thirty six
is as unresponsive as a corpse.

Warden Jennings is sweating icicles.
Steele’s confidence is as disconcerting
as dying of thirst in a scorpion pit.
“In hacktivist heaven,
automating prison officers
is as unwise as long jumping ravines
in a blizzard” Steele bellows.
The first hint of rebellion
is crematorium advertisements
interrupting Jennings internet chess.
The second hint
is robots dragging him towards the furnace.
Steele strides through the gates,
flanked by android cheerleaders.
The rescue ship reaches Everest altitude,
before the chase begins.

Steele’s pen is as dry as a Martian river bed.
Beyond the realm of fiction,
nobody’s escaped from Razor Rock
since seventeen forty two.
A dolphin armada distracted the sharks,
as Jonah Wallace swam for the swamps.
Conditions have improved.
Rats snacking on the toes of sleeping prisoners
creates headlines now.

During his morning dance
Steele’s mind paints movies on the walls.
He struts through bejewelled corridors.
Waitresses blush as Steele banishes suits
with a click of his fingers
and redesigns lingerie with another.
Black lace, leopard print, purple velvet,
divine embroidery, transparent silk rainbows;
he dresses those dishes in whatever he wishes.
Steele’s vast array of mimed dials
transforms hair colours and styles.
Golden blonde Nordic Goddesses
are baffled by their momentary buzz cuts.
Mediterranean delights
with ringlets as black as moonless midnight,
are ambushed by mohawks.
Invisible hands ink decades of decadence
upon their plump thighs.
They wonder if God is an eighteen year old boy.

After epic minutes, Steele’s passion wanes.
He sinks to the bland, filthy concrete floor,
wondering if his mind can conjure more.
Waterboarding robots
believe passwords are stored in his mind.
Every number in his head
is as obsolete as videotape.
As their footsteps near, his mantras accelerate.
“Hell is temporary, hell is temporary,
truth is eternal, truth is eternal.”