Weather inspired.

I can throw an orange from my doorstep and have it land in the ocean 20m away (That's right, with a solid orange in hand I can throw all sorts of outlandish distances). Anyways the ocean is next door and when a storm blows in from the south it's great - it's action filled and rust creating. When the storm blows for 7 days and my ears are sore whether I'm inside or outside of the house it's not great - it's pushy and callous. It has inspired two poems, one serious, one beatnik. Here they are:

Number 1.

There is a see-saw ship
Through gritted teeth
And salt filled eyes
I'm nauseous

Waves and gulls and puuushhh of water

Exhale and breath is ripped away
inhale and it's sand.
Flax and rocks and crabs in hiding
Roughcast ocean scene


Number 2.

White Water Pounding
White Water Pounding
White Water Pounding
Pounding
Smash.

Thank you.

Thesimapussies.

While peeling kumura
I think of immunology and genetics
of veins and ventricles and tenticles and fermentation.
A pleasing smell of vinegar.

While my bottom touches the sofa cushion
I think of writing a thesis
a compost of fiddlesticks and faggots.
A bay leaf you can't digest.

While someone blows on a baby's face
I think of my sebaceous glands
of follicles and spawnicles and the hair matrix.
A Keanu Reeves 'cut circa Bogus.

All the while
All the while
Amongst the piles of thoughts and sharp retorts
A germinating smile.

Bovril vs Marmite.

Bovril vs Marmite - The Poem

Bovril.
Marmite.
Movril.
Barmite.

Fluid Beef had never tasted so sweet
Bulbous Jars on market shelves,
English hearts a flutter (now I know how Princess Di felt)

But, no to beef!
No to brain shrivelling skullduggery!
Give me Mar!

Oh, the Mighty-Mite
Sanitised sole-right production
Potassium superstar!

The antipodean Nigella Lawson.

Vacuum.

I love my new vacuum...

Vacuum
Too proud to have just one U
Only Llamas come close
A haughty little number.

Miele
2200 watts of power
You've got kick baby
Like Blue Brie, like a Spa Bath.

Vacuum
Sometimes it's like you're absent
Like there's nothing there
Complex. Metaphysical.

Miele
Dressed in metrosexual lemon
You sidle up to unworldly dust mites
And humming, you take them.

Wedding-ding-ding-ding.

Here are two pieces that surfaced on my wedding day.

"Jarrah, Superman and I" was stolen from me by my best man at the tender age of 7. Back then I didn't know he'd be my best man and until my wedding I didn't know he was a thief.

One day Jarrah came to my house. We played superman. Jarrah tried to jump out of a tree. He did. He shouted "supermans got me." I said "come down superman!!" .O.K.!!! He came. He said "what's your name?" I just stood there with astonishment. ".O.K. then I'll leave" "No! No! don't leave." I still stood there. Then superman said "let's put him in hot water." "No!!!!" I said. "Hey do you want a ride into space you two?" ".O.K. said Jarrah ".O.K." I said. "Then let's go." We were never seen again.(1)

... ... ...

"Wedding Poem" was written at the request of Euan. The influence of The Lonely Island is a little alarming.(2)

No one else knows
No one else has noticed
The lights, the lights
The lights!!
(The lights goddamit)
JIZZING EVERYWHERE...
On my wedding day.

No one else feels it
No one else has extreme sensory
Sensing organs like me.
The floor, the floor
The grey speckled, partly cracked
concrete 24 square metre floor.
I feel it
It's underneath my feet
Jizzing subtly
So subtly, on my wedding day.



(1) Story recreated without any chang e to the grammar of a 7 year old.

(2) For the origins of "Jizzing" see The Lonely Island's debut single "Jizz in my pants"

Word.

This is Datt Madley's web-log.

Actually it's Matt Dadley's Poetry Web-log, but I got all spooneristic on my name's ass.

It will display my poems that I write from time to time. They are often random, mainly rhyming and rarely well constructed (but who knows, your feedback may inform me otherwise).

You are invited to view this blog. I know that at least two of you could be called fans (of my work) and at times have been rewarded with poems written about you, and heaping the rest if you into a mass - you are friends who know of my lyrical side.

I worked out that blogs are predominantly self absorbed and self promoting and now that I've worked that out, it seems like just the thing I should get into. I should probably start with a new poem, but I'm not going to. I'm going to hit you with a 'Classic' and if I work out how to do it, it will even come with an associated image.

An Ode to Steve

You were my hero, my role model, my eco-warrior idol
You weren't my girlfriend, mechanic or muse

But you were also a father and probably mowed the lawns (if they ever grew long enough)

And then you got slippery with sting rays, it's like you never learned a goddamn thing.
Crocodiles chomp, snakes poison, sting rays...sting! Duh Steve,
Dumbass.

Now without you here things are different.

We don't talk anymore, your old man doesn't talk to Terri anymore.
Your son Trevor or Bob or something talks now.
Bindi, well Bindi - she's earned herself a whole stanza.

She has bloody well earned herself a stanza! (or two! I'm not yet decided!)

Bindi, like those annoying seeds that stick to your socks and manly leg hair
She wants to fly like an eagle
She wants to save Susan Sarandon and Tim Robbins and the Whales and the Universe

Bindi wants to save you Steve, but she can't

She can't.