24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Is a member of the dandylion collective, a small writers' group based in South Australia. He is primarily a poet, who strangely, enjoys drinking wine (his predilection is Sauvignon Blanc, bubbles is second preference, & is also partial to pretty much anything else - except red bubbles, urrrgh!). In 2014, he co-edited the Friendly Street Poets Annual Anthology 38 "The Infinite Dirt" ... ... & co-edited it again in 2020, Anthology 42, titled simply "Q" (& if you remember the weirdness of that year, you'll soon understand why) ... as well as judging the SAETA Awards for that year. 2019 Two chapbooks published "the soft humus of sleep" & "the loam of our dreams" 2012 a solo collection ‘Gunyah’ Healing published as part of Friendly Street Poets New Poets 17 in 2012 (along with John Pfitzner & Rachael Mead). He has been published in Eureka Street & InDaily Poet's Corner; as well as poems in The Infinite Dirt, Patterns of Living, Light and Glorie, Flying Kites, dB magazine, Iron Lace & others. Career highlights include: having his poem “Many-Worlds Quantum Mechanics Vs Earth-Based Grease Monkeys” published in The Best Australian Science Writing 2013; winning Second Place & $1000 for writing a poem on a pretty obscure topic after finding a competition which closed in 6 hours that same day; & having “i thought the moon was a cop car in my rear vision mirror as i drove home late last night …” short listed for the 2012 Satura Prize, 2014 WP Yeats Poetry Prize, 2015 Interstellar Award among others.
Warwickshire parlance
. “Golden lads and girls all must,
As chimney sweepers, come to dust,”
Cymbeline
Did Will wish on one of these golden lads
Before his marriage to the elder Anne;
Or perhaps in the hope
of escaping it
3 word game poems
1.
road trip
We start off at the airport
Angry as a hungry raptor
Still feeling pretty parro
& something of a prat
Aspirin offered with a tap
We murmur out our ta
Followed by one long a
2.
procession of the seasons
In the middle of winter
The cold is on a winder
The dog wants to wander
But I must be his warder
Making him bark harder
I feel like a pooch harmer
Hit dogjoy with a hammer
For now we must just hummer
Cos it will soon be summer
3.
The Boatless Goat
Dad wasn’t really thinking
the day he bought the goat
For he would not cross the river
Despite our best attempts to goad
He would not move for money
He cared even less for gold
We offered sweet hay & grass green
Even with lilies we tried to gild
But still the ornery billy wouldn’t budge
as if his feet were gilt
Bill refused dad’s protestations
refused his every gift
It’s fair to say by this time
tween dad & he was developing a rift
Till finally mum showed up
paddling a homemade raft
the rules are there are no rules
We gotta get away
We don’t know what they want
You say they might be able to help
But we don’t know that
We can never know that again
Stella’s right
I don’t know what trust means
How can I? Hope can she?
We’ve only just met.
Yes I see the irony
Saying we shouldn’t do
What we two did only a few hours ago
But that felt diff/
sudden noise — wild fury — the man’s back
— he has a shot gun — pointed at us
demands the ute — Stella is screaming
I feel like crying — don’t know what to do
Put the gun down, I plead
No!
At least point it away from us.
No!
If I give you the keys, will you let us go?
One of you maybe.
He looks at Stella.
I know his thoughts.
Okay okay I say
I’m just putting my hands
in my pocket to get the keys
& then you’ll let us go.
Sure, sure.
I know he’s lying. We all do.
Hurl the keys as far as I can — away
from us — over his head — he turns
to chase — grab Stella — drag her
toward the ute — get in, get in
— but the keys/ she begins
My house keys, let’s go.
Thankfully despite the chaos
I get the key in the lock
Start it swiftly & head south
All the while fearing
Shattering glass, exploding rubber
Or even a flaming fireball
(We’ve all seen Hollywood)
We’re away. We almost laugh/
Two booms. Quick succession.
Silence. Two hearts beat.
The ute seems unscathed.
We drive on.
Neither of us speak for many miles
The land knows you,
even when you are lost
calls you home
even after years
enduring countless
cold mornings
watching sideways
as the garden grows
out of the dark black
mulch of night
horizons start to hover
against the light
trees creep, tiptoe up
assume silhouette status
the wind shakes off its shadows
rocks shudder away overcoats
at last a reason to rise
as the earth tilts
gyromancy
there are many things i do not understand
many foolish ways supposedly to determine your future
you would think brisk walking
would not help you find your future
i do not understand how it helps
but nonetheless briskly walk
round & round, circle upon circle
until giddy fuzzy dizzy delirium
causes you to tumble groundwards
where you fall apparently determines your fate.
(have i said i do not understand
these many foolish future finding ways?)
perhaps your toes pointing north indicates
a long journey up a steep mountainside
i cannot tell you how or indeed whether
falling on your back, side, or front
markedly differentiates the divination
or how which why whether or whence
if your legs are crossed or arms flung wide
it likewise affects the proposed prognostication
needless to say there are
many foolish ways supposedly to determine your future
& there are many many things i do not understand
challenge accepted
we live in an age where orangeclad
stiltwalkers strut city blocks
executing yellowshirted bears
for no other reason than
the colour of their clothes
where single mimes smuggle
salmon to work in their overcoats
so they have someone to talk to
while they shop for silence
on their packed lunch breaks
or perhaps alarmingly where sleep
deprived mask makers in the early
hours of dawn sniff the saddles
of their wife’s puppet’s bikeseat
to discover the odour of burnt cathedral bell rope
up
breaking into fragments, like thoughts adding
sadly subtracting … when all around you are
NB: after struggling to load the erasure app for 25 minutes (flash was playing up) … I decided to abandon the official prompt & try to accommodate three of my facebook friends’ (I use the term lightly, given how obnoxious their challenges) requests for things to put in a poem. This surreal piece of nonsense effectively includes every single request (16 in total) … if perhaps at the risk of the poem making any sort of sense. Though I suppose I could pass it off as a dream poem & Bob’s my male relative.
7 quick poems to previous versions of gareth
i. Dear gareth, Age 4 Arranging Paper Words On Gran & Grandad’s Dining Room Floor
Not got much to say to you, buddy.
You seem to be doing ok, so far as I can see.
ii. Dear gareth, Age 12 About To Read “Lord Of The Rings” For The First Time
It’s a Friday after school.
You’ve just stumbled across
A cool looking book.
The Fellowship of the Ring.
The first of three.
Do yourself a favour.
Get books II & III too.
Then you won’t have to wait
Till Monday to find out
What happens to the all the little hobbitses.
iii. Dear gareth, Age 22 Before She’s Actually Walking Out the Door
For god’s sake you fucking great fool.
Try harder.
You’ll always regret you didn’t.
iv. Dear gareth, Age 23 Making Love In The Thunderstorm By The Ressie
While you’re having a good time
can I ask you to pay a bit more attention
cos while you might think you’ll remember
how it felt, I can assure you a quarter century on
You won’t.
v. Dear gareth, Age 22-44
Deal with your grief sooner.
It makes life easier.
& you might have avoided the black hole of 39.
vi. Dear gareth, Age 39
I know. I remember.
Strive for peace.
vii. Dear gareth, Age Right Now
I really suggest ending this poem
& going to the loo to pee.
Advice to former incarnations is one thing
But listening to your bladder
is the profoundest thing I’ve got left to say going forward.
10 hjours in
nought remains of night, noteven a moonbeam.
coughing wearily wishing i still drank coffee
even my dog’s twitching paws tell me to hush
he snores tauntingly through my mental fog.
my caffeineless brain tips whiskey in my canteen
something sweet’s happening— oh good golly damn
instead of becoming more fleet, it sets concrete.
i need more wood to stoke the mental fir(e)
i’ve burnt the books, now start on the shelf.
all i want is for my head & pillow to dock.
NB tired typo deliberately left in title, haha
As luck would have it.
The atlas of us.
Our souls at night.
One of us is lying.
Look into my eyes.
A thousand pieces of you.
You are not so smart.
Those who leave & those who stay.
Everything you need.
When you reach me.
We are called to rise.
All I ever wanted.
If I forget you.
The reason I jump.
I hope they serve beer in hell.
Just to spice things up, I played a couple of wee little games here.
ALL these are book titles on my shelves ATM.
ALL have a pronoun in the title (except ironically, the title).
& cos I didn’t quite nail the sevenling in the prompt before — this is a FOURTEENLING (or double sevenling hahahaha)
wind
the wind blows & blows & blows
then the rain arrives, wild
no one knows where from
valiantly the old house resists
by whistling loudly to itself
while the wind continues
… until my bones move
