~~~
Despite what my father believes, Emily wasn’t the one who was selfish.
It was my father.
Emily craved his attention so much that it’s what made Ryan Caldwell so attractive. Lost in the man’s charms, near-living together while my father slumbered drunk, she fell for a man whose heart was already with my best friend.
Having no-one love her is what scared her the most, and now I understand.
I take a breath as I enter my father’s place of work. He can’t remember any of last night’s conversation, and it was what Ryan was banking on: my word against his. I hold Emily’s diary page in my hand, and in time, Brandi can speak for herself but today, while my father is sober, he’s going to tell his superintendent everything I’ve told him to say.
He’s going to help free one butterfly, and crush the other.
It’s the least he can do when neither of us was there to break her fall.
Wednesday 27 June 2012
Whales In Motion
Alex Gardiner aka The Auld Yin
Bullaburra, NSW
Save the whales an’ save Antarctic’s ecology
without whales, no plankton.
Without plankton no krill.
without the krill no whales.
Do you ever think in ecological ways?
I often do. Aye! In many, many different ways.
Recyclin’ of all kind of things,
one way, to my mind, this does bring.
Poo, aye poo is one great beautiful way,
now poo, I ken, you must be au-fait.
Aye poo recyclin’ is now all the rage,
except for poo, from a budgie’s cage.
Have you ever seen a wee budgie’s poo?
If not, I’ll just explain to you,
Wee tiny black thing with wee white swirls,
an’ it does not matter whether they’re from boys or girls.
Well now, you cannot recycle such wee things,
so another animal to my mind doth spring.
Whales!!! Big ginormus humongous whales,
They boggle my mind, aye! They never fail.
We need whales for all the krill they eat.
millions an’ millions they scoff, it’s quite a feat.
Now, the krill eat green plankton, aye, they do,
tons an’ tons o’ plankton until they are fully foo.
Now for all this tons o’ plankton to grow,
it needs rich fertiliser, aye, I tell you so.
Where on earth can you get fertiliser from, I ask?
way down in Antarctica, it would be an enormous task.
Whale’s poo!!!! I tell you is what you need.
to give all that tons o’ plankton a blinkin’ great feed.
Whale poo – to fertiliser, for plankton fills the bill,
an’ all this plankton for the hungry krill.
That’s what ecology is all about,
I ken some folks out there don’t care a hoot.
Well, I tell you, this Auld Yin does, I care a lot,
so, I’ll tell yea more information that I have got.
Whale’s POO!!! Is a marvellous thing,
an’ to your imagination this info I’ll just bring.
Now it’s not tiny like a wee budgie’s poo,
Just let your mind boggle, aye, let it accrue.
Imagin’ making a chocolate drink,
come on now that’s not hard to think.
Well, it’s like the hot chocolate without the milk,
would not spill out a glass that you gave a tilt.
The colour is also a reddish type o’ brownish green,
The bloomin’ likes that you have ever seen.
Oh an’ the fertiliser through aerobic ways,
gives the plankton food in a most exotic way.
So you see this ‘motion’ of the bonny whales today,
gives credence to be ‘au-fait’ the ecology way.
One thing puzzles me though’ afore I part,
can you imagine the turbulence of a humongous whalie fart?!!!
Thursday 28 June 2012 8 am
Sing Me There
Graham Sparks
Bathurst, NSW
Imagine there is such a thing
as resonance of place.
I could pick that special note
and sing myself to ‘there’,
without traversing space,
or land or sea or air,
poetic licence of displacement.
And you may think from reading of my poem
that I take liberties where language is concerned,
you would be right, it’s true, I do,
beginning ‘here’ conceptually,
I bend and twist and fold to get us ‘there’.
As language is a living thing,
in symbiosis with ourselves,
poetic licence is a tool I use
to assist it in its evolution.
Duty bound are we
to help it morph and grow.
Thursday 28 June 2012 4 pm
Sensible Fools
Pat Ridley
Sandringham, NSW
Why do sensible people like me
think about committing suicide on days like this
When it’s raining, and babies are dying in Bangladesh
And there is no hope any more
And I send fifty dollars and try to forget the bombs and the dying
And native trees cut down to make paper
And whales slaughtered for perfume and rhinos for old men
And monkeys tortured every day in the name of science.
And in my country, men kill each other horribly trying to free it
And only succeed in tightening the bonds.
Why is there no answer now
I do not have time to sit and wait
While another child dies in agony or another bomb
explodes in Afghanistan
I do not have time or patience anymore because there is no hope.
Is it not easier to die than pretend it will all get better
When in reality it will only get worse and worse
And there is no end.
Try to remember the good things like the birth of my son
All pink and slippery with my blood
And perfect, straight limbs and a strong heartbeat
And now at seventeen a wish to see where he was born
And not be killed for looking
And always asking why, why must it be so
When there is nothing more precious than life.
How can I love my country when it has destroyed so many
And for what – supposed loyalties and old-fashioned superstitions
of a religious nature.
So why not let go now while there is still time
Why wait for the inevitable cruel ending
Surely death is better than this slow torture
Watching all that is beautiful growing straight and strong
Change and grow warped and twisted like men’s minds
Unless there is a light in the darkness there is no point
Not now not ever.
Search the high skies and look for the hope
The silvery chink of light on the dark horizon
There is beauty to be found even in this mayhem
Tiny flowers under the stinging nettles
Glittering rainbows and diamond cobwebs
Perhaps there will be life after death.
Friday 29 June 2012