Archive for May, 2007


baz lyon makes a proud appearance in my sidebar. a very distant cousin of my friend baz malley. yawp.


splatter poem no. 2

hey there

david jones

new season


i’m scoping

your pert

breasts your

come hither

angular pose

you make

me believe

in love



we are one

anyone ever waltz into a shop called officeworks? anyone ever think themselves clever (not just for that, insert anything)? anyone ever try to fuck with their modem, make it wireless or something? anyone ever have a friend who works in computers? anyone ever watch said friend become flummoxed? anyone ever start to think all yr life-skills are disappearing? anyone ever questioned themselves: who am i that i really need online access?

in other news, i got excited at a kids soccer game today. i wasn’t going to, but then it got to like 3 all with a few minutes to go, a bunch of 7 years olds wildly kicking and elbowing each other. it was a draw, but wow…

& violet prefers to sleep during the day. i don’t mind. i’m driving a hundred k’s a day in & around 40kmph zones, dropping people off, picking up random things. i do it on very little sleep & as i drive around i think about poetry blogging. sometimes i have music on but the car only offers a tape player. sometimes i listen to the bloc party’s last album. i think about the nostalgia in it, & where they go with it.

my friend roland has joined a band & is playing in a band comp at sydney uni. playing in a band is fun. i love sydney, but i also hate it. wish i could be there: we would get drunk & talk of times passed.

draft for a neo-lyric worldliness

each new celebrity gossip correspondent is More
camp than the last every personal feeling is Less
stable than before there were newspapers you Are
quite lovely searching for love online all Writers
are unique if & only if they wouldn’t collapse Into
the abstract each ubiquitous chain offers a Healthy
menu every menu has words has wormholes you Go
softly into that photo-processing lab all barcodes Offer
signs of things that once were each other person Looks
a stranger every day new disasters hit you perhaps Even
feign the look of worry all the time the people Perish
each morning is colder than a fistful of years ago Every
pope was catholic you took a dive all the doors Marked
exit seem closed or in need of repair a joke each One


silverchair, apparently

for roland


shout out

take your

top off

daniel &

he says

you first

then a top

flies onto

the stage


well i


she took

her top




if you like, you can check out my review of Pam Brown’s peel me a zibibbo in Galatea Resurects # 6.

& so forth

i don’t really take much time to talk about family life, the adjunct fun, frustration & histrionics. but this is one of those rare occasions. when laurinda & i got together (nearly 5 years back) she had 2 children, aged 3 & 6. consequently i now have a great deal of experience in raising children (thank you caleb & isaac). but up until now knew nothing about babies.

i think not many people do though – babies just come into your lives & make themselves known. there’s lots of advice going around, but no-one really knows anything. violet was doing everything right then (after a night of coffee & lightheadedness) she had to be removed via caesar. the poor thing had the cord wrapped around her neck. no-one could predict it. yet now she is here & our lives progress on with her in them. look at me: i’m back on the computer at night, writing a blog entry. i’m not frantically pacing the house, screaming baby in one hand, dirty nappy in the other.

she’s amazing.

btw thanks to all of you who sent your best wishes electronically.

here she is…

Violet Margery Motion – born 11th May 2007.


hello welcome & goodnight

i’m wanting to use ‘nectarine’ in a fleshy context then

a hiss with the flick of the last switch lighting

an infinite hall filled with examples of home

the poet & bad movie buff richard lopez squishes

pictures to worlds, one little book at least says

just imagine it & fruit can be done

photographs no longer naming people in the downsurge of current &

the shadows of things (from here to mesozoic) that once were certain

play about / i walk smack into a coat &

appear to be fumbling for shapes, walking one foot forward

as such but in a slowed retinaesque motion / the strong pulse

of philips view-screen clicks ah then the moment weighs

a decreasingly heavy amount, & fades, ponders earlier beers

before 6.30 pm enhancing a solid television show:

the poet & playwright nathan curnow

without chewing was ingested by funniest home videos

not wanting to doubt this but the cat perused the integrity

of six million men hit in the balls / a handful of babies not ready

to walk yet, despite the ability to make good comment, wisecrack

(with voyeur-patience warner bros sound-men lurk & leer)

oh well the intaglio of a bedroom appears – said men are bearded

it’s clear as afterthought emerging resurfacing happy

in the heat of old-school lamps, metal a green chemical-fire

in certain aspects: when you flick objects, collide,

you buy into something tactile, books espouse peace

in the dark where ideas sleep, when no-one pays attention:

all of a sudden & you’re laughing, your wife

plucked to awake, it’s late, she’s a banana…


while we wait for may

by michelle buchanan & derek motion

World time differentials stand still. I play tennis with a couple

of banshees & a man ditches the ‘genuine’, imagines the top office.

We all want things.

I read once about a town in Australia that was built

on a nest of burrowing spiders. Babies come up missing.

Wow but I like this & picture a movie ‘Spidertown’.

Surely set in Arizona though, starring Kevin Bacon?

I hear the homeless freeze in your cities.

Like popsicles. But we wait in line at the fortune telling

machine, insert our 5 dollars, wait impatiently for the message

to slip from the slot. It always tells us what we want:

you choose your own fate.

I am afraid of death. Sharks, spiders, crocodiles

and anything that has a mouth big enough to bite. Most

of all I’m afraid of drop bears and war. I cannot sit under

the eucalyptus tree or watch much tv these days.

Thousands of things to fill any category. The imagery of fear.

To spite martial upheaval I read much of eucalypts (I still read).

The parasitic pattern of a scribbly gum is a meditation. & still 9 to 5

computers glow like the memory of words not said, specific dates.

& there’s stasis in movement too: academics wax on the

new-lyricism, quote southern poets. It gets colder.

We wait, make lists.

I once made a list of all the things I wanted to do. Skydive,

see Madonna in concert, grow wings. Things like that. Number

nine was to be within so many degrees of Kevin Bacon.

I’ll cross it off now with a footnote that it happened

while we no longer waited for May.


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