The Zen of Hospitalisation

 

i am stripped bare

shaven

and put under sedation

(( aham asmi - i exist))

awakening, the breath obscured  by a tube

  i am let out 

   from where i don't know

into a world of beeps and tubes

 nurses like angels swing 

  thru dark clouds of drugs 

(( morphia - soma ))

i am present in the moment

sitting up in bed

 someone brings me orange cordial 

(( nectar - amrita ))

the Buddha smiles but he is sharp

a needle goes in 

i am not the body that is suffering

(( i am breath i am prana ))

i watch the clock hands slowly plough the day

i push through the minutes like hours  

hours like mountains 

-  mountains of solid rock

this is the practice 

the sesshin

 - a routine of sharps

 "bed 14 is a 48 year old male..."

suffering is delivered in little morsels

and as a wash over everything

this is the business we attend to

  but then - 

   a mental flip 

   and there i am walking on Arunachala

   breathing cool air, touching moss on wet rocks

   seeing an empty sky

 there i walk 

 looking for my cave

 where i will sit and inhabit that close emptiness forever

back in the ward

someone is moaning. a tray brings soup.

a nurse lays a hot blanket on me

nausea rolling in my belly 

i am present for another needle

that night i get trapped in a dream

running around inside there is no escape

some task i must do.. a coil of rope.. 

but i have forgotten what it is i must do..

awakening i find my pain medication has worn off

the rope was the buzzer to call my nurse

i press the button and summon relief

*  *  *

when i was young songs and poems used 

to land in my hand like birds

    they still do

 but first i need to treck far into the mountains.

anniversary poem

 4 years and i was in a rush to go

to smiths (the musical haunt) it was

friday night, so i got the kids fed

then dashed off in the car like a typical

loon too much on ---

 Mayday i had my guitar yamaha

clutching its neck strtiding down the arches

of the Melbourne building - arrived a bit 

late - you were there with your white yamaha

in boots leading a sing thru of "Imagine"

 and I just thought - I could see u were

shy about it - i just thought how brave

and you know, good on you, for getting this old

motley greyish greying haired crowd to

mouth this Anthem - on Mayday

 that was the first time i saw who you were

though i recognised you from the past few months

in theat happy haunt of music - Nigel and Beth's -

and later knew about the Attempt and the string

of bad boyfriends - but in that moment all

I could see was your courage and the sort of

lantern you held, a hopeful light, in the gloom

 and a few weeks later at home in front of the

fireplace whipping off your pants, i knew the

bigger you of cheeks and bosoms and lips all very 

large in my sight so close up and the smells of 

sweet joules glistening in sweat. baby dats u.

 Four years later and we are in a paradise of birds and 

dogs, pigeon, chicken - the rest of a wider family 

some flown, some staying, but returning, the safety of the home

you also dipping in, then flying, then returning for nourishment

then off to box with the little children, your 100 charges

 Faced with a peculiar future I am just here in bed holding

onto the matress, your feathers brush my cheek, and I

think about us careering through time, out of control but steady,

safe but never sure, cause the adventure unfolds unknowingly

taking us from perch to perch. And i'm happy like that.

I'm happy you are safe wit me babe. The dark cloud glistens

on your brow but babe I know you can imagine our future too

- and that's the imagining that we as lovers do - when we

dont know the way but we know we need to get thru.

here's to 44 more years of lovin u.

(We are all going to) War Again

(We are all going to) War Again

Eat up your pudding and eat up your pie it's the last meal we've got for tomorrow we'

put on our clothes and get ready to fly the soldiers are coming, please don't ask here, take my hand oh a tear don't you understand? crying's banned, so stand! and fall on your knees for the soldiers are here we'll serve them with coffee and we'll serve them with toast to the king and toast to the queen and toast to the incredible killing machine grave is the charge that you put in your pocket grave the surprise for the ones who un.. look at the moon so big in the sky now we'll take your little knife and we'll cut off it's here come the drones oh, the moans the blades that are their breath bringing death - death! so tie up your shoelace and get ready to play and if anybody asks then remember to say you don't know daddy and he don't know me and this is the way that we three shall remain free one two three four five six seven eight nine ten we are all going to war for fun two three four five six seven eight nine ten we are all going to war for fun two three four five six seven eight nine ten we are all going to war again

mysterious algorithm

I have found that Google refuses to index this blog anymore, even though Google actually owns blogger.com or blogspot or whatever it's called now.  The only way I can get here now from Google is through a link on the main menu of my website (www.forkword.com) or linktree. Anyway i guess this is just how the fashions of the internet go - everyone is over on substack now, reddit, places like that.  

I guess the real human content of the old web is just lost now in the torrent of AI produced flotsam. And what is the value of real human content now anyway, when it's just words.  People want sounds, images, video, the touch of flesh, the exchange of fluids. And even then, they only want those things from certain specific vendors. The rest of us go on the compost heap, the pyre, the verbiage pile, ashes to rot down and become a nice damp moss for the next generation, a dank dark reminder of a past ecocyde.

I am happy, it is good to be part of the dark earth, funelled through by worms, dug in by badgers. Supporting trees and ferns and vines. This is the Way.

Fire the Fox

Fire the fox

they fished all the fish from the sea
poached all the birds from the sky
just to furnish the mansion of some guy
now we stand in the wasteland
wondering what to do
well i've got an idea, in fact i've got a few
we should go into that mansion
fish out that guy
bind his hands and blindfold his eyes
talkin' revolution baby

little ruger rimfire tucked into my arm
but unless you're a fox my friend you won't come to any harm
but if you're a fox, you'd best be on your way
Get off my television, and don't come back today
it's not that i don't love you, not that i don't care
it's just that there's an order from the sambar to the hare 
and it rules everywhere

there is an order, an order and a plan
and whether or not you like it 
whether you understand
it'll smash you into splinters or raise you on its hand
i'll quarterise the mighty, and magnify the small
till everything is equal in the journal of the poet who sees it all

so if you're still waiting for justice to be served
the laws of space and time won't deliver your just deserts
and there is no reason
but there may be a rhyme
for the hands that shape the future are the poets' hands, like yours and mine

You can listen to a demo of this song on soundcloud  
 

understated jesus

 I was parkin in the park

it was startin to get dark

so i thought i'd come and see you

so i jumped into reverse

and i drove over a bump

and i spilled my tea all over me

(that's why they say don't drink and drive)

you were standing on your step

and i stepped right up and kissed you

and you said "you'll never guess"

i said "what" you said "this is a dream"

if you feel

what you feel

then  it's real

and the needles' in the groove

and the plough is in its furrow

and the geese are on the wing

and the toad is in its burrow

and the fires' on my back

though my tea is getting cold

and the sugar on the bottom

like an insoluable problem

a sensation like it's over

as we pull over into

a pull over and you pull up your pullover

there's a light on on the dash

and it's saying that you're hot

so i guess we'd better pash

whether you've brushed your teeth or not!

if it's real

then you feel

that it's real

if you feel

that it's real

then it's real

you were walking on the trail

and though i was just a snail

i was tryin to catch you

but my boots filled up with slime

and i fell way, way behind

this shit happens all the time

when you're a snail

oh to be a gentle sailor

understanding all the breezes

like an understated Jesus

with a hankerchief for sneezes

and the cartridges are rolling

rolling rolling on the floor

and an autumn wind is blowing

blowing blowing in the door

demo: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OQVz5xWpRro&ab_channel=muletonic 

THE PECULIARITIES OF DR P

You once knew me

and I still know you

you are my bleeding

and I am you sinew

I have born you

you were churned from the milk of my oceans

where I grew you

you were within me

and I am still within you

born onto the shore

you have learned to walk

you have learned to run

you have learned to hurt me

you have left a velvet scar on my skin

you look me in the eye

as you stick your pick in

you mined me for gold

you mined me all night

we once fled together

out along the old road

you have tasted the water of my second mouth

it was just one lonely month

just a single pipette

you frown so darkly now

as you recite the alphabet

you were my best bastard friend

and now you want to forget

how many days

how many evenings

what is the juice of your mind

it has intoxicated my lung

forever together

eternally apart

your blood is a ribbon

where the earth began to part

I am a 

I am just a splash in your face

you tried me

you tried me again and again

to hit my darkest place

now we untangle

now we jerk apart

your fist is too frantic

mine is clutching your heart

lay us down now

lay us under the earth

we will make the mountains groan

we will reside in a city park

This poem features on my new EP: See it on Bandcamp