Poetry from the Orchard

Nouveau Facade

2012-02-07T04:00:00.000+10:00

conceded and moved on you say
but not too sanctimoniously
the truth is less forgiving

if it is past tense it is rooted
in the same bedding mix that
raised enduring legends

that things changed is fair and
reasonable – optimistically they
weren’t particularly stable

but who made the actual play?
all nouveau facades rise easily
from ashes scattered randomly

remnants of real character’s
inventions are still out there
somewhere, languishing sadly

ruined in almost spontaneous
combustion of yesterday’s
too fragile personalities
© 9 July 2011, I. D. Carswell

Reference Points

2012-02-06T04:00:00.000+10:00

Giving up on what is left in fact is
perilous – signs do not connect the
path from nowhere back to here

Senses less coherent are dismayed
into despondency as assents of all
pallid claims there is no other way

Defence of whipping-boy anomalies
for truancy defrocked commenced
when cogency began to decohere

And so the deconstruction of your
centre means that what you see in
loneliness is surely what you’ll gain

Tho’ abjured by reference points
retaining currency beyond the debt –
likely then at least you’ll be okay
© 6 July 2011, I. D. Carswell

A Bit Corny

2012-02-05T04:00:00.000+10:00

sounds a bit corny
but having been through it
it isn’t actually that much fun

like coming of age when you’re
a teen; yeah, I know 21 is the
REAL age – but WE did it at 18

and let me say being three years
ahead of the rat race didn’t mean much
when everyone’s in the same lane

at least everyone YOU met; there
must have been a rubbish-bin full
of outdated rejects hatched later

so appreciation is somewhat
sullied by passé arrivals who came
late and took all the fun away...
© 5 July 2011, I. D. Carswell

Who We Are

2012-02-04T04:00:00.000+10:00

not an ordinary drunk
no fearless fowl regarding what
is best in modern poetry
but I digress; the chance
you even saw this vogue of views

as happenstance you’ll have to wake
to see – and it won’t mean a morning’s
dissonance of undescribed and leery
half-remembered unsubscribed
enhanced diminuendo

bugger me I know it wasn’t what
I sought to write this palpable and
happy day – and yet it came as if
it was the simple inspiration meant
to polarise and open eyes

so I conclude I am awake
there’s no excuse I’ll have to make
a statement lest they all forget we’re
who we are at best – even if pretence
proclaims we’re somewhat less
© 1 July 2011, I. D. Carswell

Grain Of Sand

2012-02-03T04:00:00.000+10:00

Fickle fates were playing games
with avarice the prize; one only
had to rise for bait they dangled
sweet as candy innuendo pasted
dreams – with diligence I tried to
visualise what it implied, a solid-
wall embrasure plan with lavish
views of the outside

Their future was the past in gaudy
dress, lies the same expressed as
cutting rhetoric bereft of logical
debate – I should have seen a prize
restored to life by patient hand and
not a grain of dingy sand
© 29 June 2011, I. D. Carswell

Unfettered Imagination

2012-02-02T04:00:00.000+10:00

Takes less time to scheme ingenious
diversions than actually achieve things –
no need for understanding motivations
of what is effectively second-nature
Creative evasion deems a sure fire way
to stave off boredom; maintains sanity
you say steering conversation beyond
outrageously missed aspirations
Your claim needs no structure and more
freedom – regulation curdles the smooth,
silk-like flow of unpasteurised ideas in an
eternal stream
If dreamers bilk reality it is at their own
risk – taking precautions of inordinate
complexity to see what unfettered
imagination only reveals casually
© 25 June 2011, I. D. Carswell

Lost To The Plot

2012-02-01T04:00:00.000+10:00

Bloody Hollywood, don’t fall for the
themes – watch the damn characters;
as if it explains anything! But we see
what we’re meant to believe, miasmic
hodge podge, tosspots of rehearsed
innuendo, the meaning of trite – now
there’s a thing, fancy understanding
what commonplace actually means!

We’re supposed to be the same – or
am I being naive? Asking, “Is that me?”
estranges all versions of the urbane
and credible; manifestly it isn’t the
least like anything you’d ever imagine
unless you’re already lost to the plot...
© 23 June 2011, I. D. Carswell

Adept Conjecture

2012-01-31T15:05:00.001+10:00

hardly makes the grade
exchanging wasted words
condemned to gaudy dangling,
‘tis better left unsaid than
crudely wrung awry

although adept again
conjecture is connived by
due concerns; I care, I really
do – you see it clearly
in my eyes

the mind has little room
to be amazed by matrices
of someone’s bald-faced
indigence – admittedly exchanged
for chary favours

bear with me you say
I’m sure you will agree
there’s no debate in seeking
payment for compassion
frankly gifted free
© 22 June 2011, I. D. Carswell

Cinderella’s Quandary

2012-01-29T04:00:00.000+10:00

For want of a shoe was
the dream near lost, for want
of a clean pair of heels we’ve
cost ourselves whatever
credit was amiably lodged
in an embassy of 40 years

there’s no credible excuse
less lack of diligence for
a debacle where PM &
Leader of the Opposition
were compromised through
their own intransigence

Lèse majesté one may
hypothesize, both for and
against – and win with
intent muted to a jaded
sigh of regret; what happened
to mutual deference?

The Opposition Leader sees
missed opportunity, not Cinderella’s
quandary; but would he wear
blue size eight suede shoes – a
worthy question answered,
yes, improbably
© 28 January 2012, I. D. Carswell

Prime Minister's Julia Gillard shoe returned to Parliament House

From: AAP
January 27, 20124:15PM

MEMBERS of the Aboriginal tent embassy have returned Julia Gillard's missing shoe after the prime minister lost it during her flight from a protest yesterday.

The right-foot blue suede shoe was handed to a security guard just outside the doors of the main entrance at Parliament House tonight.

The shoe was believed to have been transported to Capital Hill by car.

Ms Gillard lost the size-eight shoe when she and Opposition Leader Tony Abbott were rushed away by security personnel from a Canberra restaurant where they were surrounded by Aboriginal activists.

Comments made yesterday by Mr Abbott sparked a protest by Aboriginal activists at the restaurant near the tent embassy, which was set up outside Old Parliament House 40 years ago.

The protesters believed Mr Abbott had suggested it was time to scrap the embassy.

Related Coverage

PM's adviser tipped off protestors Courier Mail, 1 hour ago
PM staffer forced to quit over leak Herald Sun, 1 hour ago
Protesters set Aussie flag on fire The Daily Telegraph, 1 hour ago
Flag burns in fresh protest Courier Mail, 1 hour ago
Police to investigate protesters after clash Perth Now, 1 hour ago

Ms Gillard and the coalition leader were forced to run a gauntlet of protesters after police and security feared for their safety and advised them to leave the venue.

The shoe had been placed on eBay before it was pulled from the online auction site today.

The starting price for the shoe had been $148.

Jolliffe Tales

2012-01-28T04:00:00.000+10:00

Though I may have laughed aloud,
a mite irreverently, about the mob
whom Eric Jolliffe enshrined, I’m
not about to now; it was he who
had Australian icons elevate their
rustic heads and live a life surreal.

Okay, cartoons for sure although
I view the case and see lampoons
we tacitly agreed as fair – but if a
vintage of his comedy acclaimed
all Ettamogah Pubs irrespectively
inclined to wear those dreams I’d
gladly be obliged to stay away.

Well, I lunched there yesterday –
had a beer or two, & used the loo,
liked its decor and an understated
parody of what the past had been,
and that was what I’d come to see.

It was the crowd who came to eat
a sumptuous lunch, have a beer or
three, take time to revel languidly
in atmosphere as real as way back
when – and tiny kids agreed to play
at roles as old as comic repertoires
which claimed this was as real as
Eric ever deigned that it could be
© 20 January 2012, I. D. Carswell

Tamed Views (Of True Earth)

2012-01-27T04:00:00.000+10:00

cleaning windows is the ‘nth
degree of agony; nothing is
what makes ‘em crystal clear

those hardly novel views that
glass should be in place and
seen to be for safe elucidation

oddly bests living in esoteric
derivations of nonbeing, the
improbability of sheer zero

the presence of a no-smear
invisible shield which equally
repels insect and beast alike

benignly interpolating itself
between this place and that
untamed view of true earth

but somehow I trust cobwebs
more; eclectic hallucinations
vaguely alienated don’t erase

a spider’s autograph, it’s real
proof of existence exactly –
while upbeat debate ain’t
© 12 May 2011, I. D. Carswell

Lemon-Tinctured

2012-01-26T04:00:00.000+10:00

lemon-tinctured edge tonight
the wall of sky appends to blue
but up aloft and overhead – I could
expect a bat in flight to mark the
passing of today

it hasn’t happened in my
sight with strident silence yet
to blend reflections left alight
by stark and raw expressions
deftly stultified

to miss this moment means
a death of senses best and only
left to find their stars by patient
guides which strive to pacify
the passing day
© 20 June 2011, I. D. Carswell

Covetous Nobodies

2012-01-25T04:00:00.000+10:00

Won’t call it disappointment
not when it meant little change
to resigned expatriation

Sure, cleaning the space again took
a fair few days but thankfully much
less of an emotional engagement –

And there’s some pride in admitting
self-respect was the magical dab-hand
irony of classically ‘arty’ effects

So the late news nobody was coming
to inspect didn’t make waves – or
spawn grand theatrical agonies;

It’s the best she’s looked in ages
we agreed – as a perfect place those
covetous nobodies will never see
© 17 June 2011, I. D. Carswell

An Unravelling

2012-01-24T04:00:00.000+10:00

An unravelling, a
disentangling of strands
meshed in memories, a
warp’s weave and weft
of rare blessing less
the binding cloth

No unscrambling a
mask of regret – loss
left honour in a long
hour forgot, bartered
tattered sanity with
fabric disarrayed

Best wear obscurity
against the cost of
winter’s dread – a cloak
engrossed in need to
intertwine frayed strands
of what had used to be
© 23 May 2011, I. D. Carswell

My First Hardcore Song

2012-01-23T07:55:00.001+10:00

a glib line suggests that
she at eight will be the next
greatest entertainer ever
yet – and YouTube never lies
and 17 million hits prescribe
the measure of her fame

events of eminence have
more thorns than blooms –
although in Juliet’s case
there’s room perchance for
roses of adulation; remember
she’s only eight

and loves her dachshund
Robert, a suave dude whose
silent role plays a cool
counterpoint to impressive
energy she displays with
consummate finesse

but it’s back to school
today with advent of
reality; YouTube makes
the best and worst of
casual events seen easily
without implied causality
© 23 January 2012, I. D. Carswell

'My First Hardcore Song' by 8yr old Juliet OFFICIAL

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uU6U-8LP1DY&feature=player_embedded

Juliet, 8, shows her mettle on YouTube

by: By Daniel Knowles
January 23, 2012 1:00AM

http://www.news.com.au/entertainment/music/puppy-love-song-tops-hits-parade/story-e6frfn09-1226250859193

Going Rules

2012-01-23T04:00:00.000+10:00

Hoped a better ending
than the febrile clash of
wills defending frailty

Two brittle egos fake a
view of guarantees whose
edges flake too easily

Your freedom is derived
but it relies on certitude
assured in wry calamity

The advent of your will
won’t make a state of stable
truth which you subscribe

To cry consensus views implies
you had believed your wont
denied for far too long

The facts dictate you only
want to make the going rules
a stronger case for leaving
© 23 May 2011, I. D. Carswell

Put Together (Again)

2012-01-22T04:00:00.000+10:00

Awaiting news is animate oblivion,
the epitome of ideas fed on a blasé
diet of cognitive anxiety infectiously
multiplied with qualms of too well
schooled theatrical fiction

‘Tho no running from a plate
of uncertainty; the facts state
injury and pain – all from a fall
less sacrificial jeopardy or
sanctimonious grace

Nothing explains it easily or the
dumb diagnostic delays, or why
profound fears gestate digestive
anarchy in a maudlin matinee’s
appetitive revenge

Breakfast with friends isn’t the
regular way to discombobulate
relationships or make salacious
amends – or dislocate a shoulder
and be put together again
© 12 June 2011, I. D. Carswell

Better Off

2012-01-21T04:00:00.000+10:00

mostly you’re better off drunk;
pretence wears weary, breeds
unkind images of contempt

whether you were convincing
meant quizzing candidly with
motives carefully expressed

liked to think without prejudice
the mere act of asking explained
everything – but no,

places you in dilemma of a
constructed jeopardy, one
where innocence flees

not insouciance – not at first
and not convoluted orthodoxy
in new wave thinking

Lazy (Satyr) Day

2012-01-20T04:00:00.000+10:00

libidinous audacity
explains this magic
state; in ecstasy an
avidness of rapture
lingers languidly
of venous timbre
deftly seized and
aptly paced

haven for inflamed
ideas, welcome bed
ablaze, lusciousness
agreed in Saturday
obeys the adages of
lazy lusty verities
© 6 June 2011, I. D. Carswell

Half Of Everything

2012-01-19T04:00:00.000+10:00

if half of everything
equates consensually
with equity of common-sense
there’s a precipitous gap

even perdition of
meaninglessness suggests
we’re damned to our
own impartiality

Semblance (Of The Lie)

2012-01-18T04:00:00.000+10:00

Don’t get to hide from it –
there’s no mistaking an
intransigent reality, a tiny
space without reprieve or
amnesty is cruel in making
your rejection extra sour

Abandoning a pride of place
may cool off aching sanity – if
reason can explain a calumny
of dour and calloused wit too
apathetically placating dignity
so much disgraced

To stay retained at least an
air of gainful pride in taming
wildernesses ‘neath our feet –
footprints which survive will
guide a cause that neither
you or I could contemplate

But then you’re free of it and
everything denied remains; so
I preserve a semblance of the
lie your absence explicates, a
chance of living here in doubt
of consequential pain
© 2 June 2011, I. D. Carswell

Already June

2012-01-17T14:36:00.001+10:00

Already June – with that vertiginous
crap clinging like damp mould to
blankets huddled in; already half the
way from where you’ve been

Half the way between doleful extremes
of euphoria & apathy – though consoled
at unhinged intervals when dementia
soulfully plays precious trumpet solos

Always eager for good news from the
wings a-flush with magnanimity but
chary of sad bearers expected as less
wary harbingers of more of the same

Already June and well on the way to
where tomorrow precariously leans
shy of that grand structural design
you’d once aspired to be
© 2 June 2011, I. D. Carswell

Claims To Clarity

2012-01-05T04:00:00.000+10:00

A few seconds either way will not
pretence this turgid dissonance;
it clings as if it earned an honest
rights dependency – and well it
might in solitary evidence

Solidities one used to hail as firm
and bright realities are vague and
faded out of time and place, pale
as reminiscences one might have
heard or could have dreamed

Vagrant colours blend to white in
pallid shades, a hand that painted
rainbow shapes on canvas since is
bent and rinsed endangering all
claims to clarity it washed away

Once it wasn’t this, passions fixed
were stars within a firmament, a
stable sphere in arched restraint
where words and their exotic mix
of simple meanings never strayed
© 30 May 2011, I. D. Carswell

Off A Plate

2012-01-04T04:00:00.000+10:00

you are the meat
in my sandwich – no
impropriety intended

I savour views
of substance that
matters literally

we agree in more
feeding the eye than
mere imagination

Chimeras

2012-01-03T10:21:00.001+10:00

Harmonies aglow with tonal
soubriquets infused in places
closed, unusually to words, it
is accord embraced in sacred
space; therein an inner man,
a grey chimera of your passion
fused, a singularity whose shape
attests, aloof and free, it claims

You’ve mind to say tho’ silence
is a grateful truth in unity and
tone, within this miracle of
solitude I’m not and never been
alone – duplicates arraigned
can only make a fool of me
© 27 May 2011, I. D. Carswell