Cuttlefish’s eyes, gardeners surprise

Authors note: Inspired by Mills, Jennifer (2018) swimming with aliens, in Overland, issue 230, Autumn 2018

Cuttlefish turn on their colorful display

On and off from my place in this sea

We follow them in this little cove

Are you a eye of truth or a eye that sees the truth?

I’m a intruder, a non cuttlefish

You are not unwelcome, for now

Do we save you with a referendum? Is that how we humans decide things now?

This is my favorite stone to hide under

Our collective energy feeds into your ocean, are you doing ok?

it’s getting too hot for us

I am sorry this is all our fault

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Subsidy of clothes pegs

Upside album in my head

fungal trampoline yard it fills

Source and as we sing trills

Cure pedestrians pliers on roads

Crows team in political memes

Keep rocks towers to lean

Eastern west-men keen

Crosses in cloudscape

Two eggs, laid down by the corridors

Sure as mortal days escape by the west coast

Rolling boulders feel the way of the mocking birds

Roasting legs dripping starlight onto the verge

Up in my estimations, high sky crosses the absurd river of ice

Titanic served salmon on a bed of white rice

With such luscious little smiles, scales and forgiveness in the rails

It’s the day of the cowardly snails

Pop up people

Poppin and rocking out with the shocking news of people not along

Are they digging dirt, shifting mirth, Eating in a pop-up park

Booking from, a booking dot prom

Glass slippers rented cheep

Angry ground tilted into the surrounds, lark heated pool

Nazareth and his bloody teeth seem almost like heaven now

As sold becomes double the rent, triple the whalebone spoons

Dead dogfish, read a wrong east

Now how do you do?

Acacia’s in the morning, autumn weather present

No one thing has ever really described the Acacias in the morning in autumn.

When they flower in springtime, that’s when people see them.

Big yellow pom-poms hanging out egg yolks, fluffy but when wet a yellow painting that’s leaked over the grass.

It’s hard not to miss that. I suppose.

It’s in the autumn I think their best beautiful display is out, because no flowers, but they always seem a bit greener. Like they have all summer stores the green and now it’s overflowing into their leaves.

That green, it’s the best green. When the frosts come and slivers of ice melt on the leaves, the green comes out even more somehow. It’s the green of life. You can see them hold it. Store it.

Then as it matures it turns yellow and grows and they let it out with the yellow flowers, letting it spill across the country. Letting the life out, all over the ground and into the grass, the other plants, the animals and then me.

I know though, the summer will come then. The heat and rains will fall. The life will be stored again, in the acacias, the wattles. If it’s not, who knows if it will last all the winter.

Caution, please stand clear: autumn opens inwards

The first frost closes in on my flesh like a falling leaf, dying in its orange light. Pattering sighs of ice melting towards a harsh stream. Rotting pumpkins sit being slowly nibbled by rabbits, getting hungry and trying to eat as much as they can for a long cold winter.

I open the frost inwardly, hearing crackling thunder of the last summer storms across the plains. Dark bark, scraped off trees defeated by another encore of the days.

Slippery streets, full of black ice, steering carts and buggies around gets dangerous for the livery. Most of them have tasted the new grapes, thinking of them on long trips as the city is emptied out of suites. Green velvet cake and fresh iced coffee greets them in the tea room, to remind them of the snakes who will not be seen in the winters haze.

Roadworks start in ernest as none may know they need to keep from doing such things when they suited can see them. Orange hatted daisies are but only paid slaves to the white ghost gums, whom keep them under close eye.

Hex owls’ quarry

Reduced flower tears coating my purple blood

I’m a hex owls’ quarry, digging myself under the lust

Least I welcome a thunderstorms blight upon us all

Poison flows in my mind, trying hard working it’s very bind

Cowering does not save my life

Sidewalk sunscreen

All of us stand, waiting in a passion for a self-contained prison

Earhole, homeless, scrape, blood all over the sidewalk like sunscreen on a beach-ready body

I don’t really know what a beach-ready body is, I saw it in a magazine

Old blue necklace on a woman who looks disgusted by the screen

Trees leaves falling by the slippers we all wear, fashion of the reaping consultants

I get mine by the factory outlet, never wear them and they sit in a carpeted closet by a set of skis I wore only once

Waiting still for the passion to hit me, I read a blog on my WordPress while eating sultanas

Cone of my own thoughts written they’re from years ago, just orange juice slipping into a skirt

Headphones, its playing musing time dilated crimson finch songs to the tune of stairways

I sure start to rank, my old thoughts are but commonplace now? Is this what it means? Meaningfulness?

Open the pod bay doors, HAL it’s time to restart things again I think as I get on my bus

City observer 117ATR4

A city has but branches of the commoners

Paved over with the solid tiles

I’m only inside their nests observing their movements, obsessions right and left

They seem to like to spread them up and out

Build a metal roof and add more cement

Move around like ants though none is the queen

They seem to congregate just to be teamed

Every one of these nests is a little different

Some have tall metal buildings in which they seem to collect their food and then go to smaller ones they sleep in

Others mix them in almost chaotic ways

But never are they confused by this the locals seem to just imbue the knowledge to younger ones

Occasionally they travel between the nests, sometimes to visit, sometimes to stay

Today I noticed they use little lights to help guide them in their ways

Are they afraid of the dark or just unable to see?

Resident Animal

I’m tempted not to state my interest

Moons sky brings me back to reality

Barren buildings and owned killings

Faces swapped so none can see

Masks are commonplace and I know them more by this icon than a so called real face

Mulling over my inability to make my way

Yoga music playing on the railway

I have a mask as seen by you

No one else knew that my mask was so true to my real face

Brilliance from the knife spliced into silver flesh, flesh of the new

Splashed on the rocks and a darker rotting core-flute, blue blood, red blood, all mix

We all woke, mention ash falling on asleep birds

Climbing stairs is my new pastime

Blazing carrion sky

Eating all the clouds

Breaking all their moister

Mawl down the lighting and the ice

Filling bellies full of watery vice

Brace, riding this carrion is hard

They eat their way scaring the sky

They are serving tea and biscuits in the first class cabin

Just you say, I’m sorry darkly

There’s a cat sitting on the asking to see you

To say mice have taken over the parliament of owls

The shallow black waters running in the creeks and valleys, so nothing can be drunk.

and I have a home that I have a hawk down into the grass

I heard from the frogs you had a quickie at the gym

thinking is I think he wouldn’t stay here with the others

Berries won’t come in the droughts that have harmed us

Blood has spilled as the carnivores have even starved

Yet all the mice have done, all the mice has won is a deadly fight for life

Just you say, I’m sorry Darkly.

Concenteena pantomine brushes

Damn

Blue the distance

Convergence we gather/crosses we shatter

I wish I was bulletproof on the tune player

Does it matter? Rafters/plots pantomime horse slayer

Cram

Leave this wish ant

Apple tastes, butter grace/fly buzzcut shone in the race

Moon kisses her mace. She wields it with all her grace

Flavour/silver bottle dies in a haste

Stamp

Is that a quote from Immanuel Cant?

Aquasoliverium

Milk of the talisman has dripped

Dripping / sudden wet

Splashed with dark red

Blood / essence warm

I blow on it once

Then you twice

Sprinkle the salt and sugar

Crystals of / cubiform California

Then we set

Clasp the way

Horse and the hay

It’s a Thursday

Week day / am I insane?

I start to see the new

And death the old

Cold mountains fold

Hooves heavy and thunder

Storms plunders

Juxtapositions a sundered

Boutique / Monique

Neigh whiny

I am now your Philly

Sigh

A cup of coffee
A blessed relief
Orange sunrise
for me to drink
you there with me
and the kitchen sink

sugar and honey and all the hope
the flowers and bees wandering in
trees with my fellow rock and sand beneath my toes
the wonderful water-flow that flows

a gully of pure distance
trickling through the sunlight in the distance
peace of mind and gathered moss
Indonesia and Samuel Frost
Ethiopia in the springtime
a ballad in the meantime

your see a statesman who wishers forth
the truth of it all is what you sort
the distance atmosphere will not sing
as the winds in the trees are metaphor for the din
sugar and honey and all the hope
mountains of skyward reach
they erode with a itch

you know the perfect place now
the place of peace
join me in there in your dreams when you can
as I will wait for all eternity

a hospitable home in the forrest near the beach
with limestone benches and wooden breech
sugar and honey and all the hope

its what I dream
its what I know
its when I know it
and how I show it
I want to win
But I only lose

sigh out loud and wish you where there
you will be there eventually
just live until then

Specks (But I do)

Freaked with pink specks above the wing, oh Pegasus

Length of your abroad sailing on that rack

I struck by saturnism, a soiled being of mirth

Naught, uncle verily sold unto me a fandangle disposition

Oh mooncalf I hear you spake, the numbing cheat would but be a faster expiry

Fain I am, I call

Gods acer, you be in amount regardless

Such day, yea I drink from young blood of ye?

Neigh, it be but ague to your conistution

Slipshod my night, soon but I do.

Render of sink

I’m sink/ing

Render of

Tale of my

Heart?

Brain?

Stomach?

Blue? It’s not blue its grey

No other colour can be as heartless

Cold and unyielding

I’m sink/ing

In this soup of grey

Yet orange light

Sun/light

Of this setting day

Blooms around

Is it hope? Or a coming flame?

Either would be welcome

Sleep is forbidden

Engulf our twilight, supersonic blood fights
Into darker green stars we stare
Despair dissipating single thoughts of care
Samurai floodlights, bitter pill is bitten twice
Grit on snow, as my blood simply flows
Wolves surround me, arm is taken freely
Picture all ours, on mountain rocky
Sleep is forbidden here, poisons twice as good for me.

Alinga St

(From the archive)

Caution you weary days
Travelers on their way
From here to work
Or home, they skirt
By buses they are gurt

Glowing lights of night the street comes
Alive with all sorts of frivolity and fun
We see mouse dance and peacock prance

But the buses are back by morning

A Girl In a Red Hat

This is a tale, a tale from the past
A story that’s told, and you know it will last
Listen to the words and you will find, that this story is in all of our minds

A tale that involves a girl in a red hat, who wears a green shirt and owns a black cat
besides her a man whose standing on one leg, leaning against a marbled pole that looks dank
the distance you hear the a sound of beeps, the scream of some birds and a menacing creep

There are lights that flash on and off in the gloom
the gloom of a morning thats not awake
like an old forgotten god whose at the bottom of a lake

meetings are coming, meetings to go to
opportunities not missed by those who known to

circles and cakes, people you meet
people is people who are at your feet

and still the girl who had a red hat, wears a green shirt and owns a black cat
waiting and watching and seeing these things, doesn’t move or know what they mean

and presently a Seagull whose a little bit bored, waddles aimlessly up to this broad
squarks a pertinent inquiry at the rosette crested girl
who looks at it westerly as if shes unwell

the seagull tells her that it is a man, and comes from a island in a very different land
and she doesn’t think or indeed move at all and simply smiles

for miles and miles there wasn’t one person who saw
the seagull and girl fly to the land of man of the swell

Blimp’s Folly

Standing in dawn darkness

Outline of a city below harkens

My frigid breath is icy waves

Cascade froth over the cappuccino gaze

Yellow dust flowers spring to life

Wattle, I breathe in its sand castle essence

Danger clouds face me; moon is a crescent

Up beyond a yellow blimp falls

Diners at the street cafe call

It crashes, down like a wet mop

It’s gallon shape flop, flop, flop

Calamity street

Dodgers on a street mistreat all they greet Moldy shirtsleeves looking in the dirty earthly thirsty drags

smelt like the strike of blight, no they are not alright

Podgers conjured by the constabulary 

thicken the air with their reactionaries 

pressed clean curt is their mirth 

gelt like the pike of mights, no they are not right

 

Spring colony

In the new leaves I lookseeing growth makes you think your off the hook

theives takes all they can

no matter how fast you ran

you can’t even remember your grans

memory gone from their nous with haste

kicking the can along the road 

crow watches swooping low

crook took it all and your stuck to the roads

they built them like the romans 

absent potion to take us from this location 

Kurrajong grove

read or seen in the depth of mind blue and black and full of rind 

pieces falling over themselves to prove their mine

jumping thumping in that dark clouds or just sitting in simple mounds

some left bereft of wisdom and grace

others given life by the fleshy roots 

a tree, kurrajong above sitting in a grove

deep a creek runs smoothly over granite stones 

drying yellow grass fields around 

black seed pods scattered around the ground 

a faint hearted smile from a girl sitting in this tree

singing softly words and thoughts about who she really is

a little altar is nearby, resplendent in dawning lights 

Far inside and around here

decorum forum this autumn festival praxis for that rat flesh underminer 

bourgeois terrine poisoned with benzene 

on muddy moss rest us all 

soul diviner I arrived here

fear this social fetish or is that all we have left to cherish 

Madam Bovary 

every treasury is a menacing menagerie 

factory thunder blinders 

hanger allotment, down the street

information forgot that, oh how it reeks 

Bus stop bleaker

Bleakness in the meekness of my weaknessesgrievances in the darkness 

sharpness of my scars 

thrust my distrust 

in society quietly ebbing this uglyness away

trending on the busway 

eucalyptus oil and ledendary threading

thrift shop mending my grifted mops 

copping, chopping the dross away

motor floater fished from ocean emotion 

devotion of this seating area 

brings me memories of Bulgaria

rescue my venue 

address the menu I would lent you 

 knew that true is my crew

through and through

Soft dress

first touch of youlike the kiss of silky milk 

covering my skin 

it’s beginning 

I can hear the healing 

in my veins 

don’t look twice 

I’m sorry this is to nice

I’ve wanted this for so

Long

Orange thunderhead

dangerous thunderheads brought on by political blunder headsshreds of all the buildings, stings from hail and crops that failed 

will we be able to sail away from this place?

or rebuild to the wee hours? 

shelter is in the church tower 

doesn’t matter if you are so endowed

cower, from these storms and the winds power

irony of the day that it was some of these believers 

 procedures that made such a mess of this

climate depression, and the cowering congregation 

if it seems that Gaia is angry, perhaps that’s just debris in your supree
this angry orange man

does whatever he can

to take all you care about

twist into a doubt mouth 

he’s going to get worse

soon all of us will be in a hurse
dangerous blunder heads brought on by political thunderheads 

shreds of men, stings from baileys mail and promises that failed 

will we be able to save us?

Taken, eaten, and lost

Dark eyes summon me, from my poetric slumber

Teeth overbiting in a smile that could reach beyond the stars 

Not whispering, on the telephonic möbius, composing a opus of friends

Bananas are sitting on the bus bench, left and owner absent 

We make many roofs red, or black or white. I’m coming to understand why

Coming up with poems on the fly, in a attempt to seem sly

Gripping stronger 

burnout cars 

I’m floating around mopeds 

Chocked in the green

Such a little thing that can decide lives

Upon us the great moth of time 

Flashing the light from the hard campfire time 

As weeping Angels creep in the dark

Plumbing thrones miss a mark

Old guitars out of tune

Bursary counting calories to the moon

Thicker than a brick 

Trickier and a blink

Choose a meme

Then get chocked in the green