| Poems Niederngasse |
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Poems by Geoff Sanders
Smoke and Mirrors send us your weary your needy your whiny whingy waste you did and we did nothing but raise thanks our ghettoes were empty most were not yet built come work breed deprivation tanks work best without communication we will tell you all you need to know pyramids of power require a huge base compacted dense enough to support lofty heights broad enough for infinite growth with ceilings ceilings ceilings all the way up we believed our own press in the end yesterday’s news written on tomorrow’s cocky cage liner layer upon indecipherable layer the pyramid of power has no clothes the house of cards waiting for a whisper smoke and mirrors Paper Run don’tcha hate it when you’re midnight pissed but it’s only half past eight you still pick out the best movie you normally wouldn’t dream of watching so you channel surf avoiding lifestyle shows and sports and you miss the end of the movie don’tcha hate it when you’re midnight pissed you haven’t even finished your meal ten people enjoying Chinese you’re the cabaret the voice of Pavarotti, the legs of Fred Astaire the restaurant staff and patrons, witness, the voice of Fred Flintstone the legs of Kermit the Frog don’tcha hate it when you’re midnight pissed and it’s ten o’clock in the morning your wife calls you a drunken bum but you just roll over in bed reach out for the beer can by the clock-radio and tell her to bring the paper in and one morning she doesn’t Bloody Blokes When people from the bush meet up with city folk like me To say g’day and share a yarn and have a beer or three Some of what you hear is true and some of it is fake And that’s the first I heard about the legendary Snake Now Snake has been as far from man as man can ever be With only his Akubra hat and dog for company Boundary riding, shearing sheep, or droving beef; on hoof Red clay carpet, wattle walls, the clear blue sky’s his roof To contact Snake, his mail address is RMD Black Stump Just back o’Bourke where Woop Woop is a hop, step, and a jump My backyard is Sydney town, Melbourne or Adelaide With trams and trains and taxi cabs, and all the roads are made Where water comes out of a tap, and food comes from a shop With jobs and credit cards and bills, to keep you on the hop Daily showers, brushing teeth, a real push button dunny Cleanliness, so serious, is genuinely funny Out bush with Snake the air’s about, the only thing that’s clean Your socks and undies soon go black and then a shade of green Water out the outback is for drinking not for waste And soaking socks and undies tends to bugger up the taste No corner pub to quench your thirst ’cos corners don’t exist But as you tuck the stars in you can dream of getting pissed A double rum and cloves, or port, to keep the chill from bones Huddled round a fire a million miles from mobile phones While bloody blokes like me were pushing pens all bureaucratic Bloody blokes like Snake herd sheep or cattle in the paddick As the suburbs stifle under mortgage kids and cars Bushmen live unhampered as they steer by desert stars While politicians promises explode as they mislead us Bloody blokes like Snake work day and night time just to feed us Outback Aussie, tall and tanned, fighting fit and able Commence the journey from the Land, via shop, to table. First Love Her effervescence dulled his senses. He completely overshadowed her as she wilted from him. He lifted her, as would a gentle breeze, yet she felt buffeted. Then she appeared to drink him in. He kissed her and she said clearly, for the first time, Daddy. |