Saturday, 25 July 2015

Under a Mackerel Sky

Under a mackerel sky the charge nurse says,
“It is best if you do not visit”.
So I sit;
quiet in my despair;
helpless to help you.

Under a mackerel sky the letter comes
“Your application for the position has been unsuccessful.”
So I sigh;
the autumn day shortening;
the winter night unending.

Under a mackerel sky the nurse says,
“Your wife’s condition has deteriorated”
So I wait;
my soul dropping from grief;
wondering where you have gone
and when you will return.

Under a mackerel sky, the family unit empties;
the anniversary of our joining passes;
I yearn for the thread of regret to unwind.
My disassembling is complete.

I hate this weather.



Saturday, 4 July 2015

I Like

Summer week-ends that unexpectedly become available when I don't have to work.

Lazy afternoons filled with cicada symphonies, far-off dog barks, a farther-off car horn.

The galvanized action that appears suddenly when a conundrum of indecision crystallizes into a plan.

The sizzle and snap of sausages on the BBQ, their fragrance over-powering the mock orange.

The scent of vanilla lurking behind the fragrance of coffee.

The uncomfortable caress of bottle brush against the side of the house.

The wind turning ten thousand pages in the camphor laurels.

Saturday, 20 June 2015

Dolce Vita

Sift the flour, heat the milk
Do take care that it’s not spilt
Chop the nuts, grate the cheese
Just a pinch of nutmeg please
Warm the oil, melt the butter
Please be careful of the splutter
Grill the pancakes, fry the bacon
This is a feast we are creatin’!

Self-raising flour, a pinch of salt
Some arrowroot, a little malt
Beat the eggs, grease the tin
Put a teaspoon of vanilla in
Dice the onion, shell the peas
The cake should come out of the pan with ease
Skin the kiwi, pit the cherries
Garnish with a few strawberries

Sunflower, olive or rape seed oil
Wrap the tongue in vented foil
Smoke the sausage, let them hang
Fold chopped hazels into meringue
Melt the chocolate, stew the pear
Prepare the Brie and Camembert
A cup of honey, whip the cream
This desert will be a dream!

Warm the plates, decant the wine
Pluck the grapes fresh from the vine
Choose your condiments, a dollop of mustard
Don’t forget to chill the custard
Fold the napkins, set the china
Indirect light will be much kinder
Draw the curtains, cut the glare
Ah, life is wonderful.  Savoir-faire !



Saturday, 6 June 2015

Things I hate

The mocking of youths, like an harassment of seagulls, creating a cacophony of activity and sound that produces no useful outcome.

The denial of delinquents protesting their innocence, forever enshrining their perception of the veracity of their behaviour.

Political commentary, igniting a holocaust of public indifference, being promoted by self-appointed talking heads whose rationale for promoting the commentary is completely divorced from the topic at hand.

People feeling sheepish, when they should be feeling ashamed.
People confusing the act capitulation with the notion that to do so allows an attack on their self-worth.
Things rendered invisible by habit.
The new and exciting becoming normal and mundane.
The tearing of a comfortable shirt, thus rendering it usable only as a rag.
The articulation of night keeping me awake.
Running out of Pedro Ximenez.

Sunday, 31 May 2015

Heat or Cold?

Having lived in this city for over half a century, I am sometimes still surprised by things I see for the first time.

This photo was taken by Matt Edwards and I doubt that I have ever seen Toowoomba look like this before. I cannot decide if the overall impression is one of heat or cold.

You can see a much better resolution of Matt's original here.

Saturday, 23 May 2015

Mel De Mere

Mal De Mere – (She Sickness)

Sometimes when I look at her
The sun is shining on her skin
Bringing a lovely golden glow
And she is calm and I can be lulled to
Sleep by her gentle movement
And her quiet voice.

Sometimes though, her face reflects
The dark clouds above
Steel-grey in hardness and colour
Her movements, still, quiet and slow
But with hidden power
And ominous Intent.

Then afterwards, calm again. 
No hint of her previous outburst
And I can see a glimpse
Of that golden glow.

MDC 6/4/97

Saturday, 25 April 2015


The sun, the moon, the wild dark ocean
The ice, the dune, devoid of devotion
The dim, the night, the forbidding mountain
The dream of hope, the dewy fountain.

The eye, the sight, the rising, the dawn,
The greens, the blues, the feeling forlorn
The tongue, the taste, the day, the dusk,
The sound of autumn, the smell of musk

The ear, the sound, the morning new
The distaste of bills long overdue
The yawn, the groan, the anguished cry
The bitter aged asking “why?”

The wicked, the clever, the dumb, the deft
The rich, the powerful, the poor and bereft
The quick, the slow, the wise, the sloth
The golden thread in the dark cloth

The king, the queen, the abdication
The folly of his fabrication
The subject revolt, the nation hissing
The realisation of a kingdom missing

The courage of love, the cowardice of hate
The strength to accept the command of Fate
The resolve to live with faith unfeigned
The humbleness to be justly-blamed