The &edote

Daddy (Not) Cool

2011-01-19T06:51:00.000-08:00

You wonder, why the thunder? What has torn my world asunder?
Don’t feel bad, but it’s sad, and it’s all about my Dad.
He’s fallen sick, it happened quick, and pills won’t do the trick
He’s got his humour, but there’s a rumour, that tests will confirm a tumour

It was a shock, my world did rock, of my life I did take stock
But cruel fate, didn’t wait, to pile dessert upon my plate
Across my path, the aftermath, of an awful blood bath
Two vans collide, kids inside, and everybody died

We drove past, albeit fast, but the images will last
Burnt on my brain, lives lost in vain, a sight of such pain
Everywhere I see, tragedy, loss that wasn’t meant to be
But I don’t cry, though I try, and I often wonder why.

Away from him, my life feels grim, like I’m out on a limb
But I won’t mope, I have hope, and more faith than the pope
He’s strong, he’ll live long, he’ll prove the numbers wrong
He did before, and what’s more, now he has more to live for

It may be, that what drives me, is nought but naivety
But I’d look out of place, could you erase, the smile upon my face
So as I ought, as I was taught, I pick myself up off the court
And resign, to grand design, knowing my Dad will be fine.

Written January 2011, inspired by some of the sforementioned difficult events that were occuring in my life at the time.

No Reaction

2011-01-19T06:48:00.000-08:00

No reaction, distraction, stop the thoughts from gaining traction
All alone, in the zone, you can deal with it on your own
You are strong, but it’s wrong, to let the pain prolong

It’ll spread, all that dread, you can’t run from your head
And you can’t hide, the chasm’s wide, and its pulling you inside
It was fast, but it will last, what you repress from your past

You don’t cry, though you try, and now you wonder why
Are you so callous, in your palace that you don’t drink from the same chalice?
Is there a hole, black as coal, where there is supposed to be a soul?

Look at the skies, close your eyes, strip back all the lies
You are smart, open your heart, deal with it from the start
Let it out, scream and shout, let the tears you’ve held back spout

If you release, it will cease, you will find your inner peace
Find what you feel, that’s what’s real, break your heart from its steel
Turn the key, let it free, embrace your own fragility

Written January 2011 after suffering through a series of difficult events, but being most upset with myself due to my ability to be distracted and not face the issues.

A New Year’s Revolution

2011-01-19T06:45:00.000-08:00

A quick little reflection of the year that was,
Not for any good reason, but just because,

Already I find, it’s hard to remember,
What it was I was doing, this time last December.

I welcomed the year in the usual fashion,
With free-flowing booze and in the throes of passion.

But though I danced my way into two thousand and ten,
And found myself in a similar stupor, again and again,

That really is the only constant to be seen,
In then and now, and the times in between.

Back then I had a job, no, a career,
A relationship, a lifestyle, and nothing to fear.

I rode a bike in secret and lived by the beach,
But there were unfulfilled desires, just out of reach.

So I threw it all in, in the pursuit of adventures,
In the hope of living life, before I wound up in dentures.

I put all my faith in the romantic notion,
That the secret to my happiness; lay over the ocean.

I spent three months in the back of a truck,
Wandering through a continent filed with hope, but no luck.

I experienced a world that most never will,
Had the time of my life, but was unsatisfied still.

You see on a quad in the desert I’d flirted with death,
And once again on white-water, thought I’d breathed my last breath.

I’d spent time with people devoid of possession,
Happier than those with the consumer obsession.

All in all, Africa had helped prove to me,
The importance of life, and its fragility.

So though I’d seen sights that I’ll always remember,
I’d had enough off playing tourist by the end of September.

I returned to the house of my parents’ rule
And focussed my attention on returning to school.

But with marks too low, and aspirations too high,
It proved not to be, but I gave it a try.

Home was full of pilots, and good times galore,
But pretty soon it was time to open the next door.

So it was less than a month before I again boarded a plane,
And headed out into the unknown again.

Then all of a sudden found myself in a place,
Absent of English, or another white face.

Head and shoulders above the man in the street,
And unable to communicate with those that I meet.

Scary? Absolutely. A challenge? For sure.
But isn’t that really what we’re given life for?

So I dusted myself off and surveyed my surround,
And before long was overwhelmed, by the good to be found.

A welcoming people, generous to the last,
That needed my help, and needed it fast.

So before I knew it, I’d swung into action,
Tested the waters and received positive reaction.

I grappled with the language, and found a place to live,
Discovered who I was, and what it is I can give.

I’d believed in the cause, but what really gave me chills,
Was to realise the worth of my strange set of skills.

Already I can see the difference I’ve made,
Which is nothing compared to the plans that I’ve laid.

So as I stare at the dawn of another year,
I shan’t mourn the loss of an unhappy career.

My life as I knew it may well have ended,
Or at least finds that it has, for a time, been suspended.

It’s on a new path that you’ll now find my feet,
An exciting, but admittedly, less-paved street.

Now I hope only to live up to what of myself I expect.
Will I do it? We’ll see, next time I reflect.

Written December 2010 after discussing with a mate just how incredible the last year had been and that some reflection was required for NYE.

A Christmas Carroll

2011-01-19T06:43:00.000-08:00

T’was the night before Christmas but the house is alive,
Jules is running the show, knows when you’re due to arrive.

Welcomed at the door with a glass and a hug,
The laughter’s infectious, the joy like a drug.

She’s been planning this Christmas for twenty-odd years,
There’s food for an army, and we won’t run out of beers.

The house has been painted, the drive, well swept
Jules has been management while Allan has schlepped.

The boys have flown in, and are temporary borders,
On arrival at the airport they were given their orders.

And now the family’s all made it, at least those that could
And Santa’s expected, though no one’s been good.

So now it’s time for the real fun to begin
There’s the food, there’s the drink, looks amazing, tuck in.

Don’t worry about manners; it’s a family affair,
Kick off your shoes, get comfy, let down your hair.

Christmas has a lot of meanings, to all different people,
But whether you’re at home, or under the steeple,

It’s important to take time, reflect, and remember,
That it’s all about family, this day in December.

So to all Carrolls, both here and out of sight
A Merry Christmas to all, and to all, a good night!

Written December 2010 as a Christmas present for my mum for her long-awaited family reunion christmas

HIV Not Positive

2010-10-18T03:48:00.000-07:00

So far nothing has quite saddened me
As much as seeing a child born into HIV
Beautiful kids not given a chance
Because of their parents’ poisoned romance
Their dice are all loaded, from day one
Either the energy to survive, or to have fun
Too weak to play football, too sick to learn
Disease and infection around every turn
And if by some miracle they manage to live
Then to their partner the disease they’ll give
And before long another child will be born
Another innocent being with a life to mourn

Written July 2010, after a visit to a slum in Kampala, and a day spent therein.

Manimals?

2010-10-18T03:43:00.000-07:00

In this history of ours there’s many a black date
Unspeakable violence fuelled by hate
The reasons differ but the result is the same
Ordinary people kill, torture and maim

So what really happens, what goes on inside?
When the man on the street commits genocide
Is he following orders as so many claim
Acting out the will of a notorious name

Is he swept up in the fervour, a believer in the cause?
Acting on impulse in a land without laws
Or is there something more sinister that lurks within
Are we really just savages under the skin?

Given free reign, how would you behave?
Action without consequence, no society to enslave
Would you rape and murder, pillage and steal?
And if you did, how would it make you feel?

With no rule of law there’s no punishment of course
But is it human or societal to feel remorse?
If you can justify the way that you act
And live with yourself after the fact

Then is that all we are, animals walking tall
Looking for an excuse, any at all
To escape out of society’s cage
And put another black mark on history’s page

Written July 2010, after a day in the Rwandan genocide museum, but inspired by a number of visits to previous sights of genocide the world over, and the frustration associated.

Techno Travel

2010-10-18T03:40:00.000-07:00

There is no greater example of modern luxury
Then this strange dependence on technology
To travel to a place, regardless how poor
Requires a swag of gadgetry galore

Camera and kindle, ipod and phone
Do you think I can leave my laptop at home?
Memory cards and sticks, even a hard drive
Without these with me I just couldn’t survive

It goes without saying that there must also be
A fast internet connection and electricity
A thing’s not worth doing if it’s not going to look
Good on my twitter, flikr or facebook.

Sometimes I have to remind myself to sit and just be
To let the place I’m in well up and absorb me
I’m here to learn, in each place I visit
So I’d better disconnect or I’ll bloody well miss it!

Written July 2010, amazed at the divide between the technology of tourists vs the locals in rural Africa.

Consump-etition

2010-10-18T03:36:00.001-07:00

We are a society defined by possession
Where ownership’s not just the law, but obsession
Brand names give status, gadgets, jealousy
Debt is its own fashion accessory

Money’s taken for granted in the need to express
Your superiority over those who have less
Keeping up with the Jones’ is just the beginning
If you’re not the envy of the town then you’re just not winning

Yet so many people with so little to their name
A life without luxury, but a life all the same
It really makes you wonder just how much you need
And what proportion of the rest, is really just greed

It’s a cruel game, this lottery of birth
That location alone determines your net worth
You don’t earn the right to do as you please
Rather you inherit a life of comparative ease

Why should I have been so lucky, born into wealth
Money, opportunity, love and my health
Surely with great fortune comes responsibility
To do more than just consume at every opportunity

Written July 2010, while travelling through Uganda, Rwanda and Kenya and observing the wealth divide.

Source of Wander

2010-10-18T03:33:00.000-07:00

Sometimes you just fall in love with a place
Be it buildings, a people or a natural space
It’s hard to describe the source of appeal
It’s less an aesthetic than how it makes you feel

In Tibet there was a cliff above the Puncheon’s palace
In Cambodia, a people, wronged but without malice
Morocco had the desert and the camp therein
Croatia, an island, not without sin

The Thai’s gave me an escape and an awful tattoo
Israel taught me respect, and what was taboo
Egypt had grandeur, like I’d never seen
Each offered something new, these places I’ve been

But sitting in Uganda, overlooking the Nile
Beer in my hand, I can’t help but smile
Is this the way that my die has been cast?
To keep stumbling upon places more impressive than the last?

Written July 2010, on the banks of the Nile in Uganda, loving life and to be back on the road!

No Place Like Home

2010-10-18T03:29:00.000-07:00

Although with heavy heart, you were departed
No time to mourn, once the adventure got started
Realise what it is that I have left behind
Pay my respects, am not unkind.

Not sure why I don’t feel more upset
Maybe it hasn’t quite sunk in yet
Loved what we had, what I know I have left
But don’t feel the loss, am in no way bereft.

There is no ache in the pit of my core
None of the longing I thought was in store
I know I’m distracted, and maybe that’s it
But surely it should hurt, even a bit.

I think in my head I knew it was right
To call it a day when I got on that flight
We shared something special, but we’d run our race
It was time for a new life...in a new place.

Goodbye Oz

Written in July 2010, after leaving home for what I figured was going to be a while.

Andy’s Gone with Cattle by Henry Lawson

2010-10-18T03:20:00.000-07:00

Our Andy’s gone to battle now
‘gainst drought, the red marauder:
Our Andy’s gone with cattle now
Across the Queensland border.

He’s left us in dejection now;
Our thoughts with him are roving;
It’s dull on this selection now,
Since Andy went a-droving.

Who now shall wear the cheerful face
In times when things are slackest?
And who shall whistle round the place
When fortune frowns her blackest?

Oh, who shall cheek the squatter now
When he comes round us snarling?
His tongue is growing hotter now
Since Andy crossed the darling.

Poor Aunty’s looking thin and white;
And Uncle’s cross with worry;
And poor old Blucher howls all night
Since Andy left Macquarie.

Oh, may the showers in torrents fall,
And all the banks run over;
And may the grass grow green and tall
In pathways of the drover.

And may good angels send the rain
On desert stretches sandy;
And when the summer comes again
God grant ‘twill bring us Andy.

Not mine, but wow, what a beautiful Australian poem, discovered and given to me by my mum.

Out on a lim(b)erick!

2010-10-18T03:16:00.001-07:00

There once was a girl known as Mits,
Who, although smart, was a bit of a ditz,
She fell in love with a guy
Who was determined to fly
But god did he love her to bits

Mits’ fella was a boy they called Andy
Who thought his life was just dandy
He was no Brad Pitt
And what an awful wit
But wow did he make her randy

Together they made a nice pair
Even if she did have to stand up a stair
They never did fight
Could talk all night
And in the bedroom you couldn’t compare

But the days of this couple were numbered
Hours slid away while they slumbered
Before they could pout
Time had run out
And so to the airport they lumbered

Parting was such sweet sorrow
More time they wish they could borrow
He took to the sky
She had a good cry
And each wandered what would happen tomorrow.

So now I know what you’re thinking
I can tell by the poking and winking
If there love was a boat
Did it stay afloat?
Or as we speak is it currently sinking?

Well I’m afraid you’ll just have to wait
Only time can decide their fate
Though they both hope
Can they both cope?
I guess we’ll find out at a later date!

Written in July 2010, the fifth of the series. Am a firm believer of the old fashioned limerick for lightening up any situation!

There is Rhyme but is there Reason?

2010-10-18T03:12:00.001-07:00

I’m sorry that I left you
I’m sorry that you’ve cried
I’m sorry that you feel the way that you do inside

I don’t want to hurt you
I don’t like that you’re upset
But I don’t want to live a life, filled with regret

I need you to understand
I need you to know
I need you to realise, that I just had to go

It wasn’t because I didn’t love you
It wasn’t because I didn’t care
It wasn’t because of another, they just couldn’t compare

It hurts to think about you
It hurts when I don’t
It hurts to think I’ll see you, it hurts to think I won’t

I know that I need time
I know that I need space
I know that I need my reason, for being in this place

I hope my trip is useful
I hope my trip is fun
I hope my trip leads me back, when all is said and done

I can’t ask you to wait for me
I can’t promise I’ll return
I can’t pretend it will be easy, or that my heart won’t yearn

For you it will be harder
For you the days will seem unkind
For you had no choice, in being left behind

For that I am sorry
For that I feel remorse
For that I feel selfish, and awful of course

But still I have departed
But still I chose to go
But still I left you, knowing what I know

I did it for a reason
I did it for a cause
I did it for my future, I did it for yours

Each of us needs a purpose
Each of us needs a life
Each of us needs to know ourselves, before a husband or a wife.

Written July 2010, the fourth in the series, and a different tempo.

Wander-Land

2010-10-18T03:07:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I find it hard to convey
The things that I'm feeling, the vocal way
I know this means that I'm tough to read
But somehow you always found a way to succeed

I realise it’s too late to give you insight
but just so you know, you were usually right

My time is divided between dreams and reality
Attempts to make the possible, an actuality
I still don't know quite at what I am aiming
But in each decision, it’s this ambition I'm taming

A meaningful life is the eventual goal
But with no path set, I'm a wandering soul.

So when you have found me, staring into space
Imagining a life in a different place
It’s not because I didn’t adore what we had
But something burned inside, as it always had

The thrill of the challenge, of finding my reason
Failing to fade with time or the season

So I just want you to know, what I've failed to say
That I've loved every minute, of every day
That even knowing then, what I know now
I'd have kissed you on that balcony, anyhow

I’ll never forget the time that we’ve spent
And never quite fathom just how much it meant.

It was being with you that gave me the strength
To question my comfortable life at length
To face the reality that time is short
And that you can’t be the champion if you’re not on the court

By the end, the only hard part about my decision to leave
Was knowing how much, my departure, you'd grieve

So although I have now left, as I promised I would
I want you to know, what you always should,
You’re a wonderful person, that I've loved "to the bone"
and although I'm not here, you'll never be alone

Miss you already.

Written July 2010, the third in the series dealing with my departure and the subsequent feelings.

&-onis

2010-10-18T03:02:00.001-07:00

There is nothing quite as awesome, as the unexpected
Nothing quite as magical as how we were connected
Here was a girl who was at a loose end
Who got dragged to a party of a friend of a friend
There was a boy, busy playing host
Who’d opened up his flat, so the New Year they could toast
Neither was looking for anything but fun
And neither knew previously, of the other one
Both felt a spark, but were too shy to act
Both kicked themselves, after the fact

Time elapsed, as it tends to do
But brought them back together, after a month or two
This time clad in toga, and again at his home
She gathered the courage to visit Ancient Rome
The wine and festivities had gone to his head
Yet she was convinced, to share his bed
It was the smartest decision she’d ever made
As two hearts connected while that night they laid
He passed out, with a mighty snore
While she gazed at him, probably in awe...

OK so perhaps I’m getting a little carried away
But there is one thing I can definitely say
That whatever brought them together that night
Did so for a reason, so obviously right
Knowing that eventually it would all come to this
And yet still choosing to grant a time of such bliss
So don’t question the brevity of the roles thrust upon us
Just reminisce, and be thankful...for your And-onis!

Written June 2010, the second in the series, describing how we first met.

Not so Good-bye

2010-10-18T02:54:00.000-07:00

By the time that you read this I’ll already be gone
From your side, from your sight, but I’ll still linger on
As more than a memory but less than a dream
A snowballing emotion, gathering steam
Days will slide past you as you struggle for traction
Till the strangest of things will bring on a reaction
All at once you’ll feel confused, upset and cross
Until each peters out and all that’s left is the loss
You’ll hate me then love me, and then just despair
Convincing yourself that I don’t even care

Till one day you’ll wake to a bolt in the dark
The clouds will have lifted and you’ll have found your old spark
It may take months or perhaps even years
But I promise there’s a rainbow at the end of the tears
You’ll see things in colour, and bathe in the light
We may not be together but we’ll both be alright
I know the months to follow may bring you some pain
And only hope that these musings help keep you sane.

Written in May 2010 - The first in a series of poems written for a girlfriend, before I left her, and the relationship, to move overseas.

5 Min Nap

2010-06-20T02:04:00.000-07:00

Light of wallet and even lighter of heart
Three Asian bankers in an adventure took part
Each had a skill which he brought to the table
Something he excelled at, that the others weren't able

Vic could sleep, anywhere and anytime
Had a penchant for cheese, but struggled to rhyme
Pete liked to fart and board the odd luxury yacht
Even if his mates, he sometimes forgot
Yao Ming was tall, but his gift was his snore
He could rattle any hostel room, right to its core

They each had different favs, of the places they went
But agreed the Croatian girls were the ones heaven sent
None knew what was next to do or to see
They were all just so happy, not to be at DB

Written Aug 2009, just discovered this poem on the back of a plane ticket. Was written while travelling with two mates, during a mandatory 5 min nap break (Thanks Vic).

The Decepti-con: More than meets the eye

2009-10-08T23:15:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I'm surprised by what lies inside
The part of people that they choose to hide
At first, just lovely, a pleasure to meet
Underneath deception, lies and deceit

What drives a person to acts of such callous?
Were they hurt themselves, what's the source of this malice?
Do they secretly rage after some injustice past?
It must have been truly awful for its mark to last

Although shocked when you first see it in force
Thinking back you realise there were signs, of course
Promises broken, smoothed over with lies
Little untruths uttered in front of your eyes

Seemingly harmless, you fail to seize
These are just symptoms of a greater disease
A beast, fed by evil, lying under the surface
Dormant until awoken, fuelled with a purpose

Unmasked and exposed in the harsh light of day
Hell bent on nothing but getting its way
Unashamed by its ugliness or the fork of it tongue
Its wrath rages fiercely until the damage is done

Standing alone, in a wake of destruction
The beast retreats waiting for further instruction
Parasitic in nature, it feeds off the hate
Binding with its host, they share a similar fate

Each time it emerges the monster gets stronger
The damage a little worse, the duration a little longer
And before you know it the person is gone
It was the beast, not the host that was there all along.

Written in Oct 2009, during a dispute with an ex-housemate, who proved herself duplicitous beyond any of our imaginations.

Living the Dream

2009-10-08T23:10:00.000-07:00

Insatiable for adventure with a thirst that can’t be quenched
He's wallowed in the pool of life and come away drenched
Never able to sit still, or even slow down
Hungry for a new life, in a foreign town

Determined not to be, just like all the rest
Trying all the paths to see which one suits him best
Laughing to himself at those who choose to settle
Why be on the road if your pedals not to the metal?

He only gets one shot at this, so he'll make sure he does it right
Live and love and play and dream, make peace and start a fight.
He has his whole life, to live the aussie dream
but not before he's had the chance to blow off a little steam

How can he give himself to someone else for life
If he's barely old enough to know himself, let alone a wife?
He'll be drawn to those with vision, who protect the lower class
And shun those more focussed on their own wealthy ass.

This will change in time, inevitable as kids and tax,
But he'll enjoy it while he can, take some time to relax
The secret to a life, lived without regret
Is to follow his dreams, and not the safe bet.

Written July 09, while my friends are looking at apartments and marriages and I am giving in to the travel bug again.

War and Peace

2009-07-26T23:50:00.000-07:00

War

There have been certain similarites in girlfriends of old,
a smallness of stature has been common I'm told.
Clever, opinionated and strong-willed women,
with a personality larger than the height they've been given.

However when two strong people find common passion,
it seems they clash in the most extraordinary fashion.
Battles rage fiercly, without subject essential,
two losers and the outcome inconsequential.

Arguments purely for arguments sake,
stubborness and principal defining your stake.
Pushing the boundaries, in a way, immature,
mind games dreamt up, by the insecure.

But when the armistace is declared, the end of the war,
and you're two exhausted casualties, exposed and raw,
that very same passion that fuelled the madness,
lights up the room, replaces the sadness.

You quickly forget the collateral damage,
that's behind you now, you survived it, you'll manage.
Closer, all thanks to those "minor" spars,
two souls entiwned by their battle scars.

But when the foundation of peace is a delicate truce,
it only takes boredom or a similar excuse,
for the beast lying dormant, so close to the surface
to rear its ugly head, always with the same purpose.

To re-enact the same play, no matter the stage,
tell the same story, page for page,
sing the same song, with different word,
let the bee loose, against the bird...

Peace

There’s a little girl I know, who’s a little fond of me
She’s cute, kind, and considerate, and as clever as can be.
She knows everything about me, all the good and the bad
and listens tirelessly to every thought I’ve ever had.
I can’t fathom a reason, as to why we’d ever fight
It never seems to matter, who is wrong or right.
It should be ideal, she even puts up with my snoring
So why am I so terrified of simply being boring???

Written July 09, an exploration of my tendancy of old to fight with the people I love, and coming to terms with the equally beautiful and scary alternative.

The Understudy

2009-05-11T16:04:00.000-07:00

It takes mere minutes for the eyes to tire
Each page dwindling enthusiasm's fire
Woke up this morning committed to the plan
Until distraction set in and procrastination began

Have counted the pages, time and again,
Yet not getting any closer, to the chapter's end
Read it all before, but the mind's a clean slate
It’s a foregone conclusion, left my run too late

Read the same sentence, till my visions blurs out
And still couldn't say what the chapter's about
Awake with a start, unaware I had slept
Hours have passed, my approach is inept

Fear kicks in, and brings adrenalin along
The mist parts an inch, suddenly focus is strong
A sliver of light penetrates the dark in my head
It’s all flooding back, words previously read.

Grasping this new development as if life relies
On absorbing every word in front of my eyes
Its mere hours until I'll be put to the test,
The goal is just to get through, know it won't be my best.

It’s amazing how many times I've been here before
Know starting earlier would have trebled my score
But it’s only under pressure that the fire can ignite
Each performance a result of the previous night

Sure I could have done better than rest on my laurels
Not relinquished to temptation, of both mind and morals
But it’s too late now for a false resolution
Time to pray for a question with a familiar solution....

Written May 09, in an attempt to find any distraction while I was supposed to be studyin (obviously) for my CFA.

Ridin'

2009-04-07T20:26:00.000-07:00

He climbs aboard and puts his key in the ignition,
at first a gentle gasp but then she's purring like a kitten
He clutches her tight as they shift up through the gears
the changes smooth, both relaxed, a comfort borne of years

Even though he is loaded heavy with protection
it fails to hamper the pleasure of their connection
He shifts his weight at each bend to suit the terrain
she shifts hers, to find pleasure and avoid the pain

He gazes into her dials to judge their power and their speed
in this dance, of romance, it is clear who has the lead.
Although he is the rider it is she who has control
she moans to let him know, he reacts, and on they roll.

They maneuvre through the traffic, as one,
addicted to the danger and the fun.
The world is just a blur, racing past
how long, on the edge, can they last?

The final hill and he shifts up, towards the peak,
she holds on, for a while, and then goes weak,
slowly they come back down the other side
both exhausted from the thrill of the ride

It is a union borne of mutual appreciation
the journey as important as the destination.
Each alone would be simply standing idle
together, a hidden passion, they unbridle

Written April 2009, about the thrill of riding a motorcycle... or is it?

A Fool’s Hope

2009-04-04T22:20:00.000-07:00

An optimist, a charmer, trapped in a world of undeniable lunacy
I skip, and then crawl, through a land where everything is obvious but nothing makes sense
I question the ways of the world
But the deeper I delve the more lost I become
My mind often escapes me; it tries momentarily to follow the voice of reason
But when it returns I can only battle to remember the lessons learnt
I love, I hurt and I enjoy with unrivalled passion
My smile is my best friend, and my only saviour in those moments of terrible uncertainty
I am articulate yet dumb, unable to express the feelings that haunt me day and night
And it is always ALWAYS to my detriment
I frustrate everyone around me, and it is the ones closest to me that I hurt most
Beware the curse of my love, I will always injure through my ignorance
To be able to express myself would be to find infinite fulfilment
But the trail of broken hearts suggests that this is a futile quest
Run when you hear the big friendly giant’s footsteps in the hall
A revelation has been made; the prince of darkness is a mute.

Alas cry for me not, this alien needs no sympathy
My happiness is by no means a façade; it is my way of life
A great burden has been lifted from the shoulders of one equally great in stature
And the sweetness of revelation and relief cloud my senses
I shall live, shall love, and shall endure
I will always regret the blades of my flaws, and the damage they have dealt
I am grateful that I was able to feel the power of uncomplicated ecstasy
If only for a short period of time
I would have loved to have wallowed longer in that pool of pleasure
But I can only blame myself for my demise
I am ashamed of myself, and that I have corrupted the greatest feeling I ever dared to call my own
I will always miss the warmth of her feelings and the beauty of her smile
My good fortunes to the man who can compensate where I fall short
Words fail to describe the bliss your future holds
Return her love as I could not, and give her the happiness she deserves
Think of me in passing, as the disastrous precedent, have a laugh at my expense.

The trials and tribulations of a hopeless romantic
A man more lost for words then any that’ve come before him
He who is foolish enough to part with the greatest gift of all
And he who will, to all but his own conscious, seem ignorant of such a loss
The happiest man that ever there was and the only man in history to take pride in his coxcomb!

Written May 2002, a desperate attempt to stop my first gf from breaking up with me due to my horrible inability to express my feelings. It worked, and we dated for a couple years. Have always thought of this as the first poem I wrote for pleasure, and the turning point in the relationship. A large part of my the reason I write today.

In Loving Memory

2009-03-31T02:43:00.000-07:00

As inevitable as birth is the arrival of death
But how different is the first, from the final, breath
Pain and tears and the miracle is born
Tears and pain and from us you are torn

Ninety years are gone in the blink of an eye
But would you have us laugh or prefer us to cry?
Is this the moment to mourn never seeing you again
Or the time to celebrate your life with us, Den?

I really barely knew you and now never will
And yet such a big part of my life you’ll always fill
Your shadow is cast longer then your tiny frame would permit
We’ll miss your penchant for the arts and your razor-sharp wit.

There is an empty seat at the table at bridge
And a full bottle of gin still waiting in the fridge
Five daughters who gathered to see you cut the cake
Find themselves instead planning a wake

You thanked the nurses with you final breath
Told them they were beautiful and accepted your death
But you were the beauty in your scarves of every colour
A unconventional wife, friend, gran, and mother.

We’ll miss you Den and yet be happy for you too
Appreciate that you’re up there having a few
Thanks for the laughs and the stories you tell
Goodbye, so long, auf wiedersehen, farewell!

Written March 2009, on the day my grandma Denise passed suddenly, and yet after years of expectation. An incredible woman who will be missed by all who knew her.

TGIF

2009-02-26T22:11:00.000-08:00

Finally you've come again, it seems an age since we parted
Recalling just the thought of you, gets my heartbeat started
I hope you hang around this time, for an extra hour or two
Do you look forward to seeing me, as much as I do you?
Alas, I know you'll slip away, just like each week before
You'll soon be someone's Saturday, and my Friday no more..

Written Feb 2008, a quick thought during one Friday afternoon beer o'clock at work, an expression of my love for my favourite day. What ever happened to acrostic poems?

Credit - Where it is due?

2009-02-02T17:29:00.000-08:00

some saw the warning signs, some had a hunch
but nobody was prepared, for the credit crunch
ignorance met greed, and colided with fate
once the cracks were apparent, it was already too late

house prices fell, while rates were on the rise
the US saw a bubble burst in front of their eyes
the NINJAs couldn't pay, so the CDOs tank
low-income housholds now belong to the bank

S&P gets Moody cause they take the blame
while inter-bank lending will never be the same
the investor is stung, so stocks take a dive
banks turn to the government, just to stay alive

so rates are cut, and then cut some more
many a banker is shown to the door
world currencies crumble, and with no end in sight
institutions of old disappear into the night.

Merrills is missing, and the Bear has been tamed
and don't turn to AIG when your Citi lies maimed
Leahmans went Fannie up, while Freddie got fingered
the mighty have fallen and the lucky have lingered

some see it as justice, a blow to the rich
but when the trains off the track, we're all in the ditch
an economy is built on investment and consumption
when you cut off the head, the body ceases to function

supply is just inventory, until it meets demand
and your confidence is down when your caps in your hand
liquidity is a mirage, the bonus pools dry
belts are tightened as we all try to get by

many forgot profit is just risk's return
played in the fire, and were surpised by the burn
the market is cyclical, a recession overdue
mums and dads bit off more than they knew how to chew

there are so many victims, and its not over yet
but it will turn around, and in time we'll forget
the lessons we learnt, the pain in which we wallow
cause when the money comes back...the greed will follow.

Written Feb 2o09, about a very real issue in my professional life, and increasingly in greater society in general.

personal training

2009-01-28T18:34:00.000-08:00

his shadow is cast long by the early morning sun
already sweating though the day has just begun
step after step his tired feet pound the ground
a lone weekend warrior, with his boot camp all around

she wears her oldest clothes and yet she beams a smile
she's glad that she's back and has kept it up a while
aware the hardest part was just getting through that door
a single dancer, moves with her class across the floor

they shake off sleep and the morning chill
time slowly awakening and honing their skill
they pass to one another with a comfort borne of years
two teams of individuals, in a field full of peers

the air rushes from his lungs as he heaves at the weight
he repeats one more time though his need to rest is great
all around him there are others who sweat, moan and groan,
sharing an addiction, and yet each a junkie on his own.

their battle is a mental one, the results physical
but to call them vain or proud would just be cynical
though they fight in isolation, so too they alone achieve their goal
sound of body sound of mind and at peace with their soul.

Written Jan 2009, while running along the beach, started wondering about the individual nature of exercise, but how the individualism is mental and not necessarily physical.

Beauty, The Beast

2009-01-05T19:41:00.000-08:00

I woke up this morning, confidence poor
couldn't bring myself to walk out the door
one look in the mirror confirms my fears
use all of my strength to hold back the tears

a discarded magazine lies crumpled and haunting
the impossible beauty of the model still taunting
perfect features and a chiseled physique
same age as me but at their physical peak

their skin doesn't blemish their tan doesn't fade
effortless glamour, heavenly-made

but the clothes never wear as well on my frame,
and I can never get my hair to fall quite the same
my body has curves where the muscles should be
and is that a zit I see winking back at me?

powerless, I guess I'll just grin and bare
apathetic on the surface, even if below I care
a deep breath and with my head held high
I step out into the world, wanting to die

"Mr Pitt, you look great, smile over here"
the camera captures my image, but not my fear
I stare at the crowd, jealously
if only they would trade places with me....

Written Jan 2009 for a gorgeous friend of mine who fails to see what everyone else can.

The One Year Miracle

2009-01-03T20:19:00.001-08:00

The people clap,
The people cheer,
Oh my God,
It’s been a year!

I’ve had my doubts,
You have too,
I had my doubts
After a day or two.

Twelve months on,
And here we are,
Who would have thought?
That we’d come so far.

People have doubted us,
That much is true,
No one thought we’d last,
Even a month or two.

But here we are today,
And all though insults have been hurled,
I wouldn’t swap you, or this,
For the world.

Written in 2003 to celebrate a year with the same girl as previous. Young, in love, and celebrating what seemed a minor miracle.

To You, From Me

2009-01-03T19:57:00.000-08:00

The crimson maiden’s voice rings true,
Her epic crisis is anything but new:
“See my eyes, feel the fear,
Tell me what I need to hear,”
Her voice is soft but her eyes betray,
The need in her voice, her eternal dismay

Once again the duty falls on the knight,
To slay the beast, and to the princess’ delight,
Run the gauntlet adorned with none but a rose,
Defeat Caesar’s army; vanquish all his foes,
He must test every muscle, every sinew, every nerve,
He must be one man in the name of love.

Though battles and dragons pose him no threat,
Ask him bout his true feelings if you want to watch him sweat.
“But who really could?” the knight often wonders,
Express what the heart feels without those awkward blunders,
Convey the desire, the passion, the emotion,
Raging more fiercely than a tempest, than an all-encompassing ocean.

What words could possibly do any justice,
To the feelings that run so rampant between us?
What man would be foolish enough to even try?
Express the love he has for the one for whom he would die?
But alas, dear lord, this is a quest that he must make
To stifle any possible doubts, not for his, but for her, sake.

It surprises me daily that you remain unaware,
of the feelings I have for you, the love that we share.
Lost would I be without your “gentle” touch,
On the edge of a precipice, you’re the rope that I clutch,
Vertically we differ, there’s a sizeable gap, but
Everything always seems so right when you’re on my lap.
You are the one, my rain, wind and fire
You are the one, whom I’ll always desire
You are the one:
M ystically
I rritating,
N aturally my
E verything

Written in 2003 for my first serious girlfriend after continually being asked to "express how I was feeling". I have fought the overwhelming desire to change any of the lines, aiming to keep the poem as originally written.

The CrackBerry

2008-12-18T15:35:00.000-08:00

In those moments where I find myself standing alone,
It only takes seconds to pull out my phone
I’m not checking the time, or a text from a mate
I’m just trying to look cool while I sit here and wait

I need something to do with my hands and my eyes,
Is she looking at me, what about those guys?
Where are my friends, the bus or the train?
On my own only my cell keeps me sane

Before the phone there was another distraction
A way to make sure there was never inaction
Constantly fidgeting because I’m too important to wait
There’s a high-powered meeting for which I’m obviously late.

Why do I feel this constant need to impress?
They’ll never see me again and I couldn’t care less
I’m only the centre of my own universe
She’s not interested in me, her head’s in her purse.

But what makes me so afraid of just standing and being
No matter who is looking, nobody is seeing
These moments alone are a misused gift
The chance to stop, reflect and let the mind drift.

So when the urge next strikes to stare into that screen
Instead I’ll think about how good my life has been
So limited is my stay on this earth
Its time to treasure these moments alone for all that they’re worth.

Written Dec 2008, to all the insecure people who fidgit while waiting alone in public (of which I am definitely one)

The Love Story – A Novel Romance

2008-12-18T15:31:00.000-08:00

They say its not right to judge a book by its cover,
but if you aren't entranced from the outset will you ever really love her.
Sure its the chapters inside that capture your heart,
but you'll never make it that far, with no reason to start.

A book without a reader is just blank pages bound,
Its not until you look inside that the magic is found.
But no matter how pretty the jacket or tempting the blurb,
There is something bigger that makes the match superb.

A book chooses you as much as you a book,
It was across a crowded room, and yet you knew in just one look.
For years you had searched, seemingly to no avail,
Then just when you gave up, there was the perfect tale.

Was she big or small, her cover soft or hard
A Mills and Boon or a sonnet by the bard
Was she new or had her pages been turned by other guys?
Does it really even matter if she’s perfect in your eyes?

No matter how many times you’ll thumb through the same pages,
One book for the good times, the bad times and the rages,
The story is ever changing, each new page a surprise
Never on another book will you lay your eyes.

Though you used to like a genre, be it fact or fiction,
You can now say proudly, and with conviction
“Between these covers is the story of my life,
I don’t exist without it, without you, my wife.”

Written Dec 2008, what began as a silly couple of lines turned into an idea...

Bateau-pia

2008-12-18T15:20:00.000-08:00

At 16 boys have nothing but sex on the brain
And parents, and pimples and the odd growing pain,
Trying to talk to girls, while discovering who you are,
Working out what’s “cool”, and how the hell you drive a car.
And yet somehow right in the middle of it all
They decide to throw you life’s biggest curve ball.
What’s you plan for your life, how will you get paid?
And no porn star is not an option, you’ve never even been laid.

So a clan of young boys, no different to most,
Found a refuge from these questions, up on the coast.
A haven of sun, surf, sand and beach,
Where the trials of reality were just out of reach.
A place you could get away and dare to dream big,
Sneak a forbidden drink or two and maybe even a cig.

Where the local girls were all preggers and everyone ate corn,
And Beautiful Bounty was the number one porn.
Where they’d never seen an Asian, but the fish and chips flowed,
And men with shotguns protected the signs on the road.
They’d pack up the cars and away from the parents they’d sneak
Each bringing something to the adventure that was a little unique:

Ali could drink his quota and maybe even a couple more,
Chris will tell you he was the X-Box champ, though no one kept score
Long legged Andy could sleep on the most short-legged chair
Pete was the hottie, but was losing his hair.
Gardos could chase down the ladies in his big red car
Though all he ever caught was Stu’s new camera.
Chong could microwave bread, for over an hour,
While Mark held the keys and subsequently all the power.
Smitty wielding a cricket ball kept any batsman in check,
And when the king’s cup came out, T hit the deck.

Cricket was played for hours, on the beach and tv,
Thoughts were on anything but the HSC
Girls were discussed, again and again,
Table tennis tables were destroyed by the rain
But it was the ability to escape and keep the pressure eased
That was the secret to their success, and kept their parents pleased.

So post-school the trips continued, a chance to catch up with the guys
Talk some smack, drink some beers, but soon they began to realise,
This jaunt had to be a little shorter then the last
And a little bit different from those of the past
New faces appeared, while others were lost
Food and booze were no longer rationed because of the cost

But the injection of the girl had the biggest impact,
An unspoken sign of having to clean up your act
Taking over the kitchen, assuming they were performing a favour
But removing the thrill of the challenge and the volatility of flavour
What started as a test of each boy, and his culinary skill,
Became no more than fast-food, take your plate and your fill.

In fact the whole dynamic changed a lot over the years
Of course there’s still sand and surf and plenty of beers
But the talk is of settling down, joining the race
Not of impossible dreams and the legs that they’ll chase

Don’t be sad, its just different, still plenty of fun,
But it bares no resemblance to how it begun

No one killed it though, it was a victim of life
The monster the boys tried to escape is what wielded the knife
It came so quickly and subtly that they failed to see,
There was no refuge from reality, down by the sea.

It was not protected from time, just look around
At what has become of their old stomping ground.

The race track is a home for the old and unwell,
The mighty roar of the ocean is no more than a swell
One day soon even the old house will be gone
But there is a place in their hearts where it will always live on
Cause even though some will return, and some never again
It will forever be the house that turned these boys into men.

Written Nov 2008, after a weekend up the coast with the boys (and girls)

punch drunk love

2008-12-15T17:24:00.000-08:00

when she reminised, she kinda missed, the boy she kissed, when she was pissed.
on the floor, his moves were poor, but she was sure, she wanted more,
she caught his eye, he didn't know why, was kinda shy, he was her guy
she let the beer, control the fear, and moved in near, tried not to leer,
he was hot, they smiled a lot, and on that spot, both soon forgot,
the world outside, eyes wide, hands on her side, a wild ride
each change of stance, not just a dance, but a chance, of romance
the song got slow, he bent down low, she couldn't say no, wanted it so,
she felt the bass, her heart race, and face to face, they did embrace

they say, on holiday, you can play, and not have to pay,
but thats not true, though the hours were few, the cheque came due, she never knew
that in what begun, as just fun, her heart was won, by someone's son
and now she misses, the drunken kisses, and kinda wishes, she was his missus.

Written Dec 2008, an unusual poem to reflect an unusual relationship.

The 8:05

2008-12-12T15:35:00.000-08:00

I have often found myself wondering, as the morning train pulls in
where exactly I am going and where it is that I have been.

For some it's about the journey, and for some the destination.
But surely it all depends, on the arrival station.

Is this where I thought I'd be, when I hopped onboard this morning
or has my trip been diverted, unbeknownst and without warning?

Have I been in control, of this journey I have made?
Or am I just an actor, and it's been a part I've played?

Who is the fat controller, whom dictates where I go?
And why is that the trip, is always so painstakingly slow?

Should I take an express, or another faster train?
But what am I trying to skip, through pleasure or through pain?

Would my life be different, if it involved another station?
Or would it be no more then a subtle variation?

I guess I'll never know, instead I'll just ride the 8:05,
It's not the most glamorous trip, but imagine if I had to drive!

Written in the summer of 2006, while an intern on the way to my first real job.

Trendy and Alone

2008-12-12T15:30:00.001-08:00

As I sit surrounded
in a world that's left me behind,
I wonder if they are looking,
and if they are, just what they'll find.

I've never seen myself
through the eyes of another man,
never even seen a photo,
from which I haven't turned and ran.

Is this the new norm
for this chic world of ours,
to somehow feel alone,
in even the trendiest of bars?

People are like snowflakes
all of us unique,
so why is it only,
about others that we speak?

Why is there no longer time
to wander through one's soul,
and why only under drink,
is it possible to lose control?

If there is no point
to the superficial madness,
why does fitting in,
still fill the heart with gladness?

I have lived, and seen, and done
what most are yet to try,
and yet often feel,
that this world will pass me by.

I also have a dream
for a world not unlike this,
but in which people appreciate,
the simple things they miss.

I guess we'll never know
at least not for sure,
whether conformity is a disease,
rather than a cure.

And so we will leave it
to ponder another day,
time for me to join them,
and drink these thoughts away...

A poem I uncovered from years ago (possibly written in 2006), but oddly still relevant.

the man without a plan

2008-12-03T02:59:00.000-08:00

sheepishly he admits that there is no plan that has been laid
life has been the product of both good and bad decisions made
some dreams have been realised while others still remain
time sees a few grow stronger and lets the others wane

but can one's choices be decided in such an ad hoc fashion
can a life's direction be governed by only passion
shouldn't you have goals, each one carefully selected
or will you forever be haunted by the options you rejected

should you aim lower then you are able and achieve as you desire
can you live in potential's shadow and only dream of hitting higher
or should you set your sights up high, well above your weight class
and each time you jump you miss and land back down upon your ass

it really all depends on your definition of success
is it that the needs are satisfied, or by the level of excess
does the checking of all the boxes signify a life finally fulfilled
does the cup need to flow to the point of being spilled

or is it that you lived your life, and not just played a part
that you controlled the journey, it was not mapped out from the start....

Written Nov 2008, the alternative approach to the previous...

The Man with the Plan

2008-12-03T02:57:00.001-08:00

Cautiously, he moves through life with plans but not a vision,
Vigilantly, he considers the consequence of each and every decision.
No action is to be taken until the facts have been collated,
The data never lies and as such each fear is in turn abated.

He is happy with his path because it “made the most sense”,
He ticked all the right boxes and watched others from the fence.
The epitome of rationality, caution and hesitation,
He fails to feel the extremes of depression and elation.

But in the quiet moments when he sits and reflects,
Does he see in his love of logic the very obvious defects?
Sure he has achieved everything, and exactly as he planned,
But life has run through his fingers as if it were grains of sand.

The future’s caught the present and it’s too late to enjoy what’s been amassed
There’s not a lot of time left, and there’s no comfort in the past.
Sure the wife, house and car, leave the Jones’s a little green
But there’s a hole in the perfect picture where the life should have been.

Written August 2008, trying to decide on how a life's direction should be determined.

Leaving

2008-12-03T02:46:00.000-08:00

Light in the wallet but heavy of heart,
Its time to go home and make a fresh start.
The months felt like days, our heads are still spinning
Is this the end of a chapter or the next one’s beginning?

Are we different people from those that left in November?
It seems a lifetime ago, can you even remember
The cucumber salads, the jelly bean games,
The inability to remember everyone’s names.

The awkward conversations that plagued every table
Did you really think we’d make it? Were you sure you were able?
So now that it’s done and we’ve proven our worth
Will they welcome us back to the land of our birth?

Or will they look at us strangely if we eat with our hands
And grow weary of our tales of far off lands.
Will we fit back into the grooves from which we came?
Even though our grasp on reality may never be the same.

Of course they’ll have us back, even if we bore them to tears
And life will resume to just the same as it has been for years
Cause there’s no place like OZ, the home of your heart,
No more fitting place to end then back at the start.

But the kids won’t know the words to Resham Phiriri
And I doubt any will ask for your family tree,
And in those quiet moments when you allow yourself to sit and reminisce
You may well find it’s us and Nepal that you miss!

Written Feb 2008, for the girls I volunteered with as we headed home.

The Chaturale Challenge

2008-12-03T02:41:00.000-08:00

The head rumbles, the stomach grumbles, the muscles roar,
The worker fumbles, the pick tumbles, the tears pour.
As the sun gets higher his hole becomes an oven,
He needs a shower, a night’s sleep and some lovin’.

Each day he wakes a little weaker than the last,
Still distracted by the nocturnal battle with his past.
With each swing, a pain cedes, replaced by another,
A more fierce and nasty version of its brother.

The sun is set, his quota met, the day is done,
With no regret, he’ll soon forget, all but the fun.
Despite the hard work his mood is light,
Long ago his body gave up the fight,

But it’s the earth and not his spirit that will be broken.

Written Jan 2008, volunteering in a rural village in Nepal.

The Shepherd and the Sphinx

2008-11-28T17:54:00.000-08:00

Religion is a beautiful old monument like the pyramids or the great wall,
An eye-catching monstrosity built on the backs of the weak masses.
A testament to one man or being now standing idol,
Neither has with it today the purity of its intentions.

Just as the African offers trinkets to Gaza’s tourists,
The missionary hawks his wares to the African people.
Each buyer falls in love with the romanticism of the moment,
But removed from the preacher becomes weary of their purchase.

The pyramids failed,
Despite the devotion of the masses the pharaohs never made it to the after life
What wasn’t robbed from them as they slept is now ogled by busloads of heathens.

One man does not need a temple to be buried in, and no one book has all the answers.
The slaves of Egypt believed in their cause as much as the foot soldiers of God,
but each resigned themself to a bigger power that hadn’t their best interests at heart.

The pharaohs were not mere men but gods incarnate.
They brought fertility to a land, science to a people and a cause to the masses,
But exclusivity will always isolate, which in turn will breed hate.
Every idol is a false one, and no mortal contains within him a truth hidden from you or I.

Be good to your neighbour and they’ll do the same.
Black is black, white is white and grey is a challenge.
Question everything reasonably and you’ll get reasonable answers.
Think of those less fortunate but be fortunate you can think.

Written Oct 2007, inspired by several months in the middle east and on the sub continent, as an attempt to define my religious beliefs.

Humpty’s Dilemma

2008-11-28T17:52:00.000-08:00

There are times in your life when you reach a junction,
Something that was failsafe ceases to function.
Time to reassess what you thought you never would,
Can you finally see the faults in what has always been good?

It felt so natural that you began to relax,
Glazing over what were fairly obvious cracks,
In a foundation laid in faith and good intention,
Nice from a distance but under close inspection,

Not enough to withstand the extent of the blows,
dealt time and again by both friends and foes.
But the question that needs to be asked at the end of it all,
Can all the cracks be patched or do we need a new wall?

Written Jan 2008, the beggining of the end of a great relationship.

Ignorance = Bliss?

2008-11-22T19:33:00.001-08:00

Apathetically, they wander through life accepting things as they are.
Emotionless, they fail to feel the extremes that define us.
Ignorant, they know not that they march to the beat of someone else’s drum.
Unfortunate, they will always be no more, or less, than satisfied.

Written Nov 2007, regarding the apathy is cool mentality of my generation.

Land of the free?

2008-11-21T23:28:00.000-08:00

There is a lot of talk of freedom, and all it represents,
a blessing to the masses, and what the repressed laments.
The term at first seems noble, but is seldom understood,
For its connotations cannot be limited to only being good.

Freedom to do what, to whom, and at what cost?
Each time you exercise your own, is someone else’s lost?
If you were granted total control, to do just as you wish,
Would others benefit or are the gains purely selfish?

If the downside of your choices cannot be easily seen,
Are you standing in a spotlight where someone else should’ve been?
Freedom is not as simple as it’s often made out to be,
The chance to govern your own life comes with responsibility.

This is not to say that you shouldn’t do just as you please,
But consider the repercussions to both your friends and enemies.

Written Dec 2007. Inspired by a work giving tree in which I chose to purchase the word "freedom" for charity, and the subsequent questioning of my decison.